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Chapter Text

July 31, 1989

The dawn light was streaming slowly through the windows of the Hogwarts castle, and Minerva had a mission before her day of meetings with Dumbledore- find Severus and send him to check on Harry.  Dumbledore insisted, over and over again, that he was fine, safe, and well-cared-for, but if that was the case, then why would he never permit her to go see him, even in cat form? No, it could be just the paranoia of an old woman, but she wanted, needed, to know that he was alright.  And today, during which Albus would be distracted by their making plans for the upcoming school year and therefore not likely to go looking for his potions master, would be the perfect day to do it.  The fact that it was Harry’s birthday did not escape her, and it wasn’t like she’d planned it that way, but the fact that the best day to do it happened to be today felt even more like a sign to her.  There was no harm in checking, just to ease her worries, and the headmaster would never have to know.  She made her way into the dungeon and knocked on the door.

“Severus?” She called through the heavy wooden door as she knocked, making it clear that this was not a call he could ignore.

“What?” The young man came out, seething irritation, as he raised one impatient eyebrow at here.  “I’ve got one free day to myself to do my brewing in, so this had better be quick.”

“I’m afraid it’s not going to be, but it’s important nonetheless,” she told him, lips pursed.  “I need you to check on Harry.”

“Why in Merlin’s name would I go check on the Potter boy?” Snape growled.  “Do I need to make sure he’s being pampered enough- are you worried they aren’t giving him enough sweets?”

“Stop it Severus, and don’t be like that,” his old professor ordered.  “Albus won’t ever let me see him, and I’ve just got a nagging feeling… never mind, I need you to go to Privet Drive and do a surprise check-in for me, and it’s non-negotiable.”

“Isn’t it his birthday or something?” the younger man sneered.  “They’re probably out spoiling him.”

“Well, then you can check in on the living conditions and wait for them to return,” McGonagall said, unimpressed by his efforts to escape the situation.

“And if I say no?” The Slytherin crossed his arms.

Minerva looked at him crossly.  “Well then, I’d say Lily would certainly be very disappointed in you.”

It was a low blow, but it worked.  A look of pure agony ghosted across his face for a millisecond before he snarled “fine!” and turned to get ready, slamming the door behind him.  Minerva didn’t really care how upset he was about it, only that the job was getting done.

“Oh, and Severus?” she called back, “I expect pictures!”

____

“Meddlesome old cat,” Severus Snape muttered to himself angrily as he jerked his robes along their hangers, looking towards the back of his closet for his muggle clothing and grabbing black trousers and a black jumper.  He kept up a steady stream of angry monologuing in his head as he changed and grabbed his camera, shrinking it so it would fit in his pocket and then heading towards the back exit of the castle. Honestly, why he needed to check on Perfect Potter anyway was beyond him.  He wished she’d just do it herself.

But of course she couldn’t.   Because Albus wouldn’t let her, a niggling voice in the back of his head supplied.   And isn’t that a little suspect?

Shut up, he ordered the voice.   He just doesn’t want the boy to know about magic.

The voice simply gave a little “tut” and went quiet, but it was clearly still doubtful, a discomfiting nagging setting him ill-at-ease, and if Severus Snape were one to look on the bright side, he might have said that at least checking on the boy and finding him safe would set the little voice at ease.  But if Severus Snape were one to look on the bright side, he wouldn’t have ended up in half of the situations he did in life, so the thought didn’t even occur to him. He was glad when he reached the gate and could apparate to Privet Drive, because while some people might be refreshed by a walk in the crisp Scottish air of the early morning, Severus Snape was not one of those people.  What he was was a person who vehemently rejected anything that might be good for him, and he was not-so-blissfully unaware that today was the day when all of that would be forced to change.

____

Young Harry Potter was quite out of it, so much so that he didn’t even realise today was his birthday as he lay curled up on his side in his cupboard.  Normally, he would have been up and cooking breakfast for the Dursleys by now (which was always perfect, however hard it was for him to cook up to Petunia’s exacting standards when he could barely make out the outline of the stove when his vision was so poor- one teacher had suggested he might need glasses, but Aunt Petunia had managed to convince her he was just rather slow), but he hadn’t been up to even sitting up for the last few days.  He’d gotten a cold towards the end of the school year, and it had gone untreated by the Dursleys, who were mad that he had ‘given it to Dudley’ (when in reality Dudley had given it to him).   Now, long after Dudley had been pampered back to good health, Harry’s cold had worsened first to a flu and then to pneumonia, but his aunt and uncle weren’t going to take him to the hospital to have him treated.  No, that would raise questions as soon as the doctors saw all the scars on his back and chest.

Well, not all of them were scars, as the painful pulling of fresh wounds from the belt reminded him.  Harry was a smart boy, and he knew enough from science class to know that they were probably infected.  He also knew that wasn’t likely to change any time soon. The Dursley were unwilling to ‘waste resources’ on him if he wasn’t able to work, so even his usual insufficient diet had been pulled from him, and his small body shook with the effects of prolonged hunger combined with illness.  He also couldn’t quite remember when he’d last had anything to drink- he had a vague memory of Aunt Petunia yanking open the cupboard door to shove a glass of water at him and then slam it shut again, aggravating his headache, but it felt like ages and ages ago (it had been yesterday)- but he knew that his throat was dry and hurt like it was on fire.  He was cold too- soo cold- and the threadbare blanket he clutched in his small brown hands was doing almost nothing to help.  In short, if Harry had been cognizant enough to realize that today was his ninth birthday, he would have said that it was his worst birthday ever, and he’d had quite a lot of bad birthdays.

The banging of the cupboard door cut through his fog.  “Are you well enough to do your chores, boy?!” Vernon roared at him.  Harry was only able to give a weak cough in response.

“Useless,” the horrid man- who looked like a walrus if a walrus were to have all of its good qualities removed and then turned into a pathetic excuse for a human- muttered, aiming a sharp kick to Harry’s ribcage.  The young boy felt a crack and then a stabbing pain as breathing became even harder, but even in this state he knew better than to cry out.  Vernon just kept talking as if nothing had happened, which made sense, as for him, causing Harry excruciating damage was nothing out of the ordinary.

“We’re taking Dudley out for the day, so you are to stay in your cupboard and not cause any trouble, understood?” he boomed, and Harry worked up the energy to make a feeble impression of a nod.

“Good,” Vernon grunted.  “If anything happens while we’re gone, there will be hell to pay.”  Harry didn’t understand how hell could possibly be any worse than this as Vernon chucked a bottle of water at his head before shutting the cupboard door.

“Don’t die while we’re gone, boy,” he thundered through the slats.  “That’ll raise questions.”

Harry couldn’t help a whimper as he stretched painfully for the water, but even after he’d managed the hard-won effort of getting it into his hands, his fingers were too weak to unscrew it.  If he weren’t so dehydrated, he probably would have cried. He was used to suffering, but this was nearly too much even for him. As he fell into an uneasy sleep, vague images of a strange, far off woman came into his head.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly,

Lavender’s green,

When you are king dilly dilly,

I will be queen.”  Harry tried to reach towards the song, certain it was close, so close, and that it would be the end to all his suffering if he could just grab for the sound and the hand of the woman with the fiery red hair, when the cupboard door opened again and a surprised, horrified exclamation was heard.

____

Severus turned the corner just as a large man driving a company car for a firm called ‘Grunnings’ nearly ran him over, and he huffed in dissatisfaction as he continued towards number four, hoping that Potter and his relatives were home so the visit could be shorter.  They were not, however, and the man groaned, realising that he would have to wait for them to get back before he could conduct the most important part of his business. Well, he might as well take pictures of the house and its living conditions like Minerva demanded, and then he could make himself something to eat in the kitchen, as payment for their discourtesy in keeping him waiting.  Not that they knew he was coming, but still.

Looking around, he made sure no muggles were watching before he cast an alohomora on the door of Number 4 before entering the house.  It was quite plain and altogether unexceptional, although the sense of disquiet grew when Severus noticed that there was no sign of anyone who could be the little Potter in any of the photographs, only a whale of a boy with blonde hair standing beside… well, that was interesting… standing beside the man who nearly ran him over, and by Merlin- was that Petunia Evans?   Well, now the disquiet was morphing into genuine worry, as much as he hated to admit it, even to himself.  Petunia Evans would not have been the guardian he would have chosen, even for a Potter. He ought to begin his search, and he was stepping towards the landing to climb the stairs when he heard a faint but very unhealthy-sounding coughing sound coming from under them.

There was both a deadbolt and a padlock on the door, far more than would be required for the cleaning supplies people normally kept in such a space, and he was full of trepidation as he broke them with a spell.  When he opened the door, he saw that his fear was warranted.

The boy in the cupboard did not look nine, he looked six- and a very unhealthy six, at that.  He was thin as a rake, or maybe thinner, and there was a clear smell of infection coming from under his threadbare shirt.  Lifting it carefully, causing the boy to flutter his eyes and groan, Severus saw why- this was worse than anything his father had ever done.  This looked honestly more like the work of a death eater (if they ever decided to torture without magic) than it did a supposedly-respectful middle class muggle.  A couple of his ribs were clearly broken, and when the child coughed again, a deep red gob of blood came with it. This was worse than anything Severus or even Minerva could have been expecting.  Feeling for a pulse, the potions master noticed with no small amount of terror that it was weak and thready, almost fading away completely. Stealth mission be damned, he had to get the boy to Pomfrey.

He knew, as did everyone, that the child had his mother’s eyes, even if they were closed at the moment, but as he carried him back up to the castle after a very tense apparation, he was struck by the other ways that Potter looked like Lily.  Of course he had James’ brown skin tone and messy dark hair, but when the light hit the matted curls at certain angles, one could see hints of red undertones shining through, and he had his mother’s delicate chin and soft, rose-petal lips.

The sounds of Harry’s (somewhere along the way, he’d become Harry, if only because this boy was about as far from self-assured and strong, healthy James Potter as one could get) laboured breathing grew even fainter as the head of Slytherin reached the hospital wing, throwing the doors open with a whispered incantation.  Madame Pomfrey looked up sharply, about to scold whoever dared enter her hospital wing in such a manner, even in the summer when she had no patients, when she spotted the sick child in Severus’ arms.

“My word!” she cried, faintly.

“Minerva sent me to check on Potter,” Severus said, his lips forming the tiniest of bitter smiles.  “I told her I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Well, thank Merlin and Morgana that she didn’t listen to you,” Poppy said as she grabbed the child gently and placed him on the nearest bed, immediately running diagnostic charms.  “Oh my…”

“What?” Severus asked, his tone anxious against his wishes.  “Can you heal him?”

“I think so- that is to say, I think I can keep him alive,” the healer sighed as she set to work.  “But he has a severe case of pneumonia that has obviously been left untreated for quite a while, and one of the broken ribs has punctured his left lung.  If he survives this, he will no doubt suffer breathing difficulties for the rest of his life. In addition, his vision is terrible, worse than James’ ever was, and he’ll need glasses immediately.  Another few months and he would have been well on his way to blind. He’ll need hearing aids as well- he’s had a number of untreated ear infections that has worsened his hearing, and a number of knocks to the head means that he’s only got about 60% hearing in his right ear and 40% in his left.  He’s severely malnourished and his bones and organs are weak and underdeveloped. Still, I think we can manage to provide him with a decent quality of life through all that if we can only manage to keep him alive.” As she spoke, she was working rapidly, setting a spell to breath for Harry and take the pressure off his lungs and summoning a number of potions from her stores.  She filled a syringe with a nutrient potion and another with a rapid-hydration fluid, plunging both into the vein in his inner elbow in quick succession. He didn’t even react.

“What can I do?” Severus asked- he’d failed Lily, he’d failed her son.  They had to keep him alive.

“You can go to the ministry and call in a favour with Arthur.  We need to get custody of this child before anyone finds out about this, or there could be a messy legal situation and he could end up in the wrong hands.”  She didn’t mention it, but they were both thinking that perhaps the ‘wrong hands’ could be the headmaster’s- after all, he’d insisted Harry was safe, but clearly hadn’t bothered to check, or, even worse, had an idea that something was wrong and willfully ignored it.  He couldn’t have known how bad it was, as having Harry Potter die while in his relative’s ‘care’ wouldn’t work towards whatever ends he’d had in mind, but if he’d known the child wasn’t happy and had done nothing, well…

“Who’s going to sign the papers?” he asked.

“You, Minerva, and I will split custody,” Poppy informed him briskly, running another sign of diagnostics.

“Me?” Severus gasped.

“Yes, you,” she told him impatiently.  “Lily tasked you with keeping him safe, after all, and no-one can object to his having three capable guardians, as there is far less likelihood that all three of us will be rendered unable to care for him than merely one or two.  Now go, and don’t come back unless it’s with those papers for us to sign. It goes without saying that you should sign yours before you even return, and leave an extra copy of the signed documents at the ministry.  Now let me work, so we still have a child to look after.”

Chapter Text

Merlin bless Arthur Weasley, Minerva McGonagall thought later that night as she sat by Harry’s bedside, a tumblr of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey held in her clasped hands as she stared down into the amber liquid.  Through his contact in the Department for Child Advocacy and Protection, they’d been able to fast-track the adoption process with very little fuss. It was a dangerous process that they’d adopted him through, one that was not done very often simply because it required the potential parent to pledge their life and magic that they meant the child no harm and would protect them to the best of their ability.  But speed had been of the essence, so they’d done it in lieu of losing precious time going through all the other red tape that the normal process would have involved. They’d all signed without hesitation, of course, even Severus, who looked rather nervous as he picked up the quill, although the fact that he hadn’t immediately burst into flames proved that he’d changed rather a lot since that morning.

Dumbledore hadn’t been happy, of course, but by the time he’d found out about it, just after Minerva placed her signature and the castle’s wards alerted the headmaster to a large pulse of magic as the contract was sealed in its completion, there had been nothing he could do.  Well, nothing save try to convince Harry’s new guardians that the best thing for him would be to send him back to the Dursleys’ once he’d recovered, albeit with more protection. This suggestion had gotten him hexed by his very irate Deputy Headmistress. He was currently hiding in his office, no doubt waiting for things to cool down so he could try again, but Minerva would never forgive nor forget this, ‘greater good’ be damned.

Poppy had placed Harry in a magically-induced coma to allow his body to rest and heal, after she’d spent twelve long hours pulling him through the worst of it.  He would, in fact, be afflicted with asthma and probably be quite sickly for rather a long time, and he would need hearing aids and a strong prescription for glasses and his immune system would be terrible and it would require careful looking-after to keep him safe and healthy, but he would live, and that was what mattered.  It was safe to assume that he knew nothing about magic and would need a lot of love and support to recover both physically and mentally from what was done to him and the changes he was about to face, but they would ensure he had everything he needed and everything that he wanted that they could reasonably give him besides.

The head of Gryffindor continued watching for hours that night, watching as Poppy’s lingering magic continued to help his chest rise and fall.  He had a number of broken bones that had healed badly and had to be reset and a few that had been broken quite recently, and his left arm rested in a sling and his right wrist in a cast.  There was a brace on one kneecap and a full-leg cast covering the other, and all in all it was difficult to find Harry’s tiny body under all those bandages. But it was there, and it would be alright.  And thank Merlin that at least there hadn’t been any brain damage besides that to his eyes and hearing- Morgana knows that the poor child would have enough trouble already, without adding in something else that the public could pick apart in their saviour other than the glasses and hearing aids and asthma and what would always be a smaller-than-average stature due to the fact that his growth had been stunted by malnutrition.  He looked so fragile that she was almost afraid to reach for one of his tiny hands, so instead she softly ran a hand through the hair that she’d helped Poppy wash and spend an hour carefully detangling and scrubbing dried blood out of. It was soft now, like James, but the sunset brought out shining bits of auburn, like red gold in the otherwise black and incorrigible locks.

He was in a magically-induced sleep now, so there were no nightmares, only a soft fluttering of long eyelashes against angelic cheeks that were currently hollow but with any luck would fill in soon.  The famous scar branched from his hairline towards his nose, with another section of the lightning bolt cutting through the outer edge of his left eyebrow. Minerva kissed it tenderly before draining the rest of her drink as Poppy came out to tell her she ought to get some sleep.

“Good night, little one,” she whispered tenderly back as the healer took up vigil by the bedside in her place.  “I’ll be back tomorrow, and all the tomorrow’s after that.”

_____

Harry woke up slowly.  In reality, he was being carefully pulled out of a coma a month later, but he didn’t know this, so to him it just felt like slowly coming to consciousness.  The first thing he realised was that he didn’t hurt quite so badly- indeed the only things he felt at all were that his chest was a little sore and his head hurt a bit and he was still a touch congested- and the second thing he realised was that he could see perfectly, everything above him quite clear, like the three strange faces looking down at him with something he didn’t recognize (he’d seen others look at their children like this- with concern- but surely no-one could be looking at him like that; he must be mistaken).  In addition, he realised that he could hear little sounds in the background that normally were lost to him, like the chirping of birds or the quiet hum of his own breathing.  When he was aware enough to realise that he was in a strange place, he tried to scramble up in fear, but a soft hand on his scarred chest held him gently down.

“Hush child,” the woman connected to it said, “you’re safe.”

“Wh- where am I?” he rasped, confused enough to temporarily forget the rule about ‘not asking questions.’  “Who are you?”

“I’m Minerva McGonagall,” she answered.  “I was a friend of your parents, and you’re at Hogwarts, where you’ll be living from now on.”

“I… my parents?” he asked, confused, his eyes behind their glasses now able to see well enough to focus in on the woman.  “The Dursleys told me my parents were useless drunks… you don’t look like the type of people who would be friends with useless drunks…”

“Yes, well the Dursleys were liars!” the only man in the room growled, and the other woman, the one whose name he didn’t know yet, put a hand on the man’s arm.

“Hush Severus, or you’ll scare him,” she scolded mildly, and Harry looked between the three.

“I’m Poppy, dear,” she said, turning to him and seeing the unspoken question in his eyes.  “We were friends of your parents, (or parent, in Severus’ case, but no need to argue semantics at the moment), and they were not drunks.  They loved you very much, sweetheart.  They died trying to keep you safe.”

“But they died in a car crash,” Harry said, and watched in trepidation as the three faces tightened minutely.  But Minerva put a hand over his own, assuring him with a soft voice that they weren’t mad at him.

“Is that what they told you, then?” she sighed, and Harry nodded minutely.

What followed was a long account of magic, and the rise of Lord Voldemort, and the truth of what happened the night his parents were killed, and when the story was over, Harry was left with a vague, uneasy feeling and the memory of cold, high laughter as he looked up at the three, who he now knew were professors.

“Do you have any questions, Harry?” Poppy asked, giving him the opportunity to voice some of his doubts.

“How… how can you be sure that I have magic?” he asked, trembling a bit.  If it turned out that he didn’t, would they give him back?

Normally, they would have given a muggleborn or muggle-raised student the typical speech about ‘hadn’t they ever made things happen when they were sad or scared or angry?’ but with Harry it was somewhat simpler to explain, although certainly a whole lot sadder.  But it would reassure him beyond any doubt, in its own twisted way.

“Because,” Poppy sighed sadly, brushing the hair back from his forehead, “you wouldn’t have lived so long if you didn’t.  Your magic kept you alive in that house, but now you can use it for other things.”

Harry didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he went to brush a lock of messy hair behind his ear, only to have his fingers brush against a hard, knobby thing that gave a slight crackle of static as it shifted slightly.

“What’s in my ear?” he asked them, feeling reasonably certain that they wouldn’t hit him for asking questions, since they hadn’t so far.

“Those are hearing aids, Harry,” Poppy explained.  “You see, your hearing is not quite as good as it’s supposed to be, so those will help you.  We also got you some glasses to help you see, which you’re wearing now.” Indeed Harry could feel the thin, round golden frames resting against his nose and the side of his face.

“Oh,” Harry responded, not quite sure what else to say.  “Thank you.”

“Of course dear,” Minerva responded, and then Harry felt the strange sensation of having someone kiss his forehead.

“There is also this,” the man with the shoulder-length black hair and hooked nose spoke up for the first time since he’d snapped about the Dursleys.  He held up a strange, small pipe-looking thing with a button on the top and a chain attached in a loop. “It’s an inhaler, and you and each one of us will carry one with us at all times.  If you ever have trouble breathing, you are to put the end in your mouth and push the button like this,” he said, placing Harry’s fingers around the device and carefully showing him how to use it.  “If you lose or forget yours, which is bound to happen since you’re nine, you may call for one of us without worrying that we will be upset with you.”

Harry looked at him dubiously- adults were always upset with him, and just because these three were different so far, he didn’t expect that to extend to the next time he would surely mess up.  He would be punished, and they would send him back, and he would deserve it.

“We really won’t,” Severus said.  “Send you back, I mean.”

“Can you read minds?” Harry looked up at him, astonished.

“Yes, and it’s called legilimency, but I wasn’t doing that to you,” the potions master answered.  “Your thoughts are written all over your face. Now, you should get some rest, and at least one of us will be here when you get up.”

Harry was about to protest that he’d been resting for a month, they’d said, and that now he felt well enough to get up and do some chores and make himself useful, but then he was yawning and his eyes were closing against his will and the world went dark again.

Chapter Text

Harry was confused.  Even though he was only a little bit sick, Miss Poppy (she said that he could call her Poppy, if he wanted, but that just felt too disrespectful to him) said he had to stay for another week.  Harry assumed that this was where he made himself useful, so when she went into her office to do a little work for a bit, Harry got carefully out of his bed in the back corner of the room (Miss Poppy had moved him when the students came back so he wouldn’t be ‘exposed to their germs’).  His legs felt a little like jelly, but other than that he was okay. Now he just needed something to clean with. He didn’t see anything, but then he remembered that he supposedly had magic. So he closed his eyes and concentrated, and soon a mop and bucket and some rags and cleaning supplies appeared, like Aunt Petunia used to make him use.  The bucket was a little lopsided and the mop’s handle was kind of knobby, but they would do. He poured some bleach in a bucket, added some water, and got to work on the floors, scrubbing on his hands and knees.

Then Miss Poppy came back, looking alarmed.  Harry felt a knot tighten in his stomach, and it wasn’t from hunger like it had often been at Privet Drive.

“Did I do it wrong?” he asked, his green eyes full of anxiety.  Poppy felt her heart break.

“No darling, it’s wonderful, it’s just that you don’t have to do chores,” she told him, and Harry looked back at her, not comprehending.

“So you want me to cook instead, then?  Is the mop I made not good enough, because I promise my cooking is better,” he swore, looking at her earnestly.

“No, sweetheart, we have elves for that,” she said, getting down and picking him up, surprised that he had managed such advanced and directed magic without a wand and upset that he was still so light.  “And this is very good magic you did, baby, but you don’t need to do any chores at all, luv. You get to be a kid now.” And then she was tutting in concern over the red patches on his palms and kneecaps where the bleach had irritated his skin and running him a bubble bath.  And she was washing his hair with gentle fingers and softly running a cloth over the scars on his back and chest and wrapping him in a fluffy towel and setting him back in bed with a bowl of soup, and Harry was confused.

“Miss Poppy, I don’t understand,” he told her.

“What don’t you understand, darling?” she asked, tucking the blankets around him.

“I don’t get why you’re being so nice to me,” Harry explained.  “I didn’t earn it.”

“Oh honey,” she sighed, holding back tears and running a thumb gently over his still-hollow cheek.  “You don’t have to earn kindness.  I know those… those…” she searched for a kid-friendly word, “ monsters didn’t treat you like you deserved kindness, but that was their fault, not yours.  You get to be treated well, no matter what.  You don’t have to earn it.”

“I… I don’t?”

“Oh,” Poppy couldn’t hold back a slight sobbing hiccup, “no, sweetie- we love you because you’re Harry, not because you did anything to make us love you.  We just do, because you’re our child.”

“I… I’m your child?” he asked, sniffling a bit, and Poppy reached for a hankie to wipe his nose.

“Of course you are, dear,” Poppy told him, gently but with conviction.  “Mine and Minerva’s and Severus’, and we love you very much. Nothing can ever change that, but it’s okay if you need us to tell you a lot.  I understand that it’s hard for you to believe right now, and that makes sense, considering everything that’s happened to you.”  She carefully reached to readjust one of his hearing aids, which had shifted to the side a bit. Then she cast a shrinking charm on the handle so it would fit his ear better.

“Thanks,” Harry replied in a quiet little voice, his hands clutching the blankets.  “And if it’s alright, I think I love you all too- you and Miss Minerva and Mr. Severus.”

“Oh darling,” Poppy responded, smiling widely and carefully reaching forward to hug Harry, making sure he didn’t react fearfully before continuing, “it’s more than okay- it’s fantastic.”

_________

Weeks passed, and Harry gradually grew more comfortable around the three of them.  He still jumped at loud noises and panicked whenever he dropped something or did anything at all that he considered “wrong” of him, but with the careful reassurances of his guardians (even Severus, who was surprisingly finding himself more and more attached to the little boy, treating him with a gentleness that warmed the heart of the other two women) he slowly became more confident.  Enough that by the time it was nearing Halloween, he felt relaxed enough to pout a bit at all of the restrictions put in place for the sake of his delicate health.

“Why not?” he asked with a doleful sigh when Severus told him he couldn’t go outside.

“The weather is too bad, little one- you could get sick,” Severus told him, ruffling his hair, which he’d long since stopped thinking of as ‘the Potter hair,’ instead just mentally referring to it as ‘Harry’s hair.’

“But it’s just a little bit breezy!” Harry protested, watching through the window.  The sun was shining, and one could merely see a few leaves floating in the wind.

“And it’s only seventeen degrees out,” the potions master reminded him.  “That’s too cold for little boys with asthma and immunity problems.”

“But it’s warm for October,” Harry pointed out, watching students putter about on the grounds, playing hacky sack and gobstones and, far off on the quidditch pitch, children flying on brooms.  Harry watched them with the most longing of all.

“I’m sure you’ll be a bit healthier next summer, and then maybe we can see about getting you on a broom.” Severus tried to comfort Harry without conceding to his sad puppy eyes.  He wanted to give their child what would make him happy, but the tiny nine-year-old had spent so much of his life sick or in pain that he didn’t realise that even though he felt better now than he had in as long as he could remember, that didn’t mean that he was feeling good from an objective point of view.

“Can we at least brew something then- besides a stomach soother or a pepper-up?” he amended, knowing what Severus was about to offer.

“Sorry lamb,” the potions master said, “we should get that bout of pneumonia a little farther behind you before we risk exposing you to anything that might irritate your airways.”

“That’s what you said last week,” Harry sighed.   Honestly, while he absolutely adored being loved like this and having his own room (three times over- in each of his guardians’ quarters!) and people to comfort him after the nightmares, he wasn’t so fond of being treated like he was made of glass.  “What about when I start Hogwarts- are you just gonna make me skip potions class cos of my asthma?”

Severus squirmed uncomfortably- he did plan on having an alternate curriculum for Harry for the few potions that had truly volatile ingredients, but he wasn’t about to tell the kid now, not when he was worked up into such a strop.

“You’ll get to go to potions,” he promised instead.

“Sev,” Harry rolled his eyes (he’d finally stopped using an honorific in front of their names, to their eternal delight), “you guys won’t even let me go in the hallways between classes or whenever there’s students there.”

“I don’t think you understand just how easy it is for you to get sick, flutterbat,” the potions master sighed (and yes, he’d started using random pet names for Harry- he hadn’t meant to, it’s just that he spent so much time with two women who did, and Harry was just so cute, besides…).  “If anyone out there has a cold, you could be laid up in bed again.”

“Are you ever gonna stop worrying so much?” Harry asked, coming away from the window and plopping down next to his half-finished puzzle with a huff.

“We’re probably always going to worry, but your health will improve, at least,” Severus explained.  “By the time you’re eleven, I’m sure you’ll be well enough to spend time in the hallways with your other classmates.”

“But I’ll still have to carry my inhaler?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll always have to carry your inhaler, child, but the attacks will get less frequent as you grow older.”  As for now… well, Harry’s last asthma attack had been that morning, over a little dust on an old tapestry.  The house elves were inconsolable over it, although thankfully Harry hadn’t seen them wailing, or he would have felt terrible about it.  And after a good scolding from Severus, they’d stopped berating themselves and pushed their anxieties in a more positive direction, dusting every remote corner of the castle two and three times over.

“If you say so,” Harry sighed, his hands putting together more puzzle pieces.  Severus felt his forehead, hoping that this cranky mood wasn’t a sign that he was coming down with something.

“I’m fine, Sev,” Harry said, suddenly feeling bad.  “I’m just kinda grumpy today. I shouldn’t be, though- you’re all really good to me, and I’m sorry.”

“Oh Harry,” Severus responded, pushing his hair back and sitting down next to the nine-year-old, “don’t feel bad- you have every right to get a bit cantankerous, after everything you’ve been through.  You might be in a better place now, but your life is still pretty tough, and that’s not fair.”

“But that’s just how it is, huh?” Harry asked, putting the final piece in place, leaving an image of the Hogwarts express chugging down the tracks.

“Unfortunately,” Severus agreed.  Harry was naturally rather wise for his age, after everything he’d suffered.  There were third and fourth years in his classes who couldn’t display the level of maturity and understanding Harry did on a daily basis.  “Would you like to have some treacle tarts and play some wizard’s chess?”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, suddenly chipper.  “But you’re not allowed to let me win this time- and no stomach soother first; I think I can keep it down on my own now.”

Severus agreed reluctantly, and although thirty minutes later saw Harry in check mate and looking a little green, he looked quite proud of himself for managing as well as he did, and thus Severus couldn’t help but be proud of him as well.

Chapter Text

“Am I taller yet, Poppy?” Harry asked impatiently during a check-up later that week as she ran diagnostic charms.

“Not yet, poppet,” she told him, feeling her heart clench when his face fell.  “But I’m sure you’ll grow soon.” She looked at his chart in dissatisfaction- his weight was still too low, his white blood cell counts were abysmal, and his iron… well, it wasn’t great.  Yet she had to remind herself that he was alive and better off, both physically and mentally, than when Severus had brought him in. Right now he was sitting on the bed, swinging his legs that didn’t nearly reach the floor, no doubt waiting for the lolly his guardian always gave him after one of his visits.  He was fairly happy, all things considered. He was quite the happy little boy in general, honestly- he’d been like that since he was a baby- and there was nobody trying to crush his spirit now. Well, except for the headmaster, apparently, as he was still trying to convince them they ought to send him back to the Dursleys for the sake of the ‘blood protection.’  Honestly though, if it had ever worked in the first place, it should have protected him from harm from within as well…

“Here’s your lolly, my love,” she told him with a kiss on the head, handing him a pink one (his favourites).  “I need to go put this information in your file, so why don’t you just sit there for a moment, alright?”

“M’kay,” he agreed pleasantly, his worries about height fading into the background now that he had a treat to snack on.  “Love you.”

“I love you too,” she smiled, glad he’d finally worked up the confidence to say it first.  “You’re my strong little man.”

“Wow,” one voice piped up from behind the curtain on the next bed.

“She’s never that nice to us,” another said, so similar to the first one that Harry reached up to adjust his hearing aids.  He hopped down from the bed, curious to see what was going on.

Two very purple twins looked at him with mischief in their eyes, smiling impishly and smoking a bit about the ears.

“What happened to you two?” he asked curiously, still licking his lollipop.

“Mishap with some Zonko’s goodies,” they answered in unison, sounding rather unconcerned.

“You gotta follow the directions for those,” Harry informed them, hopping up to join them on their bed.  “Sev brings me their stuff all the time, and I’ve never had a problem with it.”

One of them (a teensy bit taller, Harry noticed, and with a mole below his ear that the other didn’t have) looked at him in awe.  “Woah,” he exclaimed breathlessly, “you call Snape Sev?!   That’s hardcore!”

“Course I do,” Harry shrugged.  “I’m his kid.”

The teensy-bit-taller-twin looked at his brother.  “Did you know he had a kid, Gred?”

“I did not, my good Forge.”

“Well, I’m not his exactly,” Harry clarified.  “I mean, he didn’t make me like that,” he said, wrinkling his nose and remembering when he’d had an impromptu lesson on how babies are made when he’d heard some of the older kids talking in the library while he was hiding from Dudley and his gang.  “I’m adopted- by him and Poppy and Minnie.”

“Waaaiiit a second,” Gred (that couldn’t be his real name) suddenly interrupted, looking at Harry’s forehead, “you’re Harry Potter!”

“Please don’t do that,” Harry said, referring to the staring.  “It makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t remember what happened that night, except for some strange laughter.”

“Wicked,” Forge breathed.  “So, are you gonna go trick-or-treating in the village on Friday?”

“There’s gonna be trick or treating in the village?” Harry asked, getting excited.

“Yeah, Dumbledore announced it at breakfast,” Gred told him.  “It’s weird, because first and second years usually aren’t allowed to go to Hogsmeade, not even on Halloween.  This is the first time he’s done this- he had to explain what trick-or-treating is, because not all purebloods are cool and know about muggle stuff like we do.”

“That sounds really fun- I’ve never been trick-or-treating before,” Harry admitted.  “I was never allowed to go where I used to live.”

“Well, you’re at Hogwarts now mate, and we’ll show you how to have a good time.”  Forge wrapped a violet arm around his shoulders.

“Thanks guys.” Harry smiled adorably at them, and the twins began to plan- they could get away with a lot of mischief, if they could only learn how to use that sweet little face to their advantage.   Yes, they were going to get on just fine with Harry…

“Oh, I see you’ve met Fred and George,” Poppy sighed, coming back from her office.  “Wonderful…”

“They told me their names were Gred and Forge,” Harry said, crossing his arms and glaring at them.

“Potato, Tomato.” Fred shrugged.

“Well, they’re quite the troublemakers,” the healer told her boy, waving their wands and restoring them to their normal colours.

“Why Madame Pomfrey, we are hurt!” George clutched a hand over his chest dramatically, as Harry took in just how red and freckled they were.  Then there was a high-pitched whinging in his ears, and the nurse looked at him in concern as he clutched them.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as Harry plucked the hearing aids out of his ears.

“They’re doing that thing again,” he told her, as she picked them up to examine them.

“Honestly,” she grumbled, “the audiologist told me that these were magic-resistant.”

“I’ll be right back,” she said above her normal volume, and Harry nodded as she went to fix them again.

“What are those?” George asked, and Harry looked at him.

“WHAT?” he called quite loudly, a little off-kilter now that his hearing was back to its sub-par state for the moment.

“WHAT. ARE. THOSE?” Fred screamed back, and Harry narrowed his eyes at him.

“You didn’t have to be quite that loud,” he said crossly, wondering if they were making fun of him.  “But those are my hearing aids- my ears aren’t so good and I need them to help fix it.”

“Oh,” George nodded in understanding.  “Sorry- we didn’t know.”

Harry scrutinized them for a moment before realising they were serious and hadn’t been trying to hurt his feelings.  “It’s okay.”

“All better,” Poppy came back in with the now-recalibrated devices.  “Here,” she placed them gently in his ears. “Is that better?”

“Much, thank you,” Harry replied, fixing the handles around the his earlobes.  “Maybe Uncle Filius can put a spell on them so they don’t do that again.”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Poppy agreed, “since the audiologist clearly doesn’t know how to neutralise magical input.”

“What’s an aldi-ologist?” George asked, and Poppy turned to him, hands on hips.

“I know your parents taught you how to use the dictionary, so why don’t you go look it up there and stay out of trouble for a while,” she instructed the two, shooing them off the bed.  “And please try to use the products according to the instructions on the box next time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Fred grumbled as they left.  “I’ll tell you- nowhere!”

“Ugh,” Poppy groaned.  “Those two are going to be the death of me.”

“I like them,” Harry giggled, and the healer saw just the smallest bit of his father peeking through.

“Why am I not surprised?” she rolled her eyes as she lifted him off the bed.  “So, what do you want to do for the rest of the day, sugarbug?”

“Actually, can we talk about Friday?” Harry asked timidly, and Poppy’s heart stopped for a moment- did he… how had he remembered that his parents died on Halloween?  They hadn’t told him yet, not wanting to ruin the holiday for him.

Her worries turned out to be unfounded, however, as Harry continued onwards.  “Fred and George said all the kids are going trick-or-treating in the village- can I go too?” he begged.  “Pretty please?”

Oh dear- now she had a new problem.  “Bunny, your health…”

“It’ll just be for one night,” her child bartered.  “I never got to go before.”

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry.”  She pulled him to her chest.  “I’d love to let you go, but there have been some colds going around, and then it snowed yesterday, and if you get sick again…”

“It’s okay,” Harry sighed sadly.  “I understand.” And he did, really… he just wished he could go still…

“We’ll think of something else fun to do though, sweetie, I promise,” Poppy told him, carefully pulling a strand of hair from behind his glasses.

“Alright.”  The poor boy still looked somewhat melancholy, but he was trying to put on a brave face so Poppy would feel better, bless him.

_____

Halloween finally rolled around, and Poppy, Severus, and Minerva had planned what would hopefully be a fun night for him.  During the feast, they would take him down to the kitchen to see the house elves and eat there to distract him from the fact that he wasn’t able to eat in the Great Hall with everyone else, and then, when everyone else was out trick-or-treating in the village, he would get to go trick or treating at all the professor’s quarters.  Severus would take him, since stupid Albus had put Minerva on chaperone duty in the village and Poppy had to stay in the hospital wing in case anyone was injured.

“Hello Little Master Harry!” the little creatures squeaked out as Severus took him down to the kitchens and taught him how to tickle the pear.  “We’s so excited to see you!”

“I’m happy to see you guys too,” Harry told them.  He was dressed like Merlin- the real Merlin, not the muggle idea of Merlin.  The real Merlin had dark hair and wore emerald green robes, a nod to his old Hogwarts house, and he had a black beard.  They didn’t want to put a fake beard on Harry in case it aggravated his asthma, so they told a little white lie about him shaving it off once a year so he could start over on Halloween.  Harry also had a pointy hat (one of Minerva’s, just shrunk down), and Poppy had spelled little sparkling stars onto the robes. Hagrid had whittled him a beautiful staff like the one the famous wizard used to carry, and Harry was smiling from ear to ear as the elves all admired his costume while they laid out the food.  He tried to help his creature friends, but they wouldn’t hear of it.

“It is not being your job, little master,” they waved him off.  “We’s got it just fine, anyhows.”

“If you’re sure…” Harry eventually conceded, sitting down as plates were laid in front of them.  They tucked in eagerly, and Harry managed to finish just over half his plate before he pushed it away, full.

“Alright flutterbat (that was Severus’ favourite nickname for him- if the students were going to call him ‘the dungeon bat,’ he might as well make the most of it), are you ready to go trick or treating with all the professors?”

“Yep,” Harry smiled widely.  “And thank you so much for doing this for me.”

“Of course,” Severus told him, pulling Harry tenderly to his side and glad none of the students were around to witness this display of softness.  “Anything for you- you know that.”

“I’m learning,” Harry admitted, his cheeks pinking slightly as he grabbed the man’s hand, pulling him towards the door.

They started in Professor Sprout’s quarters, since she lived the closest to the kitchen.

“Hello, my little mandrake,” the Head of Hufflepuff greeted.  “I love your costume.”

“Thank you,” Harry beamed as she piled candy in his bag and kissed his cheek.

“I’m so glad you got to do this tonight,” she told him.  “I almost had to be a chaperone in the village, but we managed to convince him that just one would be enough.”  The headmaster had tried to put half the staff on Hogsmeade duty, but they’d all pressured him until he eventually agreed to only one, but only if it was Minerva.  Pomona Sprout was a very patient woman, but Albus had been getting on her nerves lately…

“I’m glad,” the nine-year-old smiled, taking the chocolate frog she handed him after she’d filled nearly half his bag and munching on it.  “Thanks for the candy, Aunt Pomona.”

“Next stop, Ravenclaw tower,” Severus announced, taking the little brown hand Harry offered him in his own sallow one.  The child was nattering on about one of the potions books he’d read from Severus’ shelf, surprising the man with both his reading skills and comprehension of the subject.  He felt the heart that he hadn’t realised he had fill with pride- that was his boy…

“Trick-or-treat, alohomora!” Harry called cheerfully, knocking on Flitwick’s door.  The little man (who was a few inches taller than Harry) answered pleasantly, commending Harry on his charms prowess.

“Do you like acid pops?” he asked the child, and Snape shook his head no from behind- too corrosive.

“Oh, never mind- I’ve run out of those,” the professor announced, taking the hint.  “How about a chocolate frog- say, have you gotten taller?”

“Yep,” Harry beamed.  “A quarter inch- just three quarters more and I’ll be three foot ten.  Fred and George said they didn’t notice.”

“Well,” Filius declared, “they simply weren’t paying enough attention.”  To be honest, he, a fellow short person, hadn’t noticed either, but he’d needed a diversion and now Harry was gracing him with an adorably charming smile that was the carbon copy of his old favourite student’s, so only good had come of it.

“Speaking of those twins,” Severus began, “they’ve been causing quite a bit of trouble in my class, and detentions don’t quite seem to do it.”

“Tell me about it,” Flitwick agreed.  “They’re smart and their marks are good, but they’re rather impossible in lectures- sometimes I think they ought to have been Ravenclaws...”

“Does anything work for you?” the Slytherin asked, and they began discussing the finer points of disciplining the incorrigible doppelgangers.  

As the two men went on about adult stuff, Harry’s hearing aids picked up on something strange- they began crackling with static like mad, but they shouldn’t be- they hadn’t since Uncle Filius had fixed them last week.  That must mean that there was a lot of magic nearby.  Harry’s curious nature got the better of him, and he headed towards the source of the crackling in his hearing aids and the tingling feeling on the back of his neck.  He figured Severus wouldn’t mind- after all, he wasn’t going far, and he was a big boy who didn’t need to bother someone every time he wanted to wander a few meters.

What he wandered into was the middle of a fight- three boys, two in Gryffindor robes and one in Slytherin against another Gryffindor hard pressed to defend himself.  He was older, taller than Harry could ever hope to be, and with red hair down to his shoulders. He looked a lot like Fred and George, and he realised suddenly that this must be Charlie, the second-oldest Weasley brother and a seventh year.

He was clearly a great dueller, but three on one wasn’t fair at all, and Harry’s blood boiled with the injustice of it.  He’d been bullied before, mercilessly so by Dudley and his gang and by all the kids in school (when he said that he’d overheard the older kids talking about sex, what he really meant was that they’d held him down and told him about it, making it quite clear to him that he was probably the drunken accident of his no-good parents.  Then they’d whacked him with a dictionary for good measure). He wasn’t about to sit by and watch it happen to someone else if there was anything in the world he could do about it. As a bolt of red light that was clearly harmful to the point of being illegal headed towards Charlie’s chest, Harry’s sense of righteous anger exploded around them in a powerful shield, well worthy of a NEWTS student.  It wasn’t quite strong enough to cover two, however, and Harry was a noble little bean who took the brunt of the deadly spell. He had covered enough of himself to keep it from killing him, thankfully, but that didn’t ease Severus’ worry.  Harry hadn’t realised he’d been rushing up to him just a millisecond too late, not with his hearing aids on the fritz, so the man’s sudden appearance surprised him a bit.

“I’m alright,” he grunted preemptively, even though his tiny body was already awash with pain.

“That spell causes a slow death by gut-wrenching pain, and you are nine- you’re not alright!” Severus cried, as Flitwick stunned the three perpetrators.  

“Didn’t get the full thing,” Harry informed him through gritted teeth, trying not to react as the spasms grew more intense.

“It’s still serious, flutter,” Snape gasped as he ran a diagnostic.  “You won’t die, but you could be in pain for hours or even days- we have to get you to the hospital wing.”

“Oh c’mon!” Harry whinged.  “I can muscle through just as well in my room.”

“We need to have you under Poppy’s eye, in case the spell causes any damage,” Severus said, his stern tone effectively ending the conversation as he picked Harry up.  “Mr. Weasley, you come with us; I need to know what happened.”

“They were mad that I wouldn’t cheat in the last quidditch match,” Charlie informed him.  “Which means that Gryffindor lost, which made Glen and Rick mad, and then Starek was mad because now Ravenclaw has enough points that there’s next to no chance that they can win the cup.”

“Quidditch is brutal,” Harry noted as another wave of keening agony crashed down on him and he bit back a whimper.

“It’s not supposed to be,” Charlie said, clenching his fists.  “They’re just bad people. Will pain potions help him, Professor?” he inquired, worried about Harry.

“I’m afraid not,” Severus sighed.  “This was a spell devised by death eaters during the war- they must have had connections, to know it.  If it was as notorious as the cruciatus, it would be on the list with the other unforgivables.” And his child was suffering through that, because he hadn’t been paying enough attention…

“Not your fault, Sev,” Harry told him in his gentle little voice, reaching out to clutch his hand comfortingly, even though his own forehead was beading with sweat from the pain.  Severus was impressed beyond belief by his restraint- anyone else would have been screaming by now. By some blessed miracle, the shield had saved him from the death at the end, but Severus knew by the diagnostic at the end that it hadn’t spared him much of the paroxysm of agony the spell created.

“Sev’rus?” a soft, weak voice pulled him back to the present.  “I think I’m gonna throw up…”

“Just let it out- I’ll clean up later,” the potions master responded, wanting to get him to the hospital wing as quickly as possible, which meant not taking the time for him to find a place for Harry to heave.  When the little boy did throw up all over the front of his robes, his only concern was regret that Harry had sicked up after he’d eaten the best he had since they’d brought him home.

Not wanting to take the time to explain the whole thing, Severus just barked at the healer to perform legilimency as he pulled the memory towards the front of his mind.  When she pulled out, her eyes were fire.

“Take him to his usual bed- I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do except monitor him,” she grit out, angry that everything had to happen to her baby.   He didn’t deserve any of it- none of it at all.  He deserved happiness and kindness and all the good health in the world.  And instead…

Instead he was having a goddamn asthma attack, the stress of fighting against the pain acting as a very effective trigger.  Severus pulled one of Harry’s inhalers out of his pocket, shoving it in the child’s mouth and pushing the button repeatedly until he at least stopped wheezing.

“Hurts,” Harry moaned, finally losing the battle to stay silent.  “Hurts Sevvy… hurts so much…”

“I know flutter, I know,” Severus told him softly, re-adjusting his hearing aid and pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead.  “If I could take it myself I would, but I’ll be here the whole time. It’s okay if you need to scream- just let it out.”

“Hurts too much to scream,” Harry gasped hoarsely, gulping air frantically.  “Just wanna sleep, but I can’t.”

“I wish we could give you something to help you sleep, but it would react badly with the spell.  But I promise it’ll be okay- as soon as you’ve ridden this out, you can sleep as much as you want.”

“I’ve got to put an IV line in him Severus, since I doubt he’ll be in any state to eat or drink anything until this wears off,” Poppy announced, wheeling out on of the muggle saline bag she kept for emergencies like this.  “I need you to hold him down, because if he starts convulsing while I’m trying to get the needle in it would be bad.”

“Alright,” the man nodded resolutely, steeling himself to press Harry to the bed for his own good, even though it would exacerbate the agony.  “I’m sorry Harry.”

“S’okay,” he groaned.  “Not your fault.” Then his back arched as Severus pushed him down, as gently as he possibly could while still being effective.

“Owwww,” he whimpered, as Poppy found the vein and put the needle in his hand.  “Hurts so bad.”

It hurt to watch him, too, but it hurt worse to know that their suffering paled to the boy in the bed, not even ten years old and already having suffered more than anyone should and still suffering despite their best efforts.  Severus felt terrible- if only he hadn’t taken his eyes off of Harry. The poor child didn’t realise he was walking into danger, but he was an adult… he should have known…

Poppy would have told him not to blame himself, if she could speak around the lump in her throat.

Chapter Text

Twenty-five hours.  Twenty-five hours and three asthma attacks before the spell finally wore off and Harry gave a shudder of pure relief before dropping off to sleep.

“I hope they’re going to Azkaban, the people who did this to him,” Severus swore vehemently.  “They could have killed him- they deserve much worse than the kiss.”

“It took a fight and a half with the headmaster, but they are,” Flitwick came in suddenly, looking exhausted.  “He wanted to give them detention- I went behind his back and called the aurors, so it’s out of his hands now.”

“Is he going to be alright now?” Charlie asked.  He’d stayed the entire time, feeling terrible that a nine-year-old had jumped in to risk his life for him.

“Fine- just weak and tired for a while.  That much pain really takes it out of someone, especially someone so young, whose health wasn’t the best in the first place…” Poppy sighed, giving Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Nothing else was said for the moment, as Molly Weasley suddenly burst through the floo, a basket of baked goods hanging from her arm as her hands cradled a pile of hand-knit blankets.

“Charlie, your father and I have just heard the news!  Three boys were arrested for trying to attack you?! And oh,” she suddenly turned to look at Harry’s prone form, his body still wracked with tremors as he lie in an exhausted stupor.  “You poor dear- oh, you’ve saved my boy!”  She was full-on sobbing as she set the basket on the night table and began tucking the blankets around Harry, feeling his scarred forehead for signs of a fever and seeming not to care at all that he was Harry Potter- to her, he was just a sick little boy who had completely and irrevocably wormed his way into her heart and her family.  It didn’t matter that she’d not yet heard him speak a word- this was one of her boys now, her one non-ginger child.

“Shh, don’t wake him mum,” Charlie ordered in a whisper as she bustled about.

“It’s alright,” Poppy told him, “he’s so tired that he could sleep through a hurricane even if I hadn’t taken his hearing aids out.”

“Poor little chuck,” Molly sighed, fluffing the pillows.  “I hope those awful boys get a life sentence- they had better.”

“I’m afraid it’s looking doubtful at the moment,” Minerva thundered, coming into the hospital wing on a wave of fury.  “I’ve just talked to Albus- he plans to file an appeal for the boys to allow them to be let off on probation!”

“He wouldn’t!” the potions master snarled.  “He can’t!”

“Well, he intends to,” Minerva grit out.  “I tried to change his mind, but he dismissed me quite rudely after I punched him in the face.”

“You punched the headmaster in the face?” Charlie yelped, shocked.  She stared calmly back at her seeker.

“With a chair, yes.”

“Wow…” His head of house was truly inspirational.

“I’ll be right back,” Molly bellowed, stomping off, a woman on a mission.

_____

Moments later, Fred and George were going about their (not completely innocent) business when they heard the sound that always stopped them in their tracks- the sound of their mother yelling.  And right now she sounded angrier than they’d ever heard her, even when they nearly brought the house down by putting filibuster fireworks in muggle cola.

“ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE,” she began, roaring so loudly the entire hallway could hear her.   “MERLIN WON’T BE ENOUGH TO HELP YOU IF YOU FILE THAT APPEAL- I SWEAR ON GODRIC’S ROTTING CORPSE THAT I WILL END YOU!  THOSE MONSTERS WERE OF AGE AND THEY KNOWINGLY TRIED TO KILL TWO OF MY SONS WITH A SPELL THAT VERY WELL SHOULD BE AN UNFORGIVABLE, AND IF YOU TRY TO EXCUSE THAT, THERE IS NOWHERE ON THIS EARTH THAT YOU CAN HIDE FROM ME- NO, I WILL NOT CALM DOWN, DO YOU HEAR ME?!  I WILL END YOU, AND THEY WILL NEVER FIND YOUR BODY, OLD MAN!”

“We should probably go now, ey Forge?” Fred asked his brother, who nodded quickly, plans forgotten as they scurried away as quickly as they could.

_____

“Circe’s swinging tits, I think I hear her from here,” Charlie declared back in the hospital wing, and Poppy swatted him with a roll of bandages.

“Language, young man- my son is right there ,” she scolded, and Charlie didn’t bother pointing out that he was asleep, nor that if you were to ask his mother, Harry was apparently her son.

“Please don’t hit me!” Harry cried suddenly in his sleep, tossing and turning and drawing a whimper of pain from his battered body.  “I didn’t mean to mess up on Dudley’s homework- honest!”

“I’m going to kill them,” Minerva exploded.  “I’m going to go, and I’m going to kill them.”

“Minerva, I want to kill them too, but think about Harry,” Poppy cautioned.  “Think about what would happen to him if you were arrested, or if we had to drag them through a court case- that’s why we agreed not to report them yet in the first place, remember?”

“I can brew a potion that can’t be tracked; it’ll look like they died naturally,” Severus offered, his hands already itching to reach for the ingredients.

“With Dumbledore watching our every move?” Poppy turned to him.  “Look, I hate them just as much as you do, but Harry is our number one priority right now, and we are in a precarious situation.  He’s famous, you two, and that means that we as his guardians are going to have our every move picked apart by the public.  Dumbledore is against us and has so much more power in the ministry than we do- we cannot afford to slip up right now.”

“Well we can’t just let them get away with it!” Minerva fumed, fists clenched.  “They have to pay!”

“And they will,” Poppy swore.  “Just not right now. But one day, when things are more stable for us and they think they’re safe- one day, they’re going to suffer.”

“Mummy?” Harry cried out suddenly, “why are we running- where’s Dada?  Why’s he not moving- mummy?”

“Oh my God,” Severus whispered, his throat dry.  “I… I need a minute…”

He ran from the room like it was on fire, and Minerva looked at Poppy.  “Has it been long enough since the spell for him to have a dreamless sleep?”

Poppy swallowed.  “I… I think it should be okay, if we give him a small dose… I’ll go fetch it.”

She brought back a small phial half-filled with the deep purple potion, gently prying his mouth open and propping his head up so he could tip it down his throat.

“No, Aunt ‘Tuny- please don’t make me drink it; it makes me throw up,” he sobbed, before the last of the liquid slipped down his throat and his sleep went quiet.

“So they just poisoned him for fun then,” the nurse muttered, readjusting Harry to a more comfortable position.  “No wonder he was so afraid to eat anything we gave him at first…” It had been a week before Harry had stopped looking at the dinner tray like it might try to bite him.  At first they’d thought that it was just because he’d never been allowed to eat much before…

“So the corrosion in his stomach lining- it wasn’t just from malnutrition, then?” Minerva sighed tiredly.

“I suppose not,” Poppy murmured.   “Merlin, I wish we could kill them…”

Harry was now cuddling the pile of blankets Mrs. Weasley had given him, snoring slightly as his eyelids fluttered.  He look so innocent like this, like he hadn’t been put through hell every day of his young life…

“It’s going to be alright,” Minerva soothed, placing a hand softly over Poppy’s.  “We have him now.”

“You’re right; we do,” Poppy agreed.  “I suppose that’s what we have to focus on.”

“Yes.” Minerva nodded tersely, the lines of her face still tense.  “I’m going to go find Severus, make sure he’s not trying to drink himself into oblivion…”

____

Harry slept for three days straight, with the help of the dreamless sleep and the exhaustion.  When he woke, it was to Mrs. Weasley knitting by his bedside, Ron and Ginny by her feet while Minerva and Severus taught classes and Poppy dealt with a Gryffindor who had tried to give herself a nose job and accidentally hexed it off.  

“Checkmate,” Ron told his eight-year-old sister.

Ginny just rolled her eyes at him.  “Whatever- can we play gobstones now?”

“No gobstones,” Molly ordered.  “They stink, and we don’t need that in here.”

“I think he’s waking up, mum,” Ron whispered, nudging Molly’s arm as he looked at Harry curiously.

“Good morning dear,” the redheaded woman told him softly, her knitting needles continuing to move themselves.

“S’mornin?” he yawned, lifting one sore arm to rub his eyes tiredly.  The woman gently pushed it back down, taking out a clean hanky to do it for him.

“Yes poppet, it is,” she confirmed.  “I’m Molly Weasley, by the way- that was my son Charlie that you saved the other night.”

“Is he ok?” Harry asked, heart rate speeding up as he tried to crane his head around to look at the seventh year.

“Yes dear, he’s fine, thanks to you- just rest,” Molly ordered, tucking the blankets back up around him.  “This is Ron and Ginny, by the way.”

“Hullo,” Ron held one hand, scrubbed clean and pink on orders of his mother, out to the other boy.  Harry tried to disentangle his own hands from the blankets, but Ron just put his down.

“S’alright,” he said.  “Close enough.”

“Are you really Harry Potter?” the little girl asked, and Molly turned stern eyes on her.

“Ginny!” she scolded, “I told you not to ask that question, remember?”

“Sorry,” Ginny shrugged, completely unapologetically.  She scooted closer to Harry, peering at his scar.

“Uh, could you please not do that?” Harry asked her quietly.  “It makes me really uncomfortable.”

“But does the scar hurt?” she asked, fascinated and curious.

“Um, no?”

“Brilliant,” she breathed, her hair tickling his nose as she scooted closer.  Harry sneezed.

“Er, sorry…” he told her, but she seemed quite chuffed about it.

“Harry Potter sneezed on my face!” she cried.  “Cool!”

“That’s enough, Ginny,” Molly scolded, her eyes telling her daughter there would be a discussion later.  “Why don’t you go try to find your way to Gryffindor tower, bring Percy that book he forgot.”  She handed her youngest a wrapped parcel, and Ginny took it reluctantly, sulking off.

“Sorry about that, pet,” Molly told him.  “She’s very outgoing, our Ginny, and she’s in a bit of a rebellious stage at the moment.”

“Don’t you mean ‘her whole life?’” Ron muttered, rubbing a scar on his knuckle from where she’s scratched him in one of their scuffles.

“Oh come now Ronny, she’s not quite so difficult as that,” his mother chided gently.  “She’s just… well, she’s our little firecracker.”

“So uh, what are you knitting?” Harry asked eventually, his voice timid.

“Oh, do you like it?” Molly asked, holding up a nearly-finished green jumper with a gold H.   “I think it’ll be a bit big on you, but people seem to like theirs that way.”

“That… that’s for me?” Harry whispered, his eyes wide.

“Of course dear,” she told him, needles beginning to cast off of their own accord.  “All my children get a Weasley jumper.”

“Y- your children?” he asked, eyes pooling with tears.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Molly realised that she might be coming on a bit strongly.  “Is that too much?”

“No, it’s fine… thank you,” he sniffed, and she reached for the hankie to wipe his nose again as the yarn end wove itself in.   “I… it’s beautiful…”

“It’s lovely and warm, too,” she told him.  “Here- let’s get it on, poor little chuck, you’re shivering…”

Ron watched this interaction with careful, calculating eyes.  His mother gave them affection like that all the time, but to Harry it seemed overwhelming, like he wasn’t used to being treasured.  That made Ron feel sad- his parents always said that children should be treasured. He could help make Harry feel treasured…

“D’you wanna play wizard’s chess?” he asked his new friend.  “I can teach you, if you don’t know.”

“Okay, sure,” he agreed.  “Let me just fix my hearing aids first.”  Molly had put them back in for him, but she didn’t quite know how to adjust them properly, so they were resting a bit uncomfortably against the lobes.

“Oh, I’m sorry darling,” she told him, but Harry shook his head.

“It’s not your fault,” he told her.  “They’re really difficult; it took me forever to learn how to get them to stay good and proper.”

Ron got the old set settled comfortably on the night table, pulling up a chair.  “So the way chess works is like this…”

____

Three weeks later, and Molly was on a mission.  Between cleaning and cooking and minding the children, she was drafting increasingly impatient letters to the ministry, urging them to add the spell that the three boys had used on Harry to the unforgivables list.  She had all the clippings from The Daily Prophet covering the trial pinned up on a cork board.  There were knitting needles going in a corner knitting Harry a pair of warm socks and another set in the rocking chair working on Bill’s Weasley jumper for Christmas, which was just over a month away.  Carrots were scrubbing and chopping themselves on the cutting board under the watchful eye of the ladle stirring the roux on the stove, and Molly’s quill was scratching quickly across the paper, stopping every so often so she could dip it in the ink again, as she kept the corner of one eye on her two youngest and Ginny’s friend Luna Lovegood as they worked on a puzzle, the rain pouring down outside keeping them in.

“Mum?” Ginny asked, “Can Harry come over?”

“Not today dear- you’ve got a cold, remember?”

“But it’s barely a sniffle!” she protested, “and he told me he was gonna show me how to make shadow puppets!”

“It’s just a little sniffle for you, but remember how I explained to you that Harry gets sick really easily?” Molly reminded her daughter, as patiently as possible.  “A cold could have him stuck in bed for weeks, and we don’t want that, now do we?”

“No,” Ginny sighed plaintively.  “Why does he get sick so easy, anyway?”

“He’s just got a bad immune system, dear,” Molly said, not wanting to go into it all with her eight-year-old, the type of things people could do to their children.  “Now, why don’t you help mummy by scrubbing the potatoes, hmm?”

“Oh, um…” Ginny mumbled, making exaggerated sniffing motions, “I don’t think I feel so good after all…”

_____

“Are you ready, flutterbat?” Severus asked Harry as he put another scarf on him and then looked at his shoes, trying to decide if he should take them off and put on a fourth pair of socks.

“Yep,” Harry answered, smiling at him.  They were going Christmas shopping in muggle London today so that he could get gifts for them and all his friends.  They’d finished their Christmas shopping for Harry months ago, although they still picked up whatever they saw that they thought looked nice whenever they were out, and the secret closets in all three of their quarters were running out of room.

“Alright then- nice and warm,” Severus declared, placing one of Molly’s hand-knit hats atop Harry’s mess of hair and pulling a runaway curl out of his eyes.  “Maybe we’ll even meet Father Christmas.”

“Sev,” Harry looked at him, unimpressed.  “I know Father Christmas isn’t real.”

“Now, who told you such a thing?” the man teased, picking him up.

“I can walk Sev, and nobody told me- I just knew, because I was the one who set out the presents from ‘Father Christmas’ to Dudley.”

Severus did not put him down as he carried him out of his quarters and to their meeting point with Minerva and Poppy.  “Maybe he just couldn’t get to you because of the wards,” he offered, and Harry shook his head.

“Nice try, but I think that if you could find me, Father Christmas probably could too,” he reasoned.  

“Cynical child.”  Severus shook his head fondly.  “In a magic castle, and you don’t believe in Father Christmas.”

“Ha ha,” Harry raised an eyebrow at him, his little booted feet dangling.  “Can I walk now?”

“Mmmm, I don’t know,” Severus pretended to think.  “Maybe I quite like holding you hostage here.”

“Seeev!”

“Oh, alright,” the man agreed reluctantly, setting him down on the floor and slowing his steps so Harry wouldn’t have to rush to keep up.  They soon reached the fireplace in a secluded spot in the hallway behind the transfiguration classroom, the one they’d set up to take them to Hogsmeade station, and they could apparate from there to the alleyway behind The Leaky Cauldron, so they could avoid the wizarding crowds who would stare at Harry if they floo’d to the building himself.

“I brought your stomach soother,” Poppy said, handing Harry the light-blue potion after the apparation, and he took it gratefully.

“That’s a bad way to travel,” he shuddered.  “You think wizards would have come up with more comfortable teleportation by now.”

“Maybe you’ll invent it, one day,” Minerva told him.  “You’re a smart boy- I wouldn’t be surprised if you changed the world somehow.”

“You guys are so silly,” he told them as they stepped through into the muggle world.  “Wow…” Wide green eyes took everything in, Poppy holding one hand so he wouldn’t get lost.  “Look at this place…” The Dursleys had never taken him into the city when they went with Dudley, so this was his first time.

“Our first stop is for lunch,” Minerva announced.  “You need to eat something, luv.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, not really bothered one way or the other.  They stopped in a fairly nice Italian restaurant, and Harry sat quietly looking around at the artwork on the walls as they brought the drinks, his feet hanging from the chair.  He buttered his bread carefully before one of the others could do it for him, and he drank from the glass without spilling.

“What would you like to eat, Harry?” Severus asked, showing him the children’s menu.  “You can pick anything you want.”

“I’m good with anything.” Harry shrugged, so Poppy went ahead and got him the alfredo, with extra chicken and broccoli, because he needed the protein and the vitamins.  He was quietly trying to copy some of the paintings on the walls with his crayons and paper menu when a woman came up to him.

“Pardon me,” she said, “but your little darling is just so nice and well-behaved.  My twins are seven now, but they were never that quiet or polite at his age.”

“I’m nine,” Harry told her in a neutral tone, looking up from his menu for a moment.

“Oh, pardon me,” she stammered.  “I didn’t- oh goodness…”

“S’okay,” Harry forgave her, magnanimously shrugging it off even though he was blushing hotly, incredibly embarrassed.  “Er, good luck with your twins…”

“Thank you,” she told him, also blushing as she retreated back to her own table, thankfully not in sight of theirs.

“I’m gonna grow, right?” Harry looked up at the three adults pleadingly.  “This won’t happen for the rest of my life, right?”

“You’ll grow eventually,” Minerva promised.  “Even if you’re a little shorter than most people, you’ll look your age when you’re all grown up.”

“Alright,” Harry sighed as the food came, but they all noticed that he put his best effort into eating as much as he could.  

“Don’t push yourself, sweetheart,” Poppy eventually told him, as he eyed the still-full plate wearily.  “If you throw it all up, it won’t help you grow- that’s part of why you’re on the nutrient poti- supplements,” she corrected herself quickly.

“Thanks,” he sighed, pushing the food away with relief.  “That was a lot.”

The waitress looked sideways at Harry as she picked up their plates.  “Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?” she asked him, and he nodded.

“Just full,” he mumbled, still not quite sure how to deal with the concerned looks he got from everyone.  Nobody in Privet Drive had looked at him like that, even though he’d looked a whole lot worse. It was better than being looked at with distrust, but he’d rather that strangers didn’t pay attention to him at all.

“Too full for a free dessert?” the waitress dangled the offer, charmed by the adorable, sickly-looking little boy.

“Yes ma’am- sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet.

“Oh, that’s alright,” she assured him as she finished clearing the table.   So cute, she mouthed to the adults, since Harry was still looking down.  They nodded and smiled politely- she was right, after all.

“Are you ready to go to the mall, then?” Minerva asked Harry, picking him up and putting him on her hip, worried about him getting trampled in the crowded shopping centre.

“Yes please,” Harry responded.

When they passed a large department store that was advertising ‘Pictures with Father Christmas!’ in big letters, and Poppy locked eyes with Minerva.

“Oh, couldn’t you be persuaded to take a picture with him?” the tabby animagus looked at her little boy with pleading eyes.

“If you really want me to…” Harry sighed.  He loved these people, so if it meant that much for him to sit on a stranger’s lap so they could get a photo, he’d do it.

“Thank you poppet,” Poppy said, kissing his cheek.

The line was fairly short, so it was only a few minutes until Harry was seated on the lap of a fat man in a red and white suit, making an awkward smile for the camera.  But then the man with the fake beard was asking him what he wanted for Christmas, and Harry hadn’t gotten quite that far.

“Um… I dunno…” he stammered eventually.  “C’n you just take the picture?” he turned pleadingly to the woman behind the camera, who smiled but agreed.  As soon as the click went off, Harry jumped off the man’s lap as quickly as he could, shuffling back towards his guardians, cheeks aflame.

“Three copies, please,” Minerva gave the woman twenty quid, and she gave them a paper receipt.

“You can get them printed behind the counter,” she instructed.

“Thank you,” Poppy said with a smile.

Once they’d gotten the photos, Minerva handed them each a copy in an envelope, and Severus slipped his into his pocket with the smallest of smiles.  If he had it framed and put it on his bedside table, well, nobody had to know.

“So, I wanted to get some wool to make Mrs. Weasley something…” Harry began, as they walked into the mall proper.  He knew how to knit, because Petunia hated doing it and so pushed anything she’d had to make off on him, and he wanted to make the kind, caring woman a Weasley jumper.

“Oh, a toy store,” Minerva declared, as they passed a Hamley’s.  “Let’s just look in, hmm?”

“Well, I did want to get something for Ron and Ginny…” Harry agreed, mentally counting the pocket money that he’d saved, from when the three gave it to him every week.  He hadn’t spent a pence of it yet, his upbringing having taught him to be frugal.

“You can get them anything you like, darling,” Minerva told him, the thought not even occurring to her that Harry might expect to pay for it himself.

“Alright,” he murmured.  “Thank you.” He wandered the aisles for a bit, the three behind him as he carefully looked at the boxes, eventually picking out a set of wind-up toy soldiers for Ginny (so she could wage war with them instead of with her siblings), and, after careful consideration, a new puzzle toy called a Rubix Cube for Ron.  Then he took out his little green wallet, beginning to count out bills to give to the three so they could use them when they paid.

“What are you doing, honey?” Poppy asked.  “You don’t have to use your allowance for this.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Harry said, a little desperately.  He was confused- they gave him a weekly allowance but then wouldn’t even let him do chores (and then each of the three kept slipping in extra on the side, trying to outdo each other, no matter how much Harry tried to politely decline) and then still insisted on paying for everything?  He didn’t quite know what to do with that…

“Shh, let us do this for you,” Minerva shushed, gently pushing the money back into Harry’s hand.  “Now, would you like to pick out a little something for yourself, while you’re here?”

“Um…” Harry felt very overwhelmed- he didn’t really need anything, but the three were looking at him expectantly, so he eventually picked out a little doll with red hair and green eyes that he felt drawn to, because it looked like the pictures of his mum that his guardians had shown him.  It wasn’t too expensive- it cost less than anything else on that particular shelf, so he felt less uncomfortable picking that than any other toy.

The three noticed why he’d picked that one, of course, but they didn’t say anything, just merely put it in the cart as well.

“Is that all you want, poppet?” Poppy asked him, and he nodded timidly.

“I don’t know,” Severus murmured, “I think this lego set would be great for stimulating mental development- I’ll just go ahead and put it in the cart.”  He threw in a large box decorated with a photo of a giant lego castle.

“Good idea,” Minerva nodded her agreement, “additionally, it kind of resembles Hogwarts.”

“Oh, and look at this cute toy doctor set,” Poppy added, admiring a realistic-looking medical bag full of copies of some of the basic tools she herself used.  “That might be fun at your next checkup.” She added it to the cart as well.

“What a lovely tabby plushy,” Minerva noted admiringly, adding a stuffed cat to the bunch.

“Oh, a chemistry set,” Severus hummed, “and it appears that all the ingredients are rather mild- it won’t aggravate your asthma.”

Harry watched with wide eyes, clutching his doll as they added more and more toys to the cart, until by the time they got to the till, the pile of goods was taller than he was.  He just blinked up at it, astonished.

“Oh, come now pet,” Minerva soothed, rubbing his head gently when she saw how uncertain he looked.  “You didn’t get any new toys for eight long years- let us do this for you, hmm?”

“I-if you really want to…” he stuttered eventually, watching the cashier ring them all up.  Eventually, she looked down at him, and Harry realised with no small mortification that he still had his hands wrapped around the doll, as yet unpaid for.

“Sor… sorry,” he whispered, looking anywhere but her face.  She scanned it quickly and handed it back to him.

“Oh, it’s no problem luv- I wouldn’t want to let go of it either.  Lovely doll, innit?”

Harry nodded shyly, his big eyes a thousand times more vivid than the doll’s and framed by long dark lashes that made it impossible not to be charmed.

“Does she have a name yet?” the shop worker asked, softly, as she continued wrapping the other parcels.

“Lily,” Harry whispered, so that she had to strain to hear.  Severus’ hands tightened minutely on the cart handle.

“Oh, well I’m sure Lily will be well taken care of,” the cashier continued, ignorant to the significance of the name as she put the final item in a bag.  “Thank you for shopping at Hamley’s, and have a nice day.”

Harry tried to help carry the packages, but the three adults waved him off gently, and the two women made a quick stop in the empty restroom to shrink the items and put them in their pockets, making sure to tell Harry that that is what they were doing.

“Alright,” Poppy proclaimed cheerfully.  “What’s next?”

“Er, I needed some wool for Mrs. Weasley, and I wanted to get a dragon statue for Charlie,” Harry whispered, swallowing.  It was easy to see that he was a bit overwhelmed by it all, so they finished their shopping quickly, the adults mentally earmarking the many items that they wanted to come back for later.

“Alright,” Severus intoned an hour later, their pockets full of shrunken packages.  “That’s all done- maybe now you have some room for ice cream?” he offered Harry, who shrugged.

“If you guys wanna,” he said, not wanting to be too pushy.  He thought muggle London was rather cool, but it was all a bit much for him to take in all at once, and what confidence he’d gained in the last few months with a loving family seemed to shrink back down, leaving him afraid of offending anyone.

Minerva ordered first, getting strawberry in a cone, and Harry followed her lead, not knowing quite what else to do or what might be too much or even not enough- he didn’t want the others to worry about him.  Ice cream does tend to soothe one’s ills, however, so the three watched with some relief as Harry’s posture gradually relaxed a bit as he licked the sweet, carefully catching the dripping bits with his tongue so it didn’t make a mess.  When he was finished, he was shivering a bit, and Poppy realised that perhaps ice cream in late November hadn’t been their best idea, so she ordered Harry a hot tea with lots of milk and sugar and moved them to closer to the radiator as she wrapped the little boy’s gloved hands around the warm cup as he sipped obediently.

By the time the tea was halfway drunk, his eyes were drooping, and it was barely finished before he dropped off to sleep with his head on the table quite against his will.  Severus picked him up, resting him gently against his shoulder as they all got up to go home. All eyes in the shop were on the precious, snoozing little boy, and the manager handed them a coupon for a free sundae for the next time they were in town as they opened the doors to go out, the potions master opening the flap of his own coat to layer it over Harry as additional protection against the chill wind.

“I’ll take him to his room in my quarters,” Severus whispered to the others as they reached the castle gates.  The two women nodded their acquiescence as the potions master headed towards the dungeons, giving the password to his personal quarters.  As he tucked Harry under the spiderman duvet, he went ahead and summoned an extra one of Molly’s extra-warm throw blankets from the closet to ward off the chill and cast a warming charm on the sheets, making sure the child’s head was resting comfortably against the pillows before he gently removed his hearing aids and glasses and placing them on the night table.

“Good night, flutterbat,” he whispered, looking around as if to make sure that Poppy and Minerva weren’t secretly watching before he kissed Harry’s forehead.  He turned on the nightlight and left the door open, setting a monitoring charm to alert him if Harry had any nightmares before he tiptoed away to put the sweet photo of Harry looking dubiously at ‘Father Christmas’ in a secret place so that nobody else ever knew that he kept it.  And if he sometimes pulled it out of his desk to look at when he was marking papers, well… nobody need know that, either.

Chapter Text

Shortly after their trip to muggle London to go Christmas shopping, Harry somehow managed to catch a cold (“probably from all those city germs,” Minerva had fretted anxiously as Poppy took Harry’s too-high temperature), and this kept him cooped up in bed for a good three weeks.  The poor child was dreadfully bored the entire time, but Poppy managed to keep him resting by promising that Ron could come as soon as he was better and that staying in bed would help him recover faster. By mid-December, the nine-year-old was left with only a bit of a sniffle, but as he was no longer running a temperature or having breathing difficulties, the healer reluctantly let him out of bed on the promise that he would take it very, very easy for the next few days.  Harry did, reluctantly, but luckily his best friend Ron was a good boy, and when his mother explained the importance of Harry’s taking it easy before sending him off through the floo, he immediately took it upon himself to comply, and immediately vetoed any activities that Harry suggested that involved a lot of moving around.

Harry sighed plaintively, wiping his nose on the hankie Poppy had given him.  Somehow, his guardians had managed to turn even Ron into a worrywort, which was absolutely no fun, in his opinion.

“We’ve played three games of chess already, Ron, and I know you let me win,” he told the redhead.  “But maybe we can go to Minnie’s classroom and see if she’ll show us some transfiguration.”

“Okay,” Ron agreed- they were in Harry’s room in Professor McGonagall’s quarters, which was close enough to the transfiguration classroom that he felt it wouldn’t be too strenuous of a walk to allow Harry to take.  He picked up Scabbers to take along as well. He was rather disappointed in his rat- he hadn’t been super nice to Harry so far, seeming a bit standoffish when the boy held him (and that was unusual in itself, because animals usually loved Harry).  Ron thought being transfigured into a teacup and back a few times ought to teach him a lesson about manners.

The rat sat on Ron’s right shoulder as they walked, and he held Harry’s left hand as they meandered down the hallway, looking at the moving paintings on the wall curiously.  Harry thought his hearing aids were malfunctioning, back when he’d first heard them, but Minnie had chuckled and gently explained that that’s just what pictures did here.  Magic was so cool; Harry honestly couldn’t fathom why the Dursleys hated it so much.  Thinking about the Dursleys made his scars itch, and he scratched his chest through his jumper as he passed a picture of a witch with a parrot on her shoulder and a mushroom in her hair.

“Hello dear,” Wendolin the Weird’s image told him, and Harry stopped scratching to wave back at her, his worries temporarily forgotten as the parrot rattled off a stream of curse words Harry wouldn’t dream of uttering.

“‘Lo Wendy,” he chirruped back, as they reached the doorway to Minnie’s classroom.  “Have a great day!”

“You too, little bowtruckle,” she called, swatting the parrot on her shoulder and asking herself for the thousandth time why she had herself painted with the rotten bird.

“M’na?” Harry called timidly, knocking politely.  She came to the door immediately, leaving her marking half-done on her desk, and Ron had to let go of Harry’s hand as she swept her child up in a hug, kissing his cheek and wiping his dripping nose.

“What brings you around here, little bean?” She asked him tenderly, still clutching him in her arms.  “Did Flopsy forget to bring you your snack?” The three adults were very particular about Harry having nutritious snacks at regular intervals, as since his appetite still wasn’t great they were trying to retrain his circadian rhythm (hence having meals on a strict time schedule as well).

“No, she brought it,” Harry assured her, and his breath did smell like apples and peanut butter, so the tabby animagus relaxed.  “Ron and I were just wonderin’ if you’d show us some transfiguration?”

“Of course, sweetheart.  What would you like to see?” She asked as she moved her marking and set him carefully on top of her desk.

“Do you think you could do something with Scabbers?” Ron asked, holding out his rat, who was starting to squirm.

“Ah, that’s some pretty advanced stuff,” Minerva chuckled, taking the struggling creature.  “You two are going to be some of my best students, I can already tell. What would you like me to make him into?”

“A teacup, please,” Ron requested.  “Like a pretty one, with a nice china pattern.”  All their crockery at home was chipped, and if Scabbers didn’t get his act together soon, Ron decided he might leave him that way and give him to his mother for Christmas so she could have at least one pretty dish.

“I think that can be arranged,” Minerva said, her normally-stern eyes full of laughter as she set Scabbers on the table and waved her wand.  However, to her surprise, the furry little beast became what could only be described as a monstrous hybrid that absolutely no one would want to drink from.  It was a crudely shaped, furry piece of dishware, and it still had a long pink tail, which was currently squirming madly.

“Why, that’s strange…” she muttered to herself, waving her wand again.  When nothing happened, she tried to reverse it, but nothing came of that either.

“What’s wrong with it, Minnie?” Harry asked tentatively, hoping she wouldn’t take offense at the question.  Nobody had taken offense at his questions yet, and they all told him he could ask anything he liked, but sometimes he still doubted…

Minerva was as warm and patient with him as ever as she answered.  “I’m not sure, sweetheart,” she said, furrowing her brow. “It is very rare for a transformation to behave like this…”

“What are some reasons that it would, though?” Ron asked curiously.  His mother answered as many questions as she could, but she was always doing something and Ron usually got distracted watching her anyway, blue eyes tracking the way her hands made fabric from wool on her knitting needles or peeled vegetables efficiently, and anyway his mouth was usually too full of good things that she gave him to sample for him to get too far along with his inquiries anyway.  His father was always more excited to teach him about muggle things than magic, and Ron was interested enough as well that while he’d grown up around magic, he’d never really learnt too many of the particulars about it as of yet.

“Well, if I had said the incantation wrong or performed the wand movement incorrectly, then this might happen, but I know for a fact I did not,” she responded, not being arrogant- merely practical.  “If I had tried to transfigure an animagus, this would be a common reaction, but there’s no way…”

The cup began wiggling its tail more rapidly, and Minerva put the children behind her, standing protectively in front of them.  She wasn’t sure what was wrong, but she didn’t like it.

“What if Scabbers was an animagus though- how would you tell?” Ron piped up through his peephole by her bent elbow, and in lieu of explaining, she waved her wand and said some words in what Harry knew was Latin.

“Hominem Revelio,” she declared with a flourish, and Harry stumbled back in terror as a naked, fat, dirty-blond man appeared on the desk he’d been sitting on only a few moments before.  Ron caught him before he fell, thankfully, as Minerva was busy stunning the man.

“Peter Pettigrew?!” She stammered, and Harry hadn’t seen her lose her composure like this before (she’d lost it over worry over him, of course, but he’d usually been asleep in the hospital wing during those times).  Something about the man didn’t sit right with Harry- he didn’t seem quite so unfamiliar as he should…

Peter couldn’t answer, as he was stunned with a very powerful petrificus totalus, but Minerva wasn’t expecting an answer anyway- even twelve years older and looking quite a bit dirtier and down a finger, she’d recognize the man anywhere; she’d taught him for seven years, and there was a time when she’d considered him one of her boys.   She knew that something was off right now, however, and she highly doubted that whatever had happened the night of the Potter’s death had been a feat of heroism, else he wouldn’t have hidden as a rat for so long.  She sent her Patronus off to Poppy and Severus, telling them in tone of barely-restrained panic to bring veritaserum and call ahead for the aurors.

“What? What is it?!” Severus came panting into the room first, a small bottle of the clear but potent truth potion held in one clenched hand.  When he saw Peter, he nearly toppled over, but he recovered quickly and went to also stand near Harry, one hand clenched protectively on his shoulder, tight enough that he could feel some of the scars that the child’s monstrosity of an uncle had left with his sharp belt even through the thick jumper Harry wore.

“Sev?” Harry asked timidly, “why does he seem so familiar?”

“Your parents knew him, flutter- we thought he was dead,” Severus answered distractedly, his eyes still on the rat and his wand in his free hand.  Minerva had already taken the potion and was tipping exactly three drops onto his tongue. She loosened the petrification spell just enough so that he could move his mouth to speak as Poppy came in with two aurors, a bald black man with an earring and Amelia Bones, who rumour had it was set to be the next head of department when Scrimgeour retired.  The two looked at each other in astonishment- this was beyond anything they’d expected, else they would have brought backup.

“What really happened that night?” Minerva grit, fixing her student with a firm glare.  While it normally would have stopped any of her students, present and former, in its tracks, Peter was in the apathetic haze of the truth potion and had no reaction except to begin speaking in a monotone voice.

“James and Lily had switched secret keepers without telling anyone,” Peter began, slowly and with no emotion whatsoever.  “Sirius had urged them to; he told them that he was worried about people coming after him since he’d be the obvious choice for the position.  In private he confided to me that he was also expecting to be killed in the war, since he was an auror on the front lines, and he didn’t want the fidelius charm to be weakened by the death of the secret keeper.  We told no one, so that I would be safer. This worked perfectly for me, as I was able to go to my master and tell him where the Potters were hiding. They were in the cottage in Godric’s Hollow, so the Fidelius was the only thing protecting it; they should have stayed in the Potter manor, which had other, centuries-old wards if they wanted to survive.  Instead they put too much faith in Dumbledore and his ideas, and too much faith in me. My master was very pleased when I came to him with the information, and he went to kill Harry.” Harry had paled dramatically, glaring at the man and trembling slightly. He didn’t understand everything that they were talking about with the magic, but he got the meaning clearly- this man was the reason his parents were dead!

“When he failed, I knew that I was running out of time.  Luckily, Sirius didn’t take Harry. When Hagrid said he was taking him to Dumbledore, he trusted that he would be safe, and he turned his grief in a less productive direction- going after me.  I knew that my only option was to keep him from telling everyone the truth, so I scampered off, transforming near the alley where he confronted me. I accused him of killing James and Lily before blowing up the entire street and cutting off my own finger before transforming.  He was too grief-stricken to do anything but laugh, and I watched the aurors take him away.”

“Oh Merlin…” Minerva was in tears: one of her boys had been framed for a murder, was suffering in Azkaban for trying to keep his best friends and his godson safe…

Harry, meanwhile, was having his inhaler shoved in his mouth by Sev- he didn’t even realise that he was having an asthma attack at first, because he was too focused on the strange feeling in his belly.  Anger, anger like he had never known before, was building up in his tiny body, and he could feel it all the way in his bones as the room began to shake. Across the room, the torches on the wall flared high, scorching the stone roof with their leaping flames as Minerva’s desk cracked down the middle, spilling Peter, still unable to move, hard against the floor.  He’d had a godfather, someone who would have taken him and loved him and soothed the ache of growing up without his parents, and instead he’d been left to suffer with the Dursleys because of this man.  He was so mad he felt like the magic inside of him was too big for his body, but he didn’t know what to do with it. It was just there, whipping up a wind around the room and stirring papers and waiting for instructions.  But Harry didn’t know what to tell it- he just wanted his godfather to be okay, just wanted someone to get this bad man away from him.

“Shhh, shhh Harry,” Severus spoke as gently as he could.  “It’s alright- you’re just having some accidental magic; it’s totally normal,” he told the child, trying to quell the panic that was clearly visible in his eyes.  Well, it wasn’t totally normal- usually children didn’t have bouts of accidental magic quite so powerful- but there was nothing wrong or scary in its happening, and it was more than understandable in this high-stress situation.  He just needed Harry to calm down before he had another asthma attack or exhausted himself.

Harry was still breathing heavily, but Severus’ soothing voice eventually cut through the haze and he coaxed the magic back into himself, where it belonged.   I don’t need you to do anything, he told it, concentrating on claiming down.   Minnie and Sev and Poppy are going to take care of it.   Eventually he felt it all retreat back, where he could feel it if he concentrated but where it wasn’t lashing out of its own accord.  The room was still again, so the aurors were able to come and take the stupid rat-man away, and Harry felt relieved. Surely everything would be all right now; surely they’d bring his godfather back.  He plopped down on the floor, suddenly exhausted, and the next thing he was aware of was his Poppy picking him up and holding him to her chest. He had a feeling she was taking him to the hospital wing, and he wanted to tell her he didn’t need to go there, but his mouth wasn’t listening to him, and it only let loose a giant yawn instead as his eyes fluttered closed.

______

When Harry next woke, it was to Minnie and Poppy and Sev by his bed.

“Never even had a trial,” one of them was saying, and he knew it was Minnie by the voice.  “I can’t believe that; we all thought they just kept it quiet.”

“Amelia was appalled; she’d had absolutely no idea that he hadn’t received that right.  Thankfully it won’t ever happen again, though; Scrimgeour has resigned over the uproar, and now that Mellie’s head of the department, she’s going back through the case files to make sure nobody else was thrown in Azkaban unjustly,” Poppy replied, and Harry could smell the cup of chamomile tea she was holding.  He was glad that they were talking fairly loudly in their emotional states, since someone had taken his hearing aids out while he slept. As he forced his heavy eyes open, he felt Severus immediately notice and place his glasses carefully on his face and then reach in the drawer for his hearing aids. While nimble fingers put them in, Harry’s newly-restored vision made out a furry black dog sitting guard on the end of his bed, and he was hit with a wave of recognition as he realised he knew this animal- or should he say, knew this animagus.

“Pa’foot?” He slurred, as vague memories of his little baby-self (so unscarred and innocent) came back to him.  He was throwing a ball clumsily, and the big black dog was running to get it. Then a tall man with silver eyes and soft black hair that he’d loved to put his pudgy fists in was tossing him up in the air and singing him songs (very badly- the vocal arts had never been Sirius Black’s forte).

The dog immediately perked up at hearing his name, coming forward to snuffle Harry’s face worriedly.  Harry just threw his arms around his godfather’s furry neck, unable to keep the sobs from bubbling up.

“You’re back,” he cried, sniffling and holding Padfoot so tightly he himself could barely breath.  He wasn’t really aware of what he was saying, focused solely on the familiar presence in his embrace.  “I missed you so much! All those times that I was alone in my cupboard and thought I was crazy for dreaming about the big black dog, somebody wanted me.  You didn’t mean to leave; you tried to keep me safe.”  Everyone felt their hearts break as Sirius whimpered, shoving his wet nose upwards and licking Harry’s salty tears from his cheeks.  Everyone felt it would be best to let him cry himself out- all the time he’d been here, and he hadn’t let anything more than a few tears slip- so they stood to the side quietly until Harry’s breathing finally returned to normal and his eyes stopped leaking freely, and as soon as he’d loosened his grip just a little bit, Sirius was there and holding him and telling him he’d never wanted to let go.

“I love you so much Pup; I’m sorry I made such a stupid decision,” he whispered softly, tenderly peppering kisses along Harry’s face. “Merlin, I- I never should have left,” he sighed.  “I shouldn’t have trusted Dumbledore to take care of the most important person in my life while I ran off to confront Peter.  I should have been there for you, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for what happened.”

“S’not your fault,” Harry sniffed, his little arms thrown around the man’s waist as he hugged him as tight as he could.  “You did your best, and I’m so glad you’re here.”

Even Severus couldn’t bring himself to feel his old hatred for the man, not when he saw how much he cared for Harry.  A few months ago, before that day he’d gone to Privet Drive, he surely would have felt the old animosity flare up as strong as ever despite the man’s haunted eyes and gaunt form and the fact that he’d been wrongly imprisoned in the worst place on earth for a crime he didn’t commit.  But he was so much different now than he’d been before, so he could only feel a soft pang in his chest as he watched the little boy smile through his tears as Black tucked him back under the blankets and Harry’s little hands pulled his bigger one and said “stay, please?” and patted the bed next to him as the man obediently lowered himself down to the mattress and wrapped himself protectively around the child.  The Severus that would have hated Sirius Black on principle due to their past was gone, and it was clear to him that the Sirius Black that was immature and reckless and never would have known how to process such intense emotions was also gone, so maybe their past could stay where it belonged, with their lesser selves, the ones they’d worked so hard to get past.

Sirius, for his part, was desperately worried about his godson.  He was clearly sickly, not robust and healthy like any child of James and Lily’s should be.  He could feel Harry’s ribs as he hugged him, even more prevalent than his own, and he had to choke back more tears as he felt the outline of cruel scars through his clothing.  He would have given anything for Harry to not have grown up like that, to not grow up as he had.  This was far worse than the tremors he occasionally got, due to all the cruciatus curses his mother had held him under when he’d ‘disobeyed’ her.  He hadn’t wanted this for Harry, and he’d give his own life if it would undo the damage that he’d suffered in these past eight years. But he couldn’t, so he held him.  Held him and hugged him and kissed his head of messy hair, so like his fathers, and wiped the tears out of his eyes so like his mothers, and listened to his sleepy breathing and felt the heartbeat in his chest that was Harry’s own, blessedly still beating in this beautiful, unique little person his best friends had created and entrusted him with.  He’d failed them before, failed all three of them, but he wouldn’t again; he was certain of that. He would do whatever it took.

Tomorrow he would write Moony, write and beg the love of his life for forgiveness for leaving him out of his trust, for being so bloody thick that he ruined things for both of them for eight long years, and he’d beg him to come to Hogwarts, to come see him and Harry and this odd little family that the sweet little boy had brought together, and to become a part of it.  But tonight he would hold Harry, and make sure that his godson knew that he would never let go again as long as he lived.

Chapter Text

Harry was hoping that with Sirius there and quite clearly suffering from the after effects of Azkaban, Poppy’s attention might not be focused so strongly on him for a while.  He was wrong.

“A month or two of nutrient potions and good meals and you’ll be good as new, Mr. Black,” she told him before turning back to Harry.

“You’re still looking a little peaky,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Probably tired from all that magic,” Sirius agreed, placing a gentle hand on his forehead.  Harry wanted to be indignant that there was another adult that was there fussing over him instead of pleading his case with Poppy, but Padfoot’s hand was so nice and cool, and it felt good against his skin.

“He feels a little warm,” Sirius said anxiously.  “Perhaps you ought to keep him another night.”

“But I just got out!” Harry protested, before breaking down into a fit of coughing.  Poppy handed him another potion.

“You insisted that I should let you out early, darling, even though you were still sniffling, and this is what happened,” she scolded mildly.

“But I…”

“Shh, no buts,” she put a finger on his lips.  “Just rest.”

Harry pouted.  “Don’t wanna.”

Sirius laughed, ruffling his hair- James had been the same way in the hospital wing.  “C’mon Pup; don’t be like that. Why don’t you lie back and I’ll read you a story, hmm?”

“Oh, alright,” Harry agreed magnanimously, settling back against the pillows while Sirius grabbed a copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard.   Sirius opened the book, clearing his throat and ready to put on a performance.

For all their little man put up a fight, it didn’t take him very long to drift off to sleep, and Sirius laughed as he planted a kiss on his warm forehead and very carefully plucked his glasses off his face and removed his hearing aids, putting them on the bedside table.  

“So,” Poppy asked, “when are you going to stop avoiding talking to Remus?”

“What?” Sirius yelped, startling.  “I’m not avoiding it, I just wanted to make sure Harry was okay… and stuff…”

“Well, if you’re not avoiding him, then you won’t mind that I called him to come and see Harry.”

“You did what?” Sirius asked.  “No, you can’t!  I’m not ready; I don’t have my favourite leather jacket and I haven’t gone out and gotten my usual cologne yet and-”

“Sirius,” she interrupted, giving him a stern look.  “I know that most of the time you spent together was without wearing anything at all, so what’s this really about?”

“Nothing, I just…” She kept glaring at him.

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” Padfoot said eventually, his voice tight and insecure, tears pooling in his eyes despite how much he hated crying.

“And how will you ever know if you don’t even try, Mr. Black?” She demanded, hands on hips.  Then she softened, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Sirius,” she sighed.  “You were so in love, you are so in love.  I know that a lot has happened between then and now, but it’s very rare that something comes along like you had with Remus- I’ve seen a love that strong only twice in my life, and the other was with James and Lily.  You are both alive and have a fighting chance, and your own insecurity is absolutely no reason for you to throw that away.”

Sirius inhaled deeply, holding it for a moment before letting it out.  “I… I suppose you’re right,” he said eventually.

“You only suppose?” she pressed, and he smiled a bit.

“I know you’re right,” he amended.

“Good,” Madame Pomfrey gloated, as the floo flared to life.  “I’ll just be in my office for a bit.”

“Madame Pomfrey?” Remus called back, trying not to be too loud.  “Is Harry awake?”

“He just went down,” Sirius informed him softly, his voice tender as he looked at his godson.  “Just as easy as it was when he was a baby.”

“Oh, Sirius…” Remus began, his heart catching in his throat.

“Yeah…” Sirius agreed.

“So, you’re free; that’s nice,” Moony remarked, pondering the absurdity of having a casual conversation with the love of his life with eight years of distance between them.  “Er, um… congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Sirius smiled bitterly.  There was an awkward silence for a moment before Remus finally spoke.

“So I uh… I had to admit that I was hoping you would be here, when Madame Pomfrey invited me over…”

“You uh, you did?” Sirius gulped.

“Yeah… I know that I can’t expect to just apologize and walk back into your life, that sorry doesn’t nearly cover it…”

“Wait, you’re sorry?!” Sirius yelped, jumping up from his chair and standing toe to toe with Remus, so that he was looking down into his eyes.  “Remus John Lupin, don’t you dare be sorry!”

“But I… I actually believed that you could…” the werewolf’s voice cracked, and he had to look away.

“Hey,” Sirius ordered, gently picking up Remus’ chin and forcing their gazes back together.  “I’m the one who owes you an apology; we chose to keep you out of the loop, and I paid the price for not putting my trust in you like I always had before, like I…” he took a deep breath, “like I promised to do forever.”  And then amber eyes were meeting grey and the world stood still and there was complete silence for a moment, neither one of them daring to breath, before suddenly Remus found himself backed against the wall and Padfoot’s lips were on his own and they were hungry, starving, eight years being shoved into seconds and the frantic clash of lips and tongues and teeth.  And then Remus’ hands were on the button-down shirt that Poppy had procured for Sirius and there was no way it would ever be wearable again as buttons popped off in all directions, fabric stretching and even tearing as Moony took in the sight of his lover’s chest: too pale and too skinny and with the ribs poking through the skin, but it was wrapped around his heart and it was loyal and it had always been loyal and it was beating and dear God Moony, it never stopped beating for you, Sirius moaned as he left a trail of love bites that started at Remus’ jaw just under his five o’ clock shadow and was rapidly getting longer as Padfoot nipped his way down like a drowning man, panting heavily as his hands managed enough desperate strength to rip the other man’s shirt right down the middle so he could get a good look at his scarred, suntanned chest.  His mouth was wet and pink and drool trailed down Remus’ front as Sirius trailed his thumb lightly over one nipple, causing goosebumps to prickle over Moony’s skin before Sirius took it into his mouth and sucked, causing Remus to throw his head back and moan, not even feeling the way the way his skull hit the window with an audible thud as he came undone.  

“Oh Sirius,” he nearly howled.  “I can’t last much longer…”

“I’m way ahead of you,” his boyfriend responded huskily, following the hair from Remus’ chest towards his groin with his mouth, growling a bit as he bit and sucked and cried for mercy.  He thought zippers might have been the greatest thing ever created and thanked every deity in existence that his sweet Remus loved muggle clothing as much as he did as he tore the trousers down impatiently, and he didn’t even bother pulling them down past his lover’s knees before he took his hard, weeping cock into his mouth.  He’d barely started moving his tongue just the way Remus liked it before he was swallowing salty, bitter cum like it was water in the mouth of a dying man, and he had been dying, dying without Moony, who he needed just as much as air and food and water, who was literally life itself for Sirius Black as he rested his forehead against Remus’ groin, breathing like he’d just run a marathon as tears ran down his cheeks and into the wiry hair of Moony’s crotch.

“Let me take care of you now, luv,” Remus whispered, his voice strangled.

“Nothing to take care of,” Sirius rasped.  “I tried to hold out, but I came as soon as I got your pants down.”

They looked at each other, Sirius still down on his knees and Remus shoved halfway up onto the window sill, and they laughed.  They laughed like children on Christmas morning, children who didn’t yet know what worry felt like, and suddenly they were two scared eleven-year-olds in a new school and two thirteen-year-olds who were having urges they didn’t understand and two sixteen-year-olds clumsily pawing at each other up against a tree all at once.

“God, I missed you,” Sirius whispered, as Remus lost the strength to stand as his weak knees finally guided him to the floor and Padfoot settled himself comfortably on Moony’s lap.

“Every day I missed you,” Remus croaked, his face in Sirius’ neck.  “I didn’t understand what happened and I hated myself for it, but I missed the way we used to kiss and the way you smiled and every second I spent with you even though I knew I shouldn’t.  And there were two of you in my mind, the one from before that night and the one from after, and I missed the one from before so badly that I felt like someone was carving my heart out of my chest with a rusty spoon.”

“There’s only ever been one me, Moony, and it’s the one that can’t stop loving you,” Sirius whispered, his eyes still leaking freely.  “I died every second of every day, and sometimes it felt like it didn’t even matter if the dementors were there or not, because not having you with me was worse than anything they could do, worse than every awful memory they could make me relive.  And every day that passed I would just transform into Padfoot and curl up onto that god-awful pallet in my cell and wish like hell that I hadn’t gone after Peter, that I’d taken Harry and ran and found you instead, and we could be a family. And now you’re here and I realise that…” he sobbed at the same time that a laugh bubbled its way up from his throat, “I realise that nothing could have prepared me for the way it feels to finally have that.  It’s like my mind cannot comprehend this level of joy and I’m just crying instead because I feel like it’s the only thing I know how to do anymore.”

“Oh, you know how to do a lot more than cry,” Remus whispered, still breathless, because there was nothing else that he could say that Sirius’ hadn’t already, because they were two bodies who shared one life and one heart, and he’d felt the exact same way in his line of seedy flats supported by seedier jobs as Sirius had in his cell in Azkaban.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Sirius breathed reverently, “and I’d marry you right here, half-naked with your bare arse on the hospital floor.”

“I’d marry you anywhere if we hadn’t been married since the first time we kissed, because that was the moment I knew beyond all hope that you’d stolen my heart, you beautiful bastard, and that I didn’t ever want it back when you could hold it for me instead.”

“Careful Moony,” Sirius growled, voice heavy, “or I might have to take you right here on this floor.”

“Padfoot I-” Remus began, his pupils so dilated that they were nearly all black, before a confused little voice broke through their reverie.

“Pa’foot?” Harry called loudly, nearly yelling without his hearing aids there to help him moderate the sound of his own voice.  “Why’re you an’ uncle Moony havin’ sex there?”

“Oh Merlin Harry, we weren’t-” Sirius began, wondering what on earth he could say that would otherwise explain the fact that Remus’ pants were half-down and his own stained with cum.  “Uh…”

“Grown-ups are gross!” their godson groaned, throwing a pillow over his head.  “I can’t even see that well and that was too much- if it’s obvious when you’re blobs, it’s too obvious!” he called out to them.

Poppy had followed the sound of Harry’s voice to see, with 20/20 vision, what exactly had her boy so worked up.

“Merlin and Morgana!” she cried, clutching her chest.  “I thought you two would have at least had the common decency to make it to the hallway first!”

“You vastly overestimated our restraint,” Moony said wryly, a shit-eating grin on his face.  He really wanted to feel guilty about it, but he had the love of his life back, and they obviously hadn’t taught Harry anything he didn’t already know.

Sirius on the other hand, was blushing furiously, hiding his face in Moony’s crotch as he tried to melt into the floor.  Remus rolled his eyes- people thought he was the modest one.

“Let’s face it luv,” he laughed, tangling his fingers into Padfoot’s hair affectionately, “he would have walked in on James and Lily long before now.”

“Remus John Lupin!” Poppy rebuked, grabbing the nearest roll of bandages and swatting him with it, “you had better be glad that child doesn’t have his hearing aids in, or I’d be running you so far out the gates you’d find yourself in Wales!  Now for the love of all that is magic, pull your fucking pants up!”

“If you insist,” he chuckled, gently pushing Sirius’ face aside so he could wiggle back into his trousers.  Their shirts were long past any hope of repair by this point, so they both stood up with their top halves bare.  “Now, my love,” he turned to Sirius. “I have a feeling that our sweet little godson won’t want to look at us for a few hours, blurry or not, so shall we find a place to pick up where we left off?”

Chapter Text

“Please please please, Poppy?” Harry begged, giving her a flash of his big green eyes and sticking his bottom lip out slightly in an absolutely adorable little pout.  He wanted desperately to be allowed out of the hospital wing, and his endearing, teeny-tiny little face might have had more of an effect on the healer if he hadn’t right then let out an absolutely enormous sneeze, proving quite clearly that he absolutely did need to be there.

“Nice try,” Poppy sighed, raising an eyebrow as she tucked the blankets back around him.  “But you, my little kitten, are still sick.”

“I’b not!” Harry argued, his stuffed-up nose making his voice sound rather congested.

“Oh?” she looked sternly at him.  “And what do you call this?” she asked, wiping his little brown nose with a hanky to keep it from dripping.

“Allergies?” he tried, his enormous eyes looking pleadingly at her out of his still-starved little face, with hollow cheeks that had yet to fill in despite all of their very best efforts.

“You are sick and you will stay in bed,” she ordered, kissing the top of his head softly and biting back a laugh as he crossed his arms crankily and slumped back into the mattress.

“Don’t wanna,” he grumbled as he sneezed again.  Poppy felt his forehead with a frown.

“Your temperature feels way too high, snippet,” she sighed.  “You know what that means.”

“But I’b cold!” Harry whimpered, hands clutching the blankets as Poppy tried to pull them back.

“You feel cold because you’re running a fever, darling; but it’s bad for you to keep the blankets on.  I can’t give you another fever reducer until four, so I have to take them off until your temperature comes down.”

“Please don’t,” Harry sniffed.  “I… I don’t feel safe when I’m cold… it’s like I’m back in the cupboard in the winter again and I don’t have any blankets and Vernon’s gonna hit me and…” he was nearly hyperventilating by this point; the stress of the event with Pettigrew had set back his recovery from his cold and he was fully in the throes of it again, and when he was sick he felt vulnerable and scared.

“Shhh, darling, it’s alright,” Poppy told him, her own voice cracking as she pulled him onto her lap, and he scrambled up and threw his arms around her neck, clinging as if for dear life.  “Nobody’s going to hurt you here; I promise.”

“I shouldn’t be scared,” Harry sobbed into her robes, his tiny chest heaving.  “You took me away from them and I’m safe, but I’m crying like a baby just cuz I’m sick.”  His nose was running along with his tears, and Poppy gently wiped it on the sleeve of her robes.

“Harry, baby, it’s okay to be scared; you’ve been through so much,” Poppy soothed, patting his back.  “That doesn’t just go away overnight, and it’s okay to need us to help you.   Everyone cries sometimes when they’re nine, and you’ve had to deal with so much more than other kids.  You’re very strong, darling, but you can’t keep it together all the time, and you don’t have to deal with this alone.”

“Please don’t leave me,” Harry begged.  “Can you please just stay here and hold me on your lap, so I don’t get cold and alone?”

“Shhh, of course I will, pumpkin, of course,” she promised, rubbing his scarred back gently as she rocked him back and forth.  His fragile fingers dug into her shoulders almost painfully tightly, but she didn’t mind. He’d never had someone to hold him when he was sick before, and she just felt relieved that he was comfortable enough to share his pain with her; this burden was too much for him to manage alone.

“Are Pa’foot and Moony still banned for having sex?” he asked, and the healer chuckled a bit.  “I can let them back in if you want; after the scolding Minerva and Severus gave them, I’m sure they’ll behave.”  Well, Moony had always been a degenerate in prefects’ robes, seemingly innocuous but really the most devious of the bunch, but Sirius had looked like a dog with his tail between his leg as his old head of house and school rival chewed him out for forgetting where he was as he… reconnected… with his boyfriend.

“‘Kay, but not right now,” he told her, calming down slightly as his breathing evened out.  “Don’t want you to let go yet…”

“I won’t, sweet child, I promise,” she placated him in a soft voice, rubbing his head as the early afternoon light brought out just a hint of auburn in his messy raven curls.  Pretty soon he was fast asleep, but Poppy kept him resting against her chest for the rest of the afternoon, until four o’clock rolled around and it was safe to give him another fever reducer and tuck the blankets around him again.

“You’re safe here, baby boy,” she whispered to her sleeping child.  “And you always will be.”

_______

Sirius was entertaining Harry with stories of their old Marauder days the next afternoon when Severus stepped in, and the dog animagus yelped as he caught sight of him; that had been quite a fright he’d gotten from the old bat.  Of course, in this case he knew he deserved it, as Severus was angry on behalf of his godson and Sirius could and did respect that, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still rather terrified after the dressing-down the man had given them.

“Never thought you’d be afraid of me mutt, now did you?” the Slytherin asked with a smirk as Padfoot backed away.

“I’m not afraid!” Sirius argued.  Harry cocked his head.

“I dunno Pads,” he murmured.  “You look kinda scared to me.”

“Alas,” he swooned, hand on his forehead.  “Betrayed by my own godson!”

“Alright mutt,” Severus huffed, rolling his eyes.  “You can go kiss your wolf now; I have a story to read to Harry.”

The little boy perked up immediately, and nimble fingers hurried to turn the volume up on his hearing aids as he leaned forward eagerly.  Severus pulled the book out of his robes, and Harry’s eyes tracked the title from behind their large, round-framed glasses.

“The Princess Bride?” he asked, looking back up at his guardian.

“That’s right,” Severus praised, putting one sallow hand over Harry’s.  “This was a favourite of your mother’s. She used to read it to me when I was sick.”

“She did?” Harry asked curiously; Sev didn’t talk about his mum much, and Harry didn’t like to push him, knowing it was painful.

“Yep,” Severus repeated, and it was funny how much Harry had changed him- before, you never would have found Severus Snape using language quite so informal, but here he was, all easy conversation as he prepared to read to a sick little boy- his sick little boy.  “Whenever I wasn’t feeling well, I’d meet her at the park we used to play at, and she’d bring me home to her parents and set me on the couch with a bowl of your grandmother’s homemade soup and she’d get out this book.”

“Hey Sevvy?” Harry piped up, somewhat uncertainly.

“Yes, flutter?”

“Why didn’t your mummy take care of you?” Harry asked innocently, and the potions master sighed.

“She was… she had a lot on her mind,” he sighed, leaving it at that.  Harry didn’t need to know about his childhood; he’d only feel bad, and right now he was in the midst of recovering from his own, which was so, so much worse.  So he just smoothed his hair back and opened the book.

“Buttercup was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin…”

____

“Hey Sevvy?” Harry asked a few chapters later, yawning widely as he tried to stay awake.

“Yes Harry?” His guardian asked, pausing in his reading and using his thumb to mark their place.

“Are Buttercup and Westley kind of like my mum and dad were?  Where she didn’t like him at first because she thought he was a toerag?”

Severus couldn’t help a snort.  “Ah, the mutt’s been telling you stories, then?”

Harry nodded.  “Yeah. He said dad had to grow up before he was ready to be with someone as smart and pretty and ‘fisticated as my mum, but that in the end he won her over.”

Severus placed a cool hand on the child’s forehead, and Harry leaned into it blissfully as it soothed his own warm skin.  “That’s right flutter,” he told the little boy, pushing aside his own feelings about James Potter. “Your mother wasn’t at all fond of him at first, but James grew up and made the decision to be a better person, and finally he came by her love honestly.”   Maybe if you’d done the same thing… his mind piped up, but Severus shushed it.  He couldn’t change the past or his own mistakes there, and as crazy as he would have thought it a few months ago, he didn’t want to go back and rearrange the way things worked out with Lily and James.  Because if he’d gotten what he wanted, well… maybe it would have pulled him onto a better path, or maybe it would have dragged Lily down a worse one; he couldn’t say.  But what he did know was that if Lily hadn’t fallen in love with James, then there would be no Harry, and Severus’ life had gotten to a point where he couldn’t imagine a world like that.

“Sevvy?” Harry’s sleepy little voice cut into his thoughts, and he looked down fondly, a small place in the back of his mind remarking on how easily sentimental he’d become.

“Yes, little one?” he asked, and Harry yawned again as he snuggled further into the blankets.

“Can we finish the story tomorrow?” he inquired, his eyes already drooping.  “Don’t think I can stay ‘wake anymore.”

“Of course Harry,” Severus promised.  “We can finish it whenever you like.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered.  “‘Nd c’n you stay?” he continued, little fingers wrapped around his wrist.  “Or do you got stuff to do?”

“Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow,” he told the child.  He had meant to start grading his seventh years’ essays, since their NEWTS were coming up and they needed to stay on schedule, but he didn’t particularly like his seventh years anyway, so they could wait.  He’d rather be here.

“You’re the best,” Harry whispered, as Severus pulled the blankets up to his chin and Harry wiggled down further into the mattress like a little baby bunny.  “Dunno why Fred n’ George call you such a greasy git…” he never finished the thought, his eyelids finally fluttering all the way shut, long dark lashes resting on his cheeks and brushing the potion master’s fingers on his free hand as he took the child’s glasses off and carefully plucked out his hearing aids.

“Oh, I am a git, although perhaps not a greasy one,” he whispered to the slumbering child.  “You’re just special enough to get a better version of me.” Harry only snored softly in response, and if Moony, coming to check on Harry, stayed in the shadows and took a photograph of the scene to use as blackmail later, well, it was still worth it.

Chapter Text

Poppy was worried that Harry would have to stay in the hospital wing for his first real Christmas away from the Dursleys, but he finally stumbled upon a bit of luck, his fever breaking the morning of Christmas Eve.  Sev picked him up and put him on his hip, and Harry tugged on his robe sleeve in frustration.

“Sevvy!” he whinged, using the nickname that only he was allowed to use (a couple of older years had tried it and found themselves with their arses in detention for a good long time, and Poppy and Minerva had both gotten themselves surreptitiously hexed when they tried to use it.).  “I’m all better now- I can walk!”

“You just got out of the hospital wing, flutter,” Severus told him, making no move to put Harry down but instead holding him a little closer as he tried to be subtle about trying to feel the child’s breathing to make sure it was clear.  “Don’t push yourself too hard just yet.”

“Ugh, fine,” the nine-year-old gave in huffily, laying his head against Severus’ shoulder with a sigh.  “But just so you know, you’re being overprotective.”

“If you say so, flutter,” Severus chuckled, enjoying the way the little boy snuggled into him for warmth in the drafty hallways and not even minding the feeling of Harry’s hearing aid digging into his collarbone as the child rested his face against his chest.  His large emerald eyes were looking wistfully out the window, watching the students who had stayed at Hogwarts for the holiday play outside in the snow with a longing expression.

“I’m sorry you can’t go outside to play in the snow,” Severus told him, gently stroking his scalp.  “But maybe next Christmas you’ll be healthy enough.”

“I know,” Harry murmured.  “And I shouldn’t be sad, really.  I mean, I’ve got so many people who love me and it’s amazing, but I still wish…”

“And that’s perfectly normal, Harry.  It’s not fair that you can’t go outside right now, but I’m so proud of you for handling it so well.”

Harry lifted his head to look Severus in the eyes.  “You sure are proud of me for a lot of stuff,” he muttered, looking confused.  

“Because you do a lot of stuff for me to be proud of,” the man replied, tweaking his nose fondly, glad that the hallways were empty for the holiday and nobody was around to witness this perfect example of how soft he was getting.

Harry’s tiny little face was still turned in the direction of the playing students, and Severus felt all the worse for him for how good at handling disappointment his little man was.  

“Come on flutter- how about we go have some hot cocoa in the kitchens, hmm?” He dangled the offer in front of the child, and Harry’s round, gold-framed glasses slid down his nose as he snapped his head back around to look his guardian in the face, his interest piqued.  The potions master laughed and pushed them back up, not even thinking to mourn the death of his reputation at the moment as the little boy blinked innocently at him a couple of times before his face broke out into a wide smile and he nodded eagerly. Severus hiked him a little farther up on his hip as they approached a moving staircase, and one of Harry’s hands gripped the front of his robes as the other waved charmingly at all the portraits, who were quick to greet him back (even the grumpiest).  All of the students were outside for the day, so the only people they ran into were painted as they made their way to the kitchens.

“Would you like to do the honors, little man?” Severus asked, and Harry smiled as he leaned forward to tickle the pear.

The kitchens were all hustle and bustle as they prepared for the Christmas Eve dinner, but the elves were always excited to see Harry (who was shorter than most of them), and they cleared a space to make room for him and set about making cocoa before Severus even had the chance to ask (they knew what their favourite human liked).

“Are you feeling alright, flutterbat?” Severus asked as they brought the cocoa, leaning forward to put a hand on Harry’s forehead.

The little boy rolled his eyes.  “Poppy wouldn’t have let me go if I wasn’t,” he reminded the man before taking his first sip, a whipped cream mustache decorating his upper lip as he pulled the mug away.  The potions master laughed and dabbed it gently with a cloth.

“Is Master Harry be finding the cocoa sweet enough?” an elf asked, nervously wringing her hands as she stood off to the side.  She needn’t have worried, as Harry smiled adoringly at her, his dimples flashing as he beamed.

“It’s perfect Mopsy; thank you!” he exclaimed, and the elf squealed as she ran towards the others, ecstatic that little Harry Potter knew her name.

“You know her name?” Severus asked the little boy, taken aback.  Besides the elf for his personal quarters, he couldn’t say he saw any of the elves enough to be familiar with them.

“Yep,” Harry answered, bringing the large mug to his face again with both hands.  “I know all their names.”

This caused the man’s jaw to drop.   “How?!” he asked, dumbstruck.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly.  “Fred and George brought me here one day and I listened to the elves talk to each other and wrote them all down, and put something that made them look different from the others so I knew.”

“That’s… that’s very considerate of you, flutter,” Severus murmured, pulling a loose curl out of his face.

“It’s super ‘portant to have a name, ‘specially when people don’t use it enough.  Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon only ever called me ‘boy’ or ‘freak,’ and I don’t ever want the elves to feel like that.”  His voice was fairly toneless as he talked about these past traumas, but Severus’ fists clenched angrily, and it was only when he noted that Harry’s soft green eyes were watching him in concern that he schooled his features into something else.

“How about you have a biscuit?” he prompted, motioning to a plate in the centre of the table as he noted that Harry had finished his drink.  “You lost some weight while you were sick, so it’d be best if we got it back on as soon as possible.”

The little boy wasn’t really feeling very hungry, but the elves had artfully arranged some Jammie Dodgers in a tempting display nearest to his seat at the table, knowing that he had a weakness for him, so he obediently and eagerly scrabbled for one, his cheeks puffing out as he bit off half.  As sometimes happens when one starts eating, he soon realised that he was perhaps a bit hungrier than he thought, and Severus only had to remind him once that he was allowed to have as many as he wanted before the biscuit was quickly followed with two others.

“Sevvy?” he asked after he’d washed the snack down with a glass of warm milk that the elves had brought.

“Yes, lamb?”

“If I take a nap-” he began, yawning widely as he swayed slightly in his chair, “will Pads and Moony be up when I wake up, d’you think?”

“I’m sure they will, snippet,” he agreed.  It had been a full moon last night, and Severus was planning to start brewing wolfsbane for the man (for Harry’s safety, of course), but he hadn’t had enough time to start the cycle, as the beginning stages of the potion had to simmer for a full two weeks before the complicated part of the brewing took place (part of the potions efficacy was due to its being started during the new moon, when the lunar cycle was farthest from the full moon).  Thus, he and Black had spent last night in the Shrieking Shack, and it was surely better for Lupin than being alone had been the past eight years.  It was still hard on his body though, so they were probably still sleeping it off now, at noon. But they surely would have awoken and made their way back to the castle by 2 (Harry’s nap schedule was fairly predictable), so Severus assured Harry of this as he picked him up and curled him against his chest to take him to his bedroom in the dungeons.  

It was a cold day, and Harry had just gotten out of the hospital, so Severus layered an extra warming charm on the sheets in addition to the permanent one so his child would stay warm enough as he tucked him in.  As he went to close the window (which was charmed to show the view outside even though they were underground so that Harry could see natural light even when he wasn’t well enough to go outside), an idea occurred to him, and he quickly applied a monitoring charm to alert him if Harry woke up or needed anything before hurrying to talk to Filius.

“So you want me to charm the Great Hall full of something that is like snow but not too cold?” he clarified, stroking his chin, and Severus nodded.

“Harry was quite disappointed he couldn’t join in all the snowball fights, so I hoped that you could make something and we could use the hours before the feast for Harry and the Weasley children to play together, provided that none of them are ill, of course…”

“I believe I can work something out- you would like the whole hall filled with snow?”

“Or as much of it as possible- I would probably have his godfather and the wolf join us as well, and as many of the professors as are available, so it feels as close to a real snow day as possible with all the people.”

“I believe I can do something, although it will have to at least be cool- you’ll want Harry to be in a coat and scarf, at least, especially with how easily he chills,” Flitwick warned.

“I believe that could work,” Severus agreed, shoving down his doubts.  “And it would no doubt feel more authentic that way…”

“I believe I can have the hall charmed by two, and that would give him ample time to play before they have to start preparing for the feast at four.”

“Thank you Filius; this will be good for him.  Especially as he will have to eat in the kitchen instead of the halls as well- I hate that we can’t let him roam around when everyone is about, but there are a fair amount of students staying this year…”  The Weasleys could come through the floo, as they were home for the holidays, but there were a great many more children than usual staying at the castle, and Severus wasn’t foolish enough to think it was a coincidence that it had happened during Harry’s first year at the castle; they were no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of ‘the boy-who-lived’ so they could oggle him, but Severus wasn’t about to let that happen.

Severus had one more errand to run before Harry woke up; he was expecting an order of a few final Christmas presents for Harry.  He saw Minerva on his way down as well, getting a delivery for both her and Poppy, since they were all three in agreement that at least one of them should be in the castle with Harry at all times and she needed to stay in the hospital wing in case she was needed anyway.  Once he’d stored them all in the empty (and expanded) classroom they put Harry’s presents in, he took one final box that needed special care down to his office, leaving it on his desk. By then it was 1:45, so he went to read a potions journal by Harry’s bedside until he woke up, having already sent everyone else (including the mutt and the wolf, who he’d met on the way back up from the village) to the Great Hall to wait for them.

It was 2:03 when Harry stirred, blinking slowly a couple of times as he reached a hand out to grope for his glasses.

“I’ve got them, flutter,” Severus said, loud enough that Harry could easily understand while his hearing aids weren’t in yet.  He put the glasses on first so Harry would have his eyesight in full working order, knowing he was more comfortable that way, as even though he trusted Severus, the feeling of having someone messing around near his ears and not being able to see them still gave him (perfectly understandable) anxiety.  Once he was all set up with all his senses as sharp as it was possible for them to be, he stopped Harry from making the bed, reminding him that the elves liked to do the chores and that Harry didn’t have to ( not ever again; he’s done enough cleaning and cooking for a lifetime, Severus growled in his head).

“I have a surprise for you, little luv,” he teased gently as he pulled a coat from the closet.

“Are we going somewhere cold?” Harry asked, confused; he knew Severus wasn’t going to let him go outside in this weather no matter what, so he couldn’t imagine where they could be going that would be chilly enough for a coat.

“A bit colder than the rest of the castle, yes,” the Slytherin hinted as he wrapped the coat around him, guiding Harry’s small hands gently through the sleeves and zipping up the front before he grabbed his mittens, a hat, and a scarf.

“I’m int… intrigued,” Harry sounded the word out carefully, remembering reading it in a book while he was sick and asking Poppy what it meant.

“And I am here to satisfy your curiosity,” Severus said, picking him up.

“Can I walk?” Harry pleaded, but the man just smiled knowingly.

“You’ll want to save your energy for the surprise,” he told Harry, fixing his hat with one hand (the child still being easily light enough to support with one arm, much to their dissatisfaction).

“M’kay,” Harry agreed, getting excited.  He pawed at a strand of Severus’ hair with one mittened hand, pulling it behind his ear from where it was dangling loose the same way the man always did for him.  The potions master smiled gently at the gesture.

“I had a nice dream,” he told his guardian.

“Oh?” Severus prompted, pleased that the nightmares were becoming less frequent.

“Yeah.  Can I tell you about it?” he asked, suddenly looking a bit shy.

“Of course,” Severus affirmed immediately.

“Okay, cos it was a little… well, it was a good dream, but it started out kinda sad.  Like you know that place on your arm that you’re always rubbing- the one that bothers you and has the skull on it?” he asked, and Severus paled a bit.  He hadn’t realised that Harry was quite so observant as that, to see the way he rubbed at his dark mark or to have noticed the occasional flashes of the ink that appeared when he was wearing summer robes with no long-sleeved clothing under them, the type he only used when there were no students around.

“Er, yes,” he stammered quickly, not wanting Harry to fear he’d done something wrong.

“Well I had a dream that I touched it like this,” the nine-year-old began, and Severus ignored all his instincts and stayed perfectly still as Harry lifted his sleeves and moved his hands up his left arm, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable when he was so unusually confident, even if it was hard for he himself.  “And then it got better.”

Severus’ black eyes widened in total shock as colour sprang to life under the light touches of Harry’s gentle fingers.  Pictures were creating themselves on top of the hideous branding, images of Chrysanthemums, Hydrangeas, Roses, Tulips and Sunflowers growing over it.  Harry might not have known the symbolism of the pretty flowers he was drawing on the man’s skin, but any potions master would know that these were all flowers that had at least one association, at some point or another, with the concept of family.  In moments, the mark was all gone, buried under a vibrant little inked garden that contrasted beautifully with his pale skin, and he could feel faint stirrings of gentle light magic burrowing all the way to his core, the unpleasant phantom itch of the mark disappearing as warmth trickled throughout all the places it used to haunt him.  He blinked twice, staring at the child, who smiled back at him.

“Huh, I didn’t know if it would do what it was ‘sposed to, but it did!” he cheered, wrapping his scrawny arms around the man’s neck in a hug.  “Happy Christmas, Sev!” When the man didn’t say anything, he paused. “Don’t worry; I still got you somethin’ else.’

“Oh Harry… that’s the furthest thing from my mind, you wonderful child,” he whispered hoarsely around the lump in his throat.  “This… this is the best thing anyone has ever given me…”

“Yay!” Harry exclaimed, before his head snapped around as he saw the Great Hall, which they had just reached, Severus’ feet carrying him automatically even as his head reeled.   “Whoa…” he caught sight of the snowy setting that Flitwick had charmed for him, and of all the professors (minus Dumbledore) and his friends the Weasleys all waiting there in the untouched wonderland of fluffy white powder.  His big, fawn-like eyes were as wide as saucers as he watched the real snow flurry down from the enchanted ceiling.

“Harry!” Fred and George declared as one.  “Come have a snowball fight!”

“I’m coming!” he squealed, and Severus wordlessly set him down at the child’s impatient tug on his sleeve before he rushed ahead, clumsily forging a path to his friends.  “It’s not cold!” he cried in surprise, smiling widely as he picked up a handful. Poppy, who had been waiting with her camera, snapped a picture. “Ron, look!”

“I see, mate!” Ron giggled back, a huge grin on his face as he saw how happy his best friend.  Pigwidgeon on his shoulder (the tiny owl- named by Ginny- was a gift from Sirius to replace Wormtail, since it was Ron who had lost his pet and Ron who’s request to McGonagall to transfigure him led to his freedom in the first place).  “I brought some coal and carrots so we can build a snowman!”

“But first-” Fred snickered mischievously as he picked up a snowball.

“WE WAGE WAR!”  Ginny stole what was supposed to be George’s line as she pelted Ron with the biggest snowball she could make, which had him wobbling on his feet.

“This insult on the honour of Sir Ronald will not be tolerated!” Sirius boomed dramatically, gently throwing another snowball in the youngest Weasley’s direction as Harry and Ron went to join his godfather.  Remus watched fondly from the head table, still not feeling quite up to participating after the full moon the night before.

“We stand behind our queen!” George declared as he and his twin paired up behind Ginny, dragging a laughing Charlie and a reluctant Percy to join their team.

“We call Minnie!” Sirius lost his imperial tone as he tugged his old professor over to their side, and she rolled her eyes but started charming the snow to roll itself up into their chosen projectiles.

“So sweet,” Poppy cooed as she watched the cheerful battle rage, turning to Severus for agreement.  Her expression changed when she caught sight of his, however.

“Severus, you’re looking a bit dazed- are you alright?” she whispered.  She knew immediately that something was going on when he reached to pull up his left sleeve, as he never bared his mark in public.

But his mark wasn’t there; it was just a tattoo of multiple cheerful flowers spreading over the place the dark mark used to be, and Poppy gasped.

“How…”

“Harry,” Severus interrupted.  “He was telling me about a dream he had, and he spelled these onto me as easily as painting on a canvas.”

“That’s… Severus… the power that’s required…”

“I know,” the Slytherin nodded.  There had been a moment, just a moment, of absolute ecstasy of having his mark forever gone before he realised what this could mean for Harry- it was quite clear that Dumbledore, with all of his persistent efforts to control Harry’s upbringing, had some hidden motive, and the fact that the child at only nine years old had removed a dark mark… well… Dumbledore already had a dangerous level of interest in him, and this… they worried what the man would do when Harry started his education and it became inevitably clear that he was obviously much more powerful than his peers.  It made Severus’ stomach churn in a fear that was far more nauseating than the well-deserved self-loathing that came with the dark

mark had ever been.

They didn’t have any further opportunity to ruminate on their anxieties, however, as Harry came stumbling through the ‘snow’ up to them, tugging on their robes.  “Come on Sevvy, Poppy- come play with us!” he begged, his sweet face impossible to say no to. So they shared one last worried look between them before they obediently followed their child out to join the festivities.

_________

Being sick for so long had tired Harry out, and with all the playing he’d done, he barely managed to get through dinner with his guardians and the elves before he fell asleep at the table with his head on his arms, and Minerva carried him to bed in her quarters (Poppy had him for weeks when he was sick, and Severus got him for naptime, so she would hear no objections to taking him to Gryffindor tower for bed).

“We’re all going to meet in the empty classroom on the third floor for Christmas morning, yes?” she confirmed, double checking the location that ‘Father Christmas’ would choose to put the tree and immense load of gifts from the three of them.

“Yes,” Severus agreed, unable to fight back his own yawn.  He’d been spending a number of late nights brewing extra potions for their sick child (on top of Harry’s usual treatment regimen), and besides that, the snowball fight had been rather intense even for the adults, so he was quite ready to collapse into bed as well.

“Alright- until the morning,” she told her colleagues, smiling slightly at Severus.  They had never had much more than a barely-cordial working relationship before Harry, the man’s own prickliness deterring what efforts she made to try to forgive his past and get closer to him as a person, but she’d seen him transform over the past few months from someone who’d made the decision to do the right thing for somewhat skewed reasons into a man that she could say was well on his way to becoming truly good, and she was glad that this was one Christmas Eve that he wouldn’t spend drinking alone.  She picked up Harry and kissed his scarred forehead as she carried him carefully to bed.

______

Harry nearly forgot it was Christmas the next morning until he saw the neat pile of presents he’d laid out for his guardians, and he grabbed them all up in a pile as he padded towards the living room of Minnie’s quarters with his dressing gown trailing behind him.

“Good morning my sweet kitten,” Minerva told him from where she was sipping coffee by the fireplace.  “We were all going to open presents in a different room, but first why don’t you have some breakfast?”

The smell of eggs and bacon was tantalising, as Harry’s body was doing its best to catch up on calories from when he was sick, even though his appetite was still far from ideal.  As he sat down next to Minnie and accepted the plate she handed him, she pulled him to her side in a gentle hug and handed him one wrapped package.

“We all said we’d give you all our gifts together in the appointed spot, but there was one thing I wanted to give you here, just the two of us,” she told him as he carefully pulled the ribbon off.  The small box opened to reveal an enamel pin, red and gold and with a large HB emblazoned in the centre, joining one identical in every aspect except for the fact that it said HG instead of HB.  

“These were your parents’ from when they were Head Boy and Girl,” she explained as he reverently ran a finger along the top.  “They wanted me to have them when they left school, since they said that they wouldn’t have gotten together without me nominating them as Head Boy and Girl, during which time they grew close enough to fall in love.”

“T-thank you,” Harry gulped, a single tear trailing down his cheek.  “This is the best present anyone has ever given me…”

Not that there’s too much competition, Minnie thought viciously at the Dursleys, but out loud she merely laughed.  

“Well, I’m quite sure that Severus and Poppy are going to do their very best to top that this morning,” she said, gently wiping Harry’s face.  “Now come on and finish your breakfast, my love, so we can go see what Father Christmas did last night.”

________

The entire room was full of presents, and they took all day to open (Harry mused that this must be more than Dudley had ever gotten in his entire life, and he was right.  The expense wasn’t an issue either, as Harry’s guardians had arranged with the goblins that all of the money illegally taken from his vaults by Dumbledore to be given to the Dursleys for his ‘upbringing’ should be taken out of the headmasters’ vault to compensate, and they had used some of that money to supplement their own so that Harry’s first real Christmas since infancy could be the best ever).  They had to break for both lunch and dinner, and it was nearing nightfall by the time the elves had cleaned up all the wrapping paper and taken the gifts off to Harry’s various bedrooms according to who had gotten him what.

“Thank you guys so much!” Harry declared fervently for what must have been the hundredth time that day, and Poppy ruffled his hair playfully.

“Of course, my sweet bunny.  We’re just glad you had a nice Christmas after so long.”

“It was the best Christmas that anyone has ever had!” the little boy swore earnestly.

“Well, we have one more gift for you,” Severus told him, having already discussed the special package in his office with the two women.  “We know how much you love animals, but we think it’s a little too soon to get you an owl with your asthma still acting up so often. But I’m pretty sure this will make you happy.”

“Everything you guys do makes me happy,” Harry replied honestly, his eyes full of a heartwarming conviction as his Sevvy handed him a wooden box with lots of holes along the top.  Pulling the lid off, he found a little green garden snake curled up in the bottom, and he hissed a delighted hello at it as it looked up at him curiously.

“She’s beautiful!” he squealed eagerly as she slithered up onto his hands.  “You remembered how much I told you I loved talking to the snakes in Aunt Petunia’s garden!”

“We did,” Minerva agreed.  “And you won’t have to work all day in the heat to get to talk to this one.”

“She’s so friendly,” Harry said delightedly.  Severus smiled; he’d had the shopkeeper help him find the nicest one in the shop (provided it was non-venomous- parseltongue or no, he wasn’t taking any chances).

“What are you going to name her?” Poppy asked, and Harry smiled up at her.

“She already has a name- she told me,” he explained.  “This is Emmy.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Minerva replied softly.  “I’m so glad you have a nice pet now.”

“She is perfect,” Harry agreed, his tiny face alight with happiness as his bright emerald eyes watched Emmy slither around his lap.  “Just like the rest of my family.”

Chapter Text

Harry was playing with his new toys so eagerly that night that he lacked his normal air of reticence and anxiety, so he didn’t realise when bedtime came and went, and he looked so happy that the adults were unwilling to drag him away and decided to enjoy watching him play happily just this once instead of tucking him in on time- after all, it was Christmas.  Finally, he passed out on top of a scale model of a medieval village that he’d been building, Emmy wrapped around his wrist as he snored gently.

“Look at him, what a precious little bairn,” Minerva cooed, her Scottish accent coming a bit thicker after a couple glasses of scotch at dinner.

“I’m going to take him to bed- I don’t think he’d be happy to wake up on top of that tiny apothecary he’s worked so hard to build,” Severus said, trying to hide from the women just how cute he found the scene as well.  He marveled at how the inked flowers on his forearm glowed softly as they came into contact with the wizard who had created him, and the gentle warmth that had thus far suffused the bouquet increased tenfold in Harry’s proximity.

“He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Poppy sighed, stroking his thick curls back out of his face and gently plucking his glasses off.

“He removed a dark mark Poppy, and replaced it with a completely new form of pure light magic- this is… this is more than skill and talent, it’s… what if there really is something to the prophecy after all?  What do we do then?” he asked her anxiously, clutching Harry a bit tighter, Emmy’s scales brushing his long fingers.  The soft smell of potions ingredients that always clung to him seemed to sooth the child, who slipped into an even deeper sleep and snuggled further into the embrace.

“We won’t let that happen,” the healer swore fiercely, and in the background Minerva’s hands tightened around the box of the board game she was picking up as she arranged the piles of gifts.

“I don’t care if Merlin himself and every muggle deity that ever was starts sprouting it, we’re not letting Harry get dragged into it,” she swore, dropping several filthy profanities in Scotts under her breath.  “Fuck fate and the prophecy and Dumbledore and whatever else wants to get in the way, he’s suffered enough!”

“You know that I’d lay down my life for him, Minerva- and not just because of Lily,” Severus sighed, adding the latter part in an impulsive display of emotional honesty that in itself showed how much Harry had changed him.  “But what if the three of us aren’t enough to keep him safe from a world that seems determined to make him suffer?”

“We’ll have to be,” Poppy replied ardently.  “And no dying either, young man- Harry’s lost enough.  So we’re going to keep him safe and we’re going to stay alive while we do it, no matter what it costs us.  The whole wizarding world can burn, for all I care, if it means he stays safe and happy.”

“You’re right, of course,” Severus agreed.  “We’ll just have to find a way.”

“We could be worried for nothing, even,” Minerva added, although she didn’t look like she really believed it.  “Maybe there isn’t some dark threat on the horizon like Dumbledore seems to suspect.”

“Perhaps,” Severus agreed, although his lips were pursed and there was a dark shadow in his eyes.   I ruin everything I touch, he thought to himself, melancholy threatening to overwhelm him and Harry in his arms the only thing keeping him tethered to the present reality.   There will come a day when my choices come back to threaten him again, too, and I fear it.  

But you will keep it back with everything you have, I know it, another voice added, one that sounded a lot like Lily.  Even in death, her memory was still there when he needed it most, and it was the first time in a long time that he didn’t feel that it was tainted just by mere association with him.  There was darkness in their past and perhaps darkness in his future, but they were connected by Harry, and he shone so brilliantly that he was able to purify what Severus had long thought beyond repair.

_________________

Poppy and Minerva stayed gathering gifts long after Severus had taken Harry off to bed.  Their boy, bless him, had kept the piles as neat and orderly as he could, so it was certainly less work than it could have been to collect them and vanish them to his playroom or his bedrooms in their quarters.  Nonetheless, there were a lot of gifts, so it was still nearly midnight by the time they had begun walking back towards their own rooms.

“I’m glad he had such a good Christmas.”  Poppy finally broke the silence. “He deserved one, after so long.”

“I agree,” Minerva sighed.  “James and Lily would have been horrified, to see what he had to go through.”

“The real tragedy is that he didn’t have to go through any of it- so many of us would have been glad to take him and give him a good life without being blinded by his fame.  Anything would have been less harmful for his development than the things he suffered. I wish… if only I’d have fought Albus harder on it; I trusted him too much, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

“We all trusted him too much; the whole fucking wizarding world trusted him too much,” Poppy hissed, startling Minerva with her vehemence; she normally wasn’t one to curse.

“Well I no longer trust him at all, and I hope that Harry will be better for it,” the Gryffindor declared.

“He will be; we’ll move heaven and earth to make that happen if we need to,” Poppy assured her.  “I have to say; it’s nice to have Severus on our side as well. Regardless of how wonderful it is to see the changes in him, he was always a very determined and talented wizard, and he’s a useful ally.”

“He never did trust Dumbledore as much as the rest of us; perhaps if we’d taken his concerns seriously before it was too late, we’d be better for it.”

“No sense thinking about that now,” Madame Pomfrey lamented, pursing her lips.  “Maybe it would have made a difference; maybe it wouldn’t have. But the fact is that Severus was embittered to this world by others long before us and long before even Dumbledore, and it was long after that it continued.  The point is that now Harry has started to correct some of that damage, and it’s good for both of them.”

“He’s been good for us too,” Minerva added, her cheeks ruddy under the light of the torches.  “Besides the joy he brings in his own right, he’s strengthened the ties between the three of us.”

“Quite; it is a delight coparenting with you, Minerva.  I never knew before, how much of a sense of humour you have,” Poppy said, meeting the Gryffindor's eyes for a moment before suddenly looking away.

“Well, I suppose I do have the reputation of a joyless taskmistress,” the tabby animagus quipped, smiling slyly.

“You do your job well,” Poppy corrected.  “But you know that they love you, all your little lions.  And many others as well.”

“Sometimes I think so, but then the Weasley twins go and destroy my common room.”  Minerva chuckled, and a single strand of hair worked itself loose from her bun.

“Ahh yes, but there are fewer explosions of theirs in your class than any other,” Poppy pointed out, smiling widely.  She moved her hand forward for a moment, before stalling, a thoughtful look on her face as she pulled it back.

“To Severus’ eternal frustration.”  A laugh from both woman as they reached the end of the hallway.

“I believe this is where we part ways,” Minerva commented after a moment, a moment in which they had both stood there silently, not going any further towards their destinations and unsure of quite why.

“Oh, I suppose you’re right,” Poppy noted, drawing her eyebrows together in a slight frown.  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then, hmm?”

“Of course,” Minerva agreed.  Impulsively, she stretched her hand out towards the other woman, their fingers brushing lightly before she pulled her arm back.  The healer smiled and cast her eyes to the side, where they caught a slight sprig of mistletoe above them. It must have been the eggnog that brought the heat to her face and the slight coil of warmth to her midsection.

“Ahh,” McGonagall noted, following her gaze.  “It seems we have fallen victim to Peeves’ impish sense of festivity.  Well, a tradition is a tradition, I suppose.”

“Of course,” Poppy agreed with a nod, clearing her throat to rid it of the sudden hoarseness.

“Well, goodnight then, dear friend,” Minerva addressed her, voice warm and just above a whisper, and as mouth gently ghosted Poppy’s cheek, the healer mused that it was very unique to Minerva that she seemed to address those she cared about with a combination of thoughtful familiarity and just a hint of her usual formality, enough that the person she was talking to still felt respected and acknowledged.  Poppy had heard her sing only once, when she was mixing Harry’s medicine and the tabby animagus was offering Harry a soft lullaby, and her voice then was just as pleasing, low and full, slightly raspy and with a power that carried through a room without her having to raise the volume at all, the one that captivated the attention and respect of her students so well. It was a magic in itself, one she never had to raise her wand for.

“And yourself as well,” she whispered back, her own voice refusing to adopt the same quality.  She cleared her throat again. “You know you may come to me tomorrow, if you need anything to relieve the effects of the scotch.”

Minerva chuckled, the sound like the deep, baritone hum like plucking the string of the piano on the third octave, pleasantly bass but still sweet and velvety, and Poppy realised with a start that she’d been thinking quite a lot about her coworker’s voice tonight.

“Darling, ten glasses of scotch wouldn’t be enough to bring me down- I grew up in the highlands.  My father was a minister and the village was very straight-laced, which of course meant that naturally every child in it got into absolutely all the trouble one can imagine.  Quite literally all of it,” she reiterated, her fingers brushing Poppy’s again as she walked away.

“Oh,” Poppy murmured as she watched her retreating figure.  “That’s… I’d like to have seen it…”

Chapter Text

Poppy and Minerva were busy going over Minerva’s curriculum for the next year (so that Poppy could have all relevant background information for the accidents that would no doubt ensue), which meant that Severus had Harry for the day.  Severus was doing some important paperwork in his office, and was also expecting a call from a top potions master in Bosnia, but with Harry only having recently left the hospital wing he did not leave the boy on his own. This meant that the nine-year-old was playing quietly and contentedly with some of his toys on a soft rug on the floor of Severus’ office, Emmy the snake lounging soporifically on his neck.  A scale model of the Hogwarts Express was currently chugging magically around a freshly-built track as 

Harry arranged his action figures in the lego castle in the middle of the train’s route.  Severus noted that for all his superpowers, poor Spiderman seemed to be having trouble adjusting to Hogwarts, and the Wonderwoman figurine was telling him (in Harry’s voice) how to properly do the wand movement for a levitation charm.  Meanwhile Buzz Lightyear (propelled by accidental magic on Harry’s part that Severus knew was most certainly not so very accidental) was flying around the mini-astronomy tower trying to catch a rampaging Hulk.  Their little boy certainly had a highly active imagination. Severus could admit, at least to himself, that the fact that Harry was willing to let his guard down enough to get so completely immersed in his play made his heart clench with a soft sort of gratitude and an even softer surge of pure love.

By the time the floo rang, Harry had fallen asleep in the middle of his multi-franchise fantasy world, and Severus stepped gently over the train tracks to pick him up and place him on his shoulder before answering the call.

__________

Davud Kovačević wasn’t quite sure what to expect of the consultation he was about to do with one of Britain’s best potions masters.  While their latest research happened to be in similar niche subsets and sharing and comparing notes would surely be mutually beneficial, he’d heard that the man was quite the fearsome bastard, and possibly a former death eater to boot, although he definitely wasn’t sure- one couldn’t know from second-and-third-hand gossip.  Voldemort had never made it to the continent, so although they on the continent found his ideology obviously abhorrent, it was hard to know how much of their information was accurate. At any rate, he had been nervously practicing his English for days, not wanting to make a bad impression lest he draw his ire.

So it is safe to say that he was quite surprised when the connection cleared to show him a dark-haired man whose face was not nearly so sallow nor his hair so greasy as in photographs, and with a scrawny child on his shoulder, a dark head of curls (with shining auburn undertones brought out by the firelight) sticking out above a warm set of robes.

“I’m quite pleased to finally have the opportunity to speak with you, Mr. Kovačević,” he said softly.  “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask that we keep our voices down, as my son is sleeping.” (Severus had taken Harry’s hearing aids out, of course, but he wasn’t taking any chances).

“Ov course,” Davud replied, trying to hide his surprise.   “And you may call me Davud, if you vould like to.”

“Well then, I suppose it would be only fair of me to allow you to call me Severus as well,” the other man conceded, although Davud noted that he sounded a tad reluctant about it.

The men talked back and forth about their respective research for a while, and Davud noticed that Severus kept a protective arm around his son the entire time, one long pale hand cradling the boy’s head.  From the information that he’d received about Severus Snape, the last thing he would have expected was for him to be a father, let alone a doting one. When they finished their conversation, Severus simply turned away without ending the connection (British custom was for the person who had called to be the one to break the connection, although Davud didn’t know this).  So the Bosnian wizard watched as Severus kept his child in his arms, carefully vanishing toys off of his office floor and back to wherever they were normally kept. He didn’t see the child’s eyes flutter part way open, but he did hear a tired little voice calling out.

“Sevvy?” The young boy (he couldn’t have been more than seven,Davud thought, judging by the size of him), called out.  “Wha?”

“Hush child,” the potions master soothed.  “You fell asleep, and something tells me you’ve not quite finished with your nap.”  Davud could hear the smile in his voice, and it wasn’t hard to picture the upward quirk of his lips and the softening of his black eyes as he looked at the child- he’d seen it several times during the course of their conversation, and it was such a stark contrast to his normal business-like countenance (which was really rather a generous term, for Severus Snape’s normal expression was closer to a scowl than anything), that it had quite thrown Davud off.

“But… gotta clean my toys,” the sleepy child mumbled in protest.

“You’re a child; let me take care of it,” the boy’s father said, and Davud noticed with some curiosity that despite his soft tone, his voice was rather a bit louder than it had been when they were talking.  “Let’s get you to bed now, little one, and I’m sure the elves will have some cookies for you when you wake up.”

Seeing as the man was walking away, Davud finally realized that it was probably his job to take care off the floo call and ended the connection, ruminating on false reputations and preconceptions.

Chapter Text

Minerva nursed a scotch with a wry smile as Severus sat across from her, Harry nestled comfortably and snoozing into the crook of his left arm.  Her colleague was currently staring at a typewriter (the most advanced scribing technology one could get to work at Hogwarts) as if willing it to burst into flames.

“Honestly, the idiocy of muggle academia,” he growled.  The noise seemed to soothe Harry, who snuggled closer.  “I have to cite my own past work in current publications lest I be accused of plagiarism. As if self-plagiarism is a concept that makes even a lick of bloody sense.  The whole idea’s proper ‘angin.”  

“Well, nobody forced you to get a muggle PhD in biochemistry,” McGonagall reminded him, not bringing up his little slip back into the working class northern accent of his childhood.   Until a few months ago, he never let himself slip out of the queen’s English, but since they’d adopted Harry, he seemed to be almost unconsciously slipping back into his roots when there were no students around.

Minerva had even heard Harry complaining about ‘the lugs in his hair’ the other day as he tried to drag a brush through it, and she’d had to stifle a laugh.  But really, she was incredibly pleased that Severus was allowing himself to be human enough to expose Harry to this connection to his (and by extension Lily’s) hometown, working class though it may be.  It was showing a perceived vulnerability, and Severus had never been good at that, at least until Harry, so witnessing it was heartwarming.

Less heartwarming was the strop Severus was currently working himself into in front of her.

“Biochemistry has very viable applications in potions,” he declared pompously.

“Oh please, you roaster,” Minerva replied.  “One muggleborn’s parents questioned your teaching credentials once and you decided to earn a doctorate out of pure spite.  And now the rest of us get to listen to you fash on about peer reviews and the like.” (Minerva also tended to slip back into her native register when she was in the company of friends- or in this case, annoying but surprisingly endearing co-parents).

“Oh hush- I’m trying to get these revisions done,” Severus responded huffily, carefully readjusting Harry so as to maneuver the typewriter to a more convenient position.

“Awa an bile yer heid, ya bastard,” was all that he received as an answer.

“We’re in my office,” he reminded her.  “Proper bold of you to be telling me to peg it.”

Having gotten what he felt was the last word in, he was quite content to ignore the scolding his colleague then saw fit to mete out in Scots, which was very thankfully kept at a low volume so as not to wake their child.

_______

Severus shared anxious looks with Poppy and Minerva, looking at the note that headmaster’s owl had just delivered to the three of them as they all shared a drink to fortify themselves for the start of term that would begin the next day.  Months of Dumbledore showing them very little interest outside of his headmaster-related duties, and now he’s suddenly calling all three of them into his office.  He’d rid himself of the ghastly habit of anxiously biting his nails many years ago now, but he still found himself gripping his wand tightly in both hands to hold back his urge to chew his fingernails down to the quick.  The meeting was in an hour, and the three weren’t sure what Albus wanted, but they knew it couldn’t be good, and that it quite probably concerned the little boy doing a puzzle at their feet, comfortably ensconced on the rug of Severus’ sitting room, his pet snake curled up on his head of messy curls like a little green crown, her black eyes watching the adults, trying to discern whether their clear anxiety was concerning a threat to her little master.

“Alright, flutter, we three have a meeting about the upcoming semester to tend to, so the mutt and the wolf are going to take you into muggle London for the day.  You still have your mask?”  

He was referring, of course, to the thick cloth mask that was charmed with an air-filtering charm to keep away the germs, since it was clear after their last sojourn into the city that people could not be trusted not to spread their germs about like troglodytes.  The mask itself was a lovely green, with little black witch’s hats decorating the fabric.  The inside was charmed with a notice-me-not charm to make it more comfortable on Harry’s face.

“Yep,” Harry affirmed, nearly vibrating with excitement at the prospect of going into muggle London again, puzzle all but forgotten on the floor.

“There’s a good lad,” Minerva praised, ruffling his hair. 

“And remember,” Severus added, “to make sure that you’re at least six feet away from everyone else if you need to take it down to eat or drink.  I’m telling you this-”

“Because you can’t trust the mutts,” Harry cut him off with an eye roll, imitating Severus’ inflection as he used the man’s chosen epithet for their child’s godfathers.  “I’m gonna go get ready.”  He ran towards his bedroom, but not before three voices reminded him that he needed two pairs of socks, mittens, a hat, his coat, and a scarf.

“If I must,” Harry’s voice called back, and the two women laughed.

“He really is your little mini-me, some days,” Poppy teased their younger colleague, who was now blushing visibly but valiantly trying to pretend he wasn’t.

“We all know he’s far better,” Severus muttered distractedly, not really considering his words, as he was far too focused on scrawling a note to the two canine nuisances down in Hogsmeade, telling them to come up and pick up Harry for dinner and a movie in the city, and Merlin help you if he’s not back by nine underlined thrice.  The flowers where his dark mark used to be thrummed warmly, soothing pulses of affection that felt like Harry’s hugs.  Right now, Severus really felt like they might be the only thing keeping him from jumping out of his own skin.

“Come now, Severus,” Minerva soothed, catching onto his obvious anxiety (not that it was difficult- he might as well have charmed the words ‘CURRENTLY A NEUROTIC MESS!’ to flash over his head in bright red letters).  “It’s just the headmaster, not the dark lord.”  However, her own anxiety was also prevalent in the tight frown lines currently forming around her eyes.
“I rather think,” Severus said tightly, “that we all know which of the two presents more of a threat to Harry at the present moment.”

Nobody had anything to say to that- they all remembered how the man was already chomping at the bit to send their little boy back at the Dursleys, even as the latest wounds from that vociferous walrus Petunia had married were still bleeding freely on his back.

Just then, Harry came trotting back in, warmly dressed, mask on, and with the strap of the camera he’d gotten for Christmas around his neck, so that he could take pictures to show them all when he got back.  He looked mighty chuffed by the unexpected excursion, although it was replaced by a pensive expression as he looked at the three of them.

“Minnie, Pops, what’s wrong?” he asked them, too perceptive for his own good.  “I been ‘specting Sev to look all depressed today, what with all the dunderheads comin’ back tomorrow and whatnot, but you two also look real anxious ‘bout something.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Harry,” Minerva assured him, schooling her face into a smile.  “We’ve just got our annual performance review coming up soon,” she lied.

“Oh, well then you two got nuthin’ ta worry about.  Sev, though…” he smiled impishly at his male guardian.

“Cheeky brat,” the Slytherin declared, smiling a little despite himself.  “You’re lucky you’ve not got a house to take points off of, yet.”

Harry merely stuck his tongue out at him.  “You’d take points off your own house, then?” he laughed.

“Don’t get too hasty,” Minerva protested, “you could still be mine, yet.”
“Oh, he’s far too clever,” Poppy joined in the teasing, a proud former Slytherin herself.  “Unless Filius snatches him out from under our noses, I think it’s pretty obvious where he’ll go.”  She ruffled Harry’s hair.

“Well, if Flitwick takes him, I’m stealing him back,” Minerva declared, putting a hand on the child’s shoulder.  “We’ll be proud of him regardless, but Merlin knows I’d like to keep him myself if I can, and I’m certainly not yielding him to Flitwick or Sprout.”

Harry just laughed at their antics as his godfathers emerged from the floo, trading significant looks with the three adults over the contents of the note Severus had sent them.

Dumbledore, really, what’s he want? Sirius asked with the quirk of his eyebrow and the frown on his face.

Hell if I know, Severus answered with his anxious glower.  But Merlin knows it’s nuffin’ good.  (Yes, Sirius pictured Severus saying this with his manc accent, the same one he’d shared with Lily.  The man might not be comfortable with them to slip out of the queen’s English, but Sirius could tell by the occasional Manc-ish bits in Harry’s accent that he was getting that northern inflection from somewhere, and there was nobody else who could be passing it on.  It made Sirius smile, to hear Harry speak with his mother’s accent- even if it was also Snape’s (secret) accent).

“Well then, we’d best be getting on,” Sirius said out loud, grabbing Harry’s hand.  “C’mon, pup, we’ve got to get some food in you before we hit the theatre.”

“M’kay,” Harry agreed genially, accepting goodbye hugs from his three primary guardians.  “See you guys later!”

“If you’re even still awake,” Remus teased, well aware that they’d probably be carrying a sleeping Harry back through the floo by 8:30 at the latest.

“Moony,” Harry groaned, “Just ‘cos I couldn’t make it to midnight on New Years’ Eve...”

The rest of their playful banter faded through the floo as the three went, Moony and Padfoot on either side of Harry holding his hands.  Severus wrung his own together, dreading the upcoming meeting.

___

“Minerva, Poppy, Severus!” Dumbledore declared, way too cheerfully, the moment they’d stepped in the door.  “Sit down, have a lemon drop!”

Minerva and Poppy took a seat, although they did not reach for the candy bowl.  Severus, for his part, stubbornly stayed standing, despite Dumbledore’s pointed conjuration of a third chair.

“So,” Minerva got right to the point, well used to dealing with cutting to the heart of the matter in all her years as Deputy Headmistress. “What exactly did you need from us today, Albus?”

“What? I can’t just want to catch up with my colleagues?” Dumbledore asked, the twinkle in his eyes fading as they narrowed slightly.  “You’ve been so very busy this last semester, I feel like I’ve hardly seen hide nor hair of the three of you.”
“You know why we were busy, Albus, and we are all well aware that you’d rather we weren’t,” Poppy said tightly.  “If it was up to you, Harry would be locked back under the Dursleys’ cupboard under the stairs with nothing but a few protection charms keeping his vile uncle’s belt off his back.”

Dumbledore shrunk back, hurt by the accusation, even though it was exactly what he’d tried to do.  “Why, Poppy, I hardly think-”

“Well, there’s an accurate statement,” Severus huffed under his breath, ignoring the gleam of pride in Minerva’s eyes as she had to fight back a chuckle.

“What I mean to say,” Dumbledore ignored Severus’ jab, trying to keep the meeting going in the direction he’d had planned for it, “is that whatever may have happened in the past-”

“Abuse happened in the past!” Severus snarled, his expression going from reserved to near-feral.  “If you wish he was still in that situation, the least you could do is put a name to the hell you’d have us send him back to!”
“At any rate,” Dumbledore ignored him, and Poppy put a hand on Severus’ arm to keep the man from raising his wand, “I think that, as Harry is here now, we ought to make use of the opportunity.”

“We’re not making use of anything to do with my child!” Severus barked again, as Poppy straight-up ripped his wand out of his hands (for his own good, mind) and Minerva asked, in a very tight voice, what exactly Albus meant by that statement.

“Relax, dear boy, I’m not suggesting that we do anything that would harm the boy,” Albus protested, perhaps not as nervous as he should bee, seeing as how Severus looked very near to trying his luck with the cruciatus curse, wand or no wand.

“Don’t call him ‘boy’!” Severus now had both wrists held tightly by his colleagues, to prevent the hands attached to them from ending up ‘round the headmaster’s throat.  Albus, having never seen this level of vehemence from Snape, looked quite taken aback by it.

“With all due respect, Albus,” Poppy replied, in a tone that clearly said that ‘all due respect’ meant ‘none’.  “We hardly think that you’re the best person to decide what will and won’t harm Harry.”

“I suppose I deserve that,” Albus conceded reluctantly.  “However, I am merely suggesting that we get the b- get the child a wand, and start his education off early, since he’s living here already.”

“Over my flamin’ fucken corpse!” If the situation weren’t so serious, Minerva would have found herself impressed by Severus’ ability to somehow talk in angry italics.  

“What Severus means to say,” Poppy corrected, with a significant look at their co-parent to tell him to control his temper lest he make the whole situation worse, “is that Harry deserves a year and a half to be a child, something that was taken from him for eight long years.  We’re not putting a wand in his hand a second before we have to!  Besides, he’s quite content continuing his muggle studies under our tutelage at the moment- the metrics on the curriculum we sent away for have shown us that his reading is at a year 8 level, and according to Professor Vector, he’s got a mind for maths that it would be a shame not to nurture.”

“I hardly think that maths is as useful as getting an early start on his Hogwarts education,” Dumbledore argued, seemingly ignoring the expression on Severus’ face, which suggested that he was setting fire to the headmaster in his head.

“Why, oh why, would it be any more useful to start our Harry earlier than any other magical child, pray tell,” Minerva demanded.  “The admittance age is eleven years old for a reason, Albus.”

“Ah, but Harry is not a normal magical child,” Albus declared, grabbing what he thought was an opening.  “I hardly see why you’re all making such a fuss over him learning how to protect himself just a little bit earlier.”

“He doesn’t need to be able to protect himself,” Severus thundered, “Because it is our job as his guardians to protect him! And while it should also be your job to guard the welfare of him and all the other magical children in this school, I am not so naive as to presume that you would lift a finger to stop any danger to magical minors if it happened to suit whatever ends you happened to be working towards!  So let me make one thing absolutely clear- we have a magical contract that says Harry is ours to protect and nurture, and that we are the people who look after his welfare.  Not just a legal contract- a magical one.  So, whatever decisions you think you get to make with Harry, get them out of your withered, bloomin’ old head!  Harry. is. Ours.  Stay out of it!” 

Severus was a shade of red that was really quite concerning to the two women, so they figured it was time to make a hasty retreat.

“Well now, I don’t really think there’s anything else we can say that our dear Severus hasn’t already,” Minerva declared, injecting her voice with faux-cheer.  “So we’ll be off now.  Lovely talking to you Albus,” she finished, her smile painted onto her face and her eyebrow twitching.  Five more minutes in that office, and she’d have been no better off than their youngest co-parent.

Poppy stayed silent as they stepped off the stairs and the gargoyle was closing behind them, trying her best not to turn around and violently break her healer’s oath on the old man’s bearded face.  Finally, once they’d migrated to Minerva’s quarters- the closest place to the office to have a private conversation- she pulled out three calming draughts from the pocket of her robes and charmed the kettle to boil.  Minerva, figuring that it was probably safe to let go of Severus’ arm now, went to grab mugs and tea bags.

“Well,” the healer finally huffed, “not that I don’t think that righteous anger is a good look on you, Severus, because it certainly is, but it’s worth remembering that for however much an old fool the headmaster is, he’s still our boss, and if you get your arse fired, that’s one less person on the grounds to look out for Harry.”

“Or,” Severus wrenched out from between clenched teeth, “That’s why the killing curse was invented.”

“Severus!” Minerva scolded, making sure the silencing charms around her office were working double-time.  “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Really?” He drawled.  “Because I’m finkin’ I just did.”  The Manc accent was out in full force.

“Not funny,” Poppy reprimanded.  “Next time, we’re putting a silencing charm on you.”
“There will not be a next time,” Severus rebutted.  “He is not going to involve himself in Harry’s affairs again; I’ll see to that.” 

“You are to stay away from Dumbledore,” Minerva ordered. 

“Gladly,” Severus replied.  “So long as he stays away from Harry.”
“We will handle fending Dumbledore off over anything to do with Harry from now on; you’re too volatile,” Minerva declared, her tone leaving no room for argument as she nearly shoved the calming tea down the man’s throat.

Nonetheless, Severus would have attempted to argue anyway, had not Sirius and Remus entered the office through the floo, Remus carrying a sleeping Harry just as he’d predicted a couple hours ago.

“He had fun,” Sirius declared cheerfully, before catching onto the energy in the room.  “Woah,” he pointed at Severus.  “You’re practically smoking ‘round the ears, mate.  What happened?”

“I’ll be taking Harry to bed while those two update you,” Severus groused in lieu of answering, taking the child from Remus’ arms with a gentleness that belied his angry posture and the tightness in his voice.  “I don’t believe I can recount the incident without blowing the light fixtures to bits.  Suffice it to say that I’ve not a doubt in my mind that the old man has plans to use Harry for his own ends the second he thinks he can get away with it, nevermind the danger that it might put him in.  But if he thinks he can even get near this child, he’s got another thing coming.”  Then he looked down at a sleeping Harry, his expression softening.

“He’s all the best of Lily and more, and I won’t have anyone trying to throw his life away trying to combat whatever evils may or may not be lurking in the shadows, mark my words.”  The fire glowed hotter, and  Severus stood straighter as he stepped through the floo, not waiting for their answer.

“Hey so… did anyone else feel that?” Sirius asked, as the pulse following Severus’ magic flared again before settling into a background hum around them (but very much not disappearing).  “And how it kinda felt like-”
“An Unbreakable Vow, yeah,” Remus agreed, following his love’s thoughts.  “I mean, there was no second person, but…”

“He always was a drama queen,” Minerva sighed, trying to hide her astonishment.  “We already swore on our lives and magic to love and care for Harry, but I guess he just had to go and outdo himself by making an Unbreakable Vow impossibly single-handedly.”

“Show-off,” Sirius mumbled, reaching for the firewhiskey.   

Chapter Text

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and tried not to scream as he sat in Remus’ and Sirius’ house in Hogsmeade.  It was Harry’s weekly violin lesson, and while he was more than happy to listen to Harry patiently and carefully coax ‘hot cross buns’ out of his child-sized violin, if he had to listen to one more second of Sirius dragging the bow across his own Stradivarius in a dreadful cacophony of screeching, he was going to hex the man senseless.

“Mutt, please,” he groaned, trying not to think about the fact that Sirius Black, of all people, had reduced him to begging.  “I know you know how to play the violin.  You’re the one who taught Remus how to play the violin, and as Remus is now good enough to teach Harry, I know you’re capable of playing symphonies without missing so much as a note, so please, for the love of Merlin, stop torturing your poor instrument.”  

Sirius got a shit-eating grin on his face, and Severus sighed again.  At this rate, he’d soon use up all the oxygen in the room.  “If you say anything even remotely inappropriate, I will not be responsible for hexing your mouth clean off,” he warned the other man.  “There is a child right there, and I don’t care whether you think it would go over his head or not,” he hissed in a low voice, casting an eye around to make sure that Harry was well absorbed in the going over the sheet music for the next song with Remus as he scolded Sirius for what would no doubt have been an extremely distasteful innuendo about his… instrument.  

“How many more weeks are you being punished, again?” the Lord Black merely asked in a huff.  “Because I feel like I’m also being punished, and in my own house, at that.”
“Three more weeks.” Severus really tried not to despair.  He would have enjoyed attending Harry’s violin lessons and listening to his skills blossom, if it weren’t for the fact that Sirius Black was also there.  So, for the sake of his sanity, the three usually took turns attending with Harry.  

But it had been three weeks straight already of Severus going every time, because he was being punished for making a fifth year cry by looking at his truly horrid attempt at a potion, making a disgusted face, and going off about how the Hufflepuff’s potion was “proper mingin’!” and saying something along the lines of “my nine-year-old could do a better job than this, and he can’t even reach the brewing station without a stepstool!”  Let it not be said that parenthood had made Severus Snape anything approaching cuddly.   

The point was, now he was sentenced to six weeks of violin-lesson duty by his two coparents, because apparently being a teacher meant that “you have to treat all children with respect and patience, Severus, not just your own” or something.  Severus tuned most of the lecture out after Poppy had refuted his assertion that all non-Harry children were reprehensible little vermin.

“How’d that one sound, Sevvy?” Harry asked eagerly, putting down his violin after the third round of the muggle song about the little star.  

“I’m sure it was wonderful, flutterbat, but you’ll have to play it again for me tonight- I think my ears are still bleeding from whatever your dogfather did to that poor violin,” Severus replied, trying futilely to smooth the curls back from the child’s forehead.

Harry just giggled.  “I just turn my hearing aids down whenever he does that,” he confessed.

“Why pup, I am hurt!” Sirius wailed, swooning backwards in a show of faux-despondency, before he lost his balance and actually tipped over, taking Remus with him onto the thick plush rug by the fireplace.

“My love, my bones are simply too old for your theatrics,” Moony groaned, extracting himself from the tangle of Sirius’ limbs and standing up with a groan (and a popping noise or two in his joints).

“Sorry Moons,” Sirius’s gray eyes were shining, “but you did promise to take me in sickness and in health.”

“You’re not officially married, wolf, so you could still be smart and run,” Severus pointed out, smirking.

“Hey!” Sirius rebutted, waving the violin bow flamboyantly in Severus’ direction.  “We are too married, and just because they won’t give us a certificate like they would to you straight people doesn’t mean it’s any less true!”

“Who said I’m straight?” Severus rolled his eyes.  Padfoot swiveled his neck with a speed that must have hurt, astonished eyes boring into the Slytherin’s face.

“Wait, really?!” he asked- did Severus just come out to them?

“No idea,” Severus shrugged, that annoying smirk back on his face.  “Never really stopped to think about it either way, not since school at least.”  And okay, there had been that crush on Lily, but there had also been what may have been some… feelings… for Sirius’ own brother, not that he was going to ever tell the man that, not even on pain of cruciatus.  “But your expression was priceless.” 

“Guess it doesn’t matter anyway- can’t think of anyone who would be crazy enough to put up with you,” Sirius quipped back, rubbing his sore neck.  “Hey, did you hear anything else from Dumbledore?”
“Shh!” Harry hissed, looking up at his godfather, his green eyes very serious.  “We don’t say the D-word around Sev, or his eye gets all twitchy, and sometimes his magic starts going all funny.”

“Yes, thank you, Harry.” Severus patted him on the head, his eye indeed ‘going all twitchy.’ “But for the record- it was only the one chandelier, and nobody was even around except the house elves, who, by the way, ought to get a handle on their tendency to gossip.”

“Guess I’ll just ask Minerva, then,” Sirius huffed under his breath- not that her eyes got any less twitchy, mind you.

“Poppy said he needs to get his stress levels under control, ‘cos it’s bad for his blood pressure,’” Harry informed his godfathers seriously.  “So we’ve been doin’ lotsa meditation n’ stuff together.  Sevvy’s very good at yoga, you know.  Maybe if you did more yoga, Pads, you wouldn’t be rubbin’ your neck like that.”

“Thank you Harry; I’ll keep that in mind.” Sirius laughed, both from Harry’s cuteness and the mental image of a grumpy Snape in tree pose.

“Pops also says I’m real good at yoga.  She says I’m gettin’ real strong now, even though the Dursleys barely fed me n’ stuff.”

 In the kitchen, a lightbulb shattered with a loud pop . 

“Sev!  What about your blood pressure?!” Harry scolded his guardian with all the assurance of a nine-year-old who knows he’s right and feels safe enough to inform his parental figures of this fact.

“Actually, cub, that was me,” Remus said, apologetic.

“I’ll have Minnie send you some yoga mats,” Harry declared decisively, as the lightbulb casually fixed itself with a lazy wave of his hand.  It was a testament to how comfortable he felt with them, that he didn’t even notice the three exchanging astonished looks.  While he was often very intuitive, just like Lily had been, he could also be just as obtuse as James to whatever was going around in the background when something caught his attention, and right now his eyes were being drawn to the leash in the corner.

“Hey Pads, wanna go for a walk?” He asked his godfather, who, despite the fact that he was still in human form, jumped forward with an eager nod that rather resembled a dog happily thumping its tail.

“Excellent,” Severus agreed, grabbing Harry’s violin case and music books and shrinking them to fit in his pocket, “that will keep you from running your mouth as you escort Harry and I back to the castle.”

Sirius stuck his tongue out at him before he switched into his animagus form so that Harry could fasten the “World’s best Dogfather” collar around his neck, tail wagging so quickly at the prospect of a walk that it was merely a fuzzy black blur.

____

Parenthood, as it turned out, was a lot of losing battles.  Currently, the battle that Severus was losing was “Harry shall never touch another cleaning implement as long as he lives, because Merlin knows he’s already done the life’s work of a house elf in the past eight years.”  And it was the child himself who Severus was losing it to.

“Please Sevvy,” he begged, giving the man a dose of eyes that no longer reminded him only of Lily, because they were so completely Harry’s in his mind.  “I like cleaning stuff, I promise!  And those cauldrons look real fun to scrub!”  He was eying the dirty pile in the corner of his guardian’s classroom with a longing in his face that Severus would expect to see a nine-year-old give a pile of treacle tarts, not dirty dishes filled with truly atrocious attempts as potioneering from his many sub-par students.

“Give your ‘ead a wobble- you do know that this is what I usually make students do for detentions, yes?” he drawled, raising an eyebrow as he tried to figure out what could possibly be going through his son’s mind to make him think cauldron scrubbing was a mint way to spend a Friday afternoon.

“Okay, then when I get detentions, don’t let me scrub cauldrons,” Harry rebutted.  “But I’m not in trouble now, so you should let me!”

“Impossible child,” Severus scoffed, which Harry knew meant yes. He brightened, making to speed off for the pile before Severus gently placed a hand on his arm.

“You’ll need gloves first, and your mask- Morgana only knows what kind of bobbins those second years were brewing today.  No sense breathin’ it in directly.” 

“‘Mkay,” Harry agreed, allowing Severus to pull one of his filtering-charm enhanced masks from the expanded pockets of his teaching robes and place it on his face before placing a shrinking charm on his own favorite pair of dragonhide gloves so they fit Harry’s little hands.

“I’ll get you your own if you decide you want to keep this little hobby,” Severus informed him.  “But I promise you, it’s proper mitherin’.  I won’t be surprised at all if you change your mind- you know you can change your mind, right?”

Harry gave him a knowing look that was reminiscent of the expression Minerva gave students who ‘lost’ their homework assignments.  “I know you’re thinkin’ ‘bout the Dursleys.  It wasn’t the cleaning or the cooking I minded, ya know, it was the fact that I never got to do anything else.  But I do like doin’ chores still, sometimes.  It’s nice when you get things good and clean.  And I know I don’t have to.  I want to.”

“Oh, alright,” Severus conceded, but he kept his eagle eyes on Harry as he eagerly attacked the pile of cauldrons, trying to gauge if he was truly enjoying himself as he threw the force of his little body behind the scrub brush.

“You’re nuffin’ like the Dursleys, Sev.  If you were, I’d not have had to beg just to scrub a few pots.”  Green eyes met worried black ones.  “You’re doin’ a great job.”

Once again, Severus was startled by Harry’s perceptiveness.  “How on earth did you get so smart, flutterbat?” he asked, chuckling.

“Well, you guys teach me lots n’ lots of stuff,” Harry replied.  “‘Cept math, since you have Auntie Septima teach me that after none of you could figure out the textbook.”

“Well, they keep changing it,” Severus huffed.  “When your mother and I were in muggle school, they didn’t go around throwing letters into it.”

“Okay Sev,” Harry smiled as he put aside one perfectly scrubbed and buffed cauldron, reaching for the next one in the ‘dirty’ pile.  “Whatever you say.”

“Well they didn’t! Ask Minerva- she also went to muggle school before Hogwarts.  They keep making all these newfangled techniques and explanations, going around making it more complicated!”

Their playful banter was interrupted by a knock on his door.  

“If the answer is in your textbook, I’m taking house points!” Severus called out his standard ‘office hours’ greeting as a nervous-looking sixth year scuttled in, holding a scrap of paper.

“It’s not that, professor,” the student responded (Smithson, Severus’ brain supplied.  Gryffindor, can’t brew a deflating draught if his life depended on it).  The teenager sighed deeply, looking like he was questioning all his life choices as he held out what Severus realized with some shock was a copy of his last publication for a muggle chemistry journal.  “I’m being forced to ask for your autograph.”

“Pardon?” Severus shook his head, sure he must have heard wrong.

“Yeah, came as a shock to me too,” Smithson agreed, which didn’t actually clear things up at all.  “But anyway, I’m a muggleborn, remember?”

“Well, that hardly seems relevant,” Harry piped up from the corner, and Severus shot him a proud glance.  

“Um, well… it means that all my extended family thinks I go to this elite muggle school on lottery, like they tell us to tell people outside our house.  And my cousin Delia, she’s like, a huge science nerd- a proper swot, really.  She found out that you’re one of my teachers, Professor, and apparently you’re like ‘the most brilliant biochemist in modern academia’ or something, so she’s stolen all my baseball cards and won’t send them back to me until I get her your autograph.  I didn’t even know you did muggle science, but apparently you’re like, ‘a big deal’, and Delia won’t shut up about how ‘lucky’ I am to have you as my teacher, since she says you’re super reclusive and never go to conferences or anything.  I think you’re like, her hero or something.  It’s weird.  I told her she wouldn’t feel that way if she met you, but then she punched me in the arm and told me that ‘of course I’m too thick to appreciate proper genius’ followed by a bunch of sciency ranting that I tuned out.”

“That damn PhD was more trouble than it was worth,” Severus sighed, but he signed the damn paper.  “But do tell your cousin that she has restored some of my faith in the intellect of your generation, and that it’s good to see that your particular brand of idiocy isn’t completely genetic.”

“Gee, thanks,” Smithson sighed, but managed not to roll his eyes. Honestly, he’d saved his baseball cards and managed not to get a detention, so it had gone better than he thought.

“I won’t tell Mins and Pops that you called him an idiot, don’t worry,” Harry promised, after the student was gone and the door swung shut behind him.  He sat proudly in the middle of his pile of gleaming cauldrons.

“And that,” Severus beamed, “is why you’re my favorite child.  Merlin, Flutter, I don’t think these were that clean when they were new.” He picked up a cauldron, looking it over with an astonished face.

Harry beamed at the complement, and then cocked his head as his face turned quizzical.  “Wait a second, I’m your only child,” he replied.

“Exactly,” Severus said, ruffling his hair.  “When you get something perfect the first time, there’s no need to mess around any further with it.”

“Well, what if I want a little brother or sister?” Harry teased, as Severus helped him off the floor to head to dinner.

The man’s face blanched.  “I want no part of that- ask your mutts.”

The peals of Harry’s laughter could be heard from Myrtle’s toilet.

Chapter Text

A healer, a cat animagus, and a potions master sat on a conjured sofa in an abandoned girls’ bathroom, watching as the boy-who-lived played chess with a ghost.  A weird start to any joke, certainly.  But this isn’t a joke, you see- rather, it is a story about a boy who gets, too late- but better late than never- the childhood he had always deserved.

Harry, for his part, had decided that, since Snape had been so opposed to his (only) half-joking request for a younger sibling, that he was going to adopt himself an older one (and he still didn’t understand what exactly it was that his Sevvy found so abhorrent about non-Harry children, but he clearly felt quite strongly about it, and so Harry decided to let it be).  Luckily, there happened to be a Hogwarts ghost who was perfectly older-sister shaped in terms of the size and age of her apparition.

It had begun the first time that Harry witnessed the flooding of an abandoned second-floor corridor while taking his daily evening walk through the castle with his three guardians.  

“What’s that?” he’d asked, and was informed of the very sad ghost who, for some reason, everyone else saw fit to ignore.

“Well, that’s not right,” he declared.  “I’m going to go make her feel better.”  And he did, just by listening, for once.  The three adults felt rather ashamed, really, to have treated the ghost as a nuisance all these years when they saw how easily Harry, with a gentle voice and without judgment, had calmed her tears. 

“Ghosts are still people,” he told them very seriously, when they told him that night how well he had done, and that they’d all thought it was impossible for the ghost to do anything but moan and mope (hence her uncomplimentary nickname amongst students and teachers alike).  “They’re dead, but their feelings aren’t.  Do you know why Professor Binns likes me so much?” he asked, referencing how the History of Magic teacher not only noticed his existence but knew him by name and greeted him whenever they crossed paths.  

“It’s ‘cos I actually ask questions and act excited about the stuff he’s interested in,” he informed them without waiting for an answer.  As much as he loved his adults, he knew that they were sometimes too absorbed in their complicated grown-up problems to see the obvious stuff the way that he did.  “Everyone says he’s boring and all the students say mean stuff like how he must not even realize he’s dead or that time has moved on at all, but that’s not true.  He died in 1893, but he still teaches about stuff after that, and he really likes teaching.  All I did was ask him some questions about the goblin revolution of 1943, and he was so happy to talk to me all about it.  Myrtle’s like that- if someone listens to her and actually treats her like a person, she’s really nice.”

The gobsmacked adults had praised his emotional maturity and then Snape had gone off to tuck him into bed while the two women shared a nightcap, musing about how it really seemed like Harry was teaching them much more than they could ever teach him.

Visits to Myrtle became pretty regular after that, and the ghost clearly adored their boy.  The three supposed that it wasn’t at all surprising- Harry was, by nature, very easy for people to adore.  And, as Harry put it, ghosts were still people ( the Dursleys , they’d all thought, and Severus had declared aloud on more than one occasion when their son was out of earshot, are not people.  I’m not sure what, exactly, they are, but they’re certainly not people.  Perhaps a new and particularly repugnant species of troll). 

None of them commented on the fact that Myrtle was always exactly as solid as she needed to be for whatever Harry had planned.  Hopscotch? Solid (albeit still translucent) feet!  Tickle fights? Solid ‘whatever-Harry-was-tickling-at-that-moment’.  Checkers, like today? Her hands were solid enough to hold the pieces, although the rest of her still floated placidly, criss-cross-applesauce, on the ground above Harry, who sat on a little beanbag chair in the shape of a golden snidget gifted to him by Poppy.

However much they didn’t comment on Harry’s unusual magical prowess in front of the boy himself, not wanting to make him feel self-conscious, they definitely traded looks every time it happened.  Whatever rules the adults thought magic abided by, and the rules that they couldn’t break themselves, no matter how hard they tried, Harry seemed unaware of.  It seemed that to their child, moving magic was as easy as moving his own two hands.  He decided he wanted it to move a certain way or do a certain thing, and then it just… did.  No questions asked.  Severus, while being gobsmacked, was at least glad that it didn’t work for other children in the same way.  It was fine with Harry, of course, but if, as a general rule, not knowing the rules of magic meant that you could do as you wish with it… well, safe to say that the Weasley twins would be even worse, Merlin forbid.

“I mean,” Poppy said once, in a hushed whisper to the other two as they tried to make sense of it one day during Harry’s nap, “maybe his magic is unusually strong due to all the work that it had to do to keep him alive back in that house.”  As always, she spat that house like a curse, the way Snape might say “amusement park” or “Christmas party.”  (Severus’ voice, it might be noted, said the words that house in a hissed voice, through gritted teeth and with his jaw locked tight, as if they were physically painful to force past his unwilling lips).  

“If that was true, all it would take to be Merlin levels of power would be a lot of dedication and magical ‘exercise.’  Skill improves with practice, but the actual levels of magical power decidedly do not.  You can’t really believe that it would, either, Poppy- you’re a healer.  You know that magic is like height; it grows at a steady pace until the child reaches adulthood, and then it’s stable.”

“Well yes, but Harry’s obviously works differently…” the medi-witch trails off.

“It had to have been like that from the beginning, though, or he would have died at 15 months old,” Severus countered.  “We all know that Dumbledore’s thoughts on the matter are a load of hippogriff shite.  While Lily certainly loved Harry, so did every other mum who died for their spawn.  And while I would certainly put forth that Harry is far superior and more worthy of love than said other spawn, those mums obviously didn’t think so.”

The women continued politely ignoring Severus’ usual ranting about how Harry was the only non-odious child to have ever walked the earth, instead choosing to focus on his other point.

“Yes, which is why it must have been Harry’s magic, somehow.  And I think Poppy is right to a degree- now that he’s not using that magic just to stay alive, it’s all the more obvious how powerful he actually is.  But it doesn’t give us any clues as to why or how- James and Lily were certainly incredibly gifted wizards, but not to the level that would have predicted this .”

“He’s also more attuned to magic than most grown wizards,” Poppy pointed out.  “It’s a conscious effort for any one of us to have any level of ambient magical awareness, and we’re all very talented and highly trained.  But for Harry, it seems like it’s as natural to him as awareness of his physical environment.  He always knows exactly which steps of the moving staircases are about to go this way or that, before they’ve given any indication at all.  And he can tell me with perfect accuracy what Zonkos the Weasley twins have in their school bags that have caused their most recent excursion into my hospital wing.”

“I’ve never once let him into the ingredient cupboard- I know he’s scared of small spaces, so I always fetch them for him whenever we’re working together.  But yesterday, one of those idiotic students- probably a Gryffindor- put the Shrivelfig skin on the wrong damn shelf after class, and when I was in there looking for it, he called out ‘third shelf to your left, next to the Newts’ eyes,’ casual as you please, and he was right,” Severus had added to their observations.

“He always knows whatever it was that my transfigured items used to be,” Minerva added.  “Told me I was quite clever to have transfigured my candy bowl from a seashell.  I still have no idea how he knew that it used to be a seashell.  I asked and he just said ‘what do you mean? It’s obvious, innit?’ in such a way that if I wasn’t absolutely certain that he was James’, I would have thought you’d sired the child,” she declared, turning to Severus.  “He mirrors you so adeptly sometimes- posture, inflection, accent- the lot of it.  It’s almost unsettling.”

“Solving the mystery isn’t nearly as important- it’s keeping it from Dumbledore that requires our effort.” Severus ignored the bits about Harry’s frankly adorable mimicry.  “And we’ve eventually got to break it to him gently, before he starts school, at least.  I know that he just wants to be normal, but he’s exceptional in every way.  I just wish he’d be able to see that it was a good thing…” The man worried his lip in a gesture that made him look more human than Minerva and Poppywould have guessed he could look mere months before.  

“We can’t expect it to be that simple after how he grew up, Severus, you know that,” Poppy scolded mildly.  “And we’ve still got time before we need to bring it up at all.  Let him just enjoy magic for now, without being faced with the reality that he can make it do things that should be impossible.”

Impossible, it might be added, like partially-solidifying a ghost at will, but there was no denial that Myrtle was moving the checkers around the board with her own two hands, ghostly as they still were.

“Oh dear, lost again,” she murmured, hiding a smile.  Harry rolled his eyes.

“I know you’re letting me win.”  He stuck his tongue out at her.  “It’s as obvious as the big snake snoring down under the lake.”

“Wait, what?” Severus butt in.

“Oh right, I guess you’ve gotta be a parselmouth to hear it,” Harry replied, sheepish.  “But goodness, it gets real loud sometimes.  Emmy and I talk about it all the time.” The aforementioned familiar peeked her head out from the sleeve of Harry’s robe and looked around before deciding that the conversation held little interest for her and also went back to sleep.  “She sure has been sleepin’ for an awful long time.  Don’t think she’s done nuffin’ else since I been livin’ wif you guys.”  

Normally, Poppy would be coo-ing over Harry’s little Manc accent, but her head was spinning.  

“There’s been a giant snake under the school for Morganna-knows-how-long and nobody’s aware of it?” She gasped.

“They might have been at some point.” Myrtle shrugged.  “There’s lots of weird things in Hogwarts- after all.  One of them even killed me.”  Harry’s small brown hand patted her blue one gently in support.

“Ideally, that is what we are hoping to avoid,” Severus quipped, putting a protective hand over Harry’s shoulder.  “Do you have any idea what kind of snake it might be, Harry?”

“I dunno, but it’s super big, like, probably a couple hundred meters or so?  And snores a lot, but I can’t hear it unless I’m down by the lake or here in Myrtle’s bathroom.  It doesn’t seem all that interesting, to be honest.  If you’re so curious, I could probably wake it up to ask…”

“NO!” all three adults shouted at once, startling Harry.  Touchingly, though, there wasn’t any fear in his face, merely surprise at how emphatic they were, as well as the fact that they all instantly agreed on something.  Sevvy wasn’t known to easily agree with anyone outside of Harry himself, or matters related to Harry’s happiness and well-being.

“Okay, I’ll let her sleep.  Goodness, grown-ups are strange.”

“Indeed we are, flutter,” Severus agreed, as he and the other two women had a conversation with their eyes.

Dumbledore definitely knew, yes? Severus’ quirked eyebrow inquired.

Oh, absolutely- the man can’t keep his crooked nose out of anyone’s business, so I highly doubt a large magical snake was resting under Hogwarts without him knowing something of it, Minerva’s pursed lips agreed. 

Yes, and Minerva and I will go and have a calm, rational, adult conversation with him about the matter.  Which means that you , naturally, shall be nowhere near it.  Why don’t you take Harry out for ice cream in the village? Poppy suggested, with a nod of her head towards Hogsmeade, her face stern as her steely eyes reminded Severus of exactly why it was a bad idea for him to be near the headmaster.  Severus bristled at the insult to his self-control, but he couldn’t exactly argue.  There was only so far one could get with silent conversations, anyway.

“Harry, luv, why don’t we go have some ice cream down in Hogsmeade and visit Zonko’s?” Severus asked the child.  “I saw you looking at a few items in this month’s catalogue, and it’s time you had a snack, anyway.”
“Normally it’s Pads and Remy that buy me prank stuff,” Harry furrowed his brow.

“Well yes, but you enjoy them, so I will buy some for you. I’m hardly about to be out-parented by two flea-bitten furballs,” Severus sniffed haughtily, his nose upturned.  Harry laughed.

“You’re so silly, Sevvy.  But they do have some cool new stuff in- I can use some of it to prank the twins for ruinin’ all those cauldrons in your class last week!  Say, can Myrtle come with us?”

“You may bring whoever you like, child.”  Severus didn’t even bother to hide his smile at the idea of Harry chivalrously taking up pranking arms on his behalf.  

Myrtle knew, without asking, that she would be able to actually eat the ice cream, tasting something for the first time in over fifty years.  Harry wanted her to, and so she would- simple as that. Magic wasn’t any less charmed by the kid than people were, apparently.

She didn’t say any of this- it was obvious that Harry wasn’t even fully aware of what he was doing, or of what her normal limitations were.  Instead, she smiled and took him by the hand.

“I have the best little brother ever,” she declared, kissing his cheek.  Harry laughed, and Severus took his charge and tag-along ghost towards his office so that they could floo to Hogsmeade.  While he was slightly grumpy about losing the opportunity to verbally (and maybe actually) tear Albus limb from infuriating limb, he’d much rather be with Harry anyway.  Before parenthood, he couldn’t remember ever in his life being exactly where he wanted to be, but these days it seems like that’s right where he always was.

Meanwhile, Minerva and Poppy shot each other a dark look.

“Why do I feel like things are about to get a lot more complicated?” Minerva sighed, shoving back some frazzled hairs that had worked themselves loose from her bun.

“Because, my dear,” Poppy replied, her voice no less tense, “your instincts, as ever, are impeccably spot-on.”

Chapter Text

Severus stepped through the floo into Sirius and Remus’ house in Hogsmeade.  “Mutts!” He called out.  “Harry left some of his sheet music here- I’m assuming you’re far too irresponsible to have noticed and have it prepared for me?” he called as he exited, only to see Sirius guiltily shove something behind his back.

“Well well well,” he drawled, smirking in what could only be called delight (nevermind that most people who knew Severus Snape would think him incapable of such an emotion, unless they had seen him interacting with Harry).  “It seems I’ve caught you in flagrante delicto!  What, pray tell, is the mangy cur hiding behind his back?”

“It’s uh… a steamy letter from Moony!” Sirius blurted, knowing that any mention of his sex life would be the most likely thing to get the other man to stop asking questions.  “We’re talking about, um… butt stuff.”

Severus rolled his eyes.  “Nice try, mutt.  But Remus writing you explicit letters would require an assurance that you would actually read them, and we both know that Harry’s reading level is higher than yours.  So, let’s try again- what’s behind your back?”

“Uh…” Sirius scrambled for another lie, but Severus had already summoned the parchment.

“Why is Arabella Figg writing to you?” he muttered, unfolding the parchment.

Dear Sirius, it read, I would of course be delighted to help you get revenge on those awful Dursley muggles, and you’re more than welcome to stay at my house and pretend to be my nephew.  As I understand that you would not wish to draw too much attention to what you are doing to avoid drawing Dumbledore’s attention, I think that it is an excellent idea to ruin their reputation in the neighborhood via some well-placed gossip.  I must admit that I’ve often thought of it myself, but I don’t have a lot of social capital in town.  You, however, are a lovely and gregarious young lad, so I’m sure the old harpies around town would find themselves quite taken with you. However, I would recommend against bringing Remus- if there’s even a whiff suspected that you’re in a non-heterosexual relationship, nobody will listen to you.  As I understand it, Minerva and Poppy think it best that everyone stays away from Privet Drive altogether for the time being, as they cannot trust themselves not to do something decidedly illegal.  I hope it goes unsaid that you are not to do something decidedly illegal.  So, you would need to keep this hidden from the others.  For this reason, it would make sense for you to come for a few hours whenever you could get away, and we can start introducing you to the neighborhood.  I am, out of the compulsory need among the women of the neighborhood to maintain the appearance of politeness, invited to all of the neighborhood social gatherings.  There is a church potluck next Sunday afternoon, if you would like to come then.  Petunia will not be attending with her family, as they will be visiting Vernon’s sister that week. Please owl me with your answer as soon as you can.

Best,

Arabella Fig.

Sirius wasn’t sure what kind of response he was expecting from Severus.  The Cheshire cat grin was somehow scarier than any of them.

“Well, mutt, I suppose we’re going to a potluck.” Severus steepled his fingers together, still grinning maniacally. 

“Woah, hang on just a second- since when are you invited?” Sirius gulped.

“Since I caught you with the invitation,” Severus replied, waving Arabella’s letter.  “You don’t want anyone to know, and I want a chance to be involved in whatever petty revenge we can give to the Dursleys without putting Harry at risk, which, as the cat lady has so astutely pointed out, means that Minerva and Poppy can’t know about it.  If you would like them not to know about it, you need me not to tell them.  Ergo, to achieve that goal, you have to appease me by bringing me along.”

Sirius groaned but offered no further objections.

“Now, I believe you have the sheet music for ‘Mary had a Little Lamb’ hiding somewhere around here?”

“Um, about that… Padfoot may have eaten it…”

Severus groaned, picked up a copy of The Daily Prophet that was lying on a side table, rolled it up, and smacked Sirius with it.

“Bad dog,” he scolded.

_______

“Almost,” Harry told his best friend.  “You just gotta adjust your chin a little.” 

Ron was holding Harry’s violin.  They were having a playdate, and when Harry was showing him what he’d learned from his Uncle Moony, Ron had been so appreciative of Harry’s new music skills that Harry insisted that Ron should try too.  Myrtle was floating nearby, watching proudly.  Since they’d boarded up and heavily warded her bathroom (Dumbledore refused to do anything about the snake, so Minerva, Poppy, and Severus did the best they could by declaring the bathroom ‘off limits’ and warding the living daylights out of the place), she had been finding other places to hang out, which mostly consisted of following Harry around.  The elves had even been so kind as to make her adjoining bedrooms to the ones Harry had in his various guardians’ quarters.  In all, (after)life was much better for her these days, even if the elves had, in their endearing but often misguided exuberance, given her a toilet instead of a bed in the aforementioned bedrooms.  It’s not like she actually slept, anyway.

Severus re-entered the playroom through the floo.  “Unfortunately, your dogfather has eaten ‘Mary had a Little Lamb,’ flutter.  I’ll go and pick up a new copy from the music store tomorrow.”

“Sevvy, you don’t gotta go all the way to London just to get the sheet music for one song.” Harry rolled his eyes.  “Plus, tomorrow’s Monday, so you’ve got classes to teach.”

“Ah yes, the dunderheads,” Severus grumbled.  “The bane of my existence.  As proven by your existence, children are capable of being perfect, so I don’t know why all these reprobates choose not to be.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect except for Harry,” Ron piped up.  “That would simply be asking too much of them.”

Severus, it should be noted, did not find Ronald Weasley completely distasteful.  Ronald Weasley, as exhibited by his recognition of Harry’s brilliance, had a good head on his shoulders, so although he was no Harry, Severus would hate his job quite a bit less if most students managed to achieve Ron Weasley-levels of adequacy.  But alas, it was not to be.

“Your brothers blew up three of my classroom cauldrons last week,” he informed Ron, in lieu of acknowledging said adequacy.  “Why must they do this?” There was no need to clarify which brothers he was referring to.

“If you’re askin’ me to tell you why Fred and George do anything, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, Professor.  I don’t think even mum knows why they do what they do, and she grew ‘em!”

“Kindly tell the headmaster this, so that he stops breathing down my neck about why the cauldron budget has to be so large,” Severus replied with a groan.  Honestly, ever since they’d refused to enroll Harry early, the man had started taking a lot more interest in their work performance.  Previously, he had always been a ‘hands off’ sort of headmaster when it came to day-to-day administration (he was far too busy putting his hands on other sorts of schemes and machinations, the likes of which only he knew the full extent).  But lately, he’d started taking it upon himself to bother the three of them over little things like their syllabus structures, the amount of homework they gave, or even the textbooks they chose as part of their curriculums.  Luckily, Dumbledore never bothered Severus in person (whatever he saw in Severus’ eyes that day in his office must have enforced what a terrible idea that would be), but the potions master was certainly receiving an excess of owls at all hours of the day lately.

“You know, cauldrons should really be tougher than they are, if two eleven-year-olds can destroy them so easily,” Harry remarked.

“And this, flutterbat, is why you have more sense than the rest of the wizarding world combined,” Severus replied proudly, at the same time that Ron declared “Oh, Fred and George are no ordinary eleven-year-olds.”

Harry just responded to both of them with a smile and a giggle that brightened the room.  “Say Ron, what’s Pigwidgeon been up to lately?”  His best friend rarely brought Pig to their playdates, too worried that he would aggravate Harry’s asthma.

“Oh, just flying ‘round the house like a nutter, driving mum crazy,” the redhead replied.  “I’m tryin’ to send him off with more letters so he gets more exercise, but he just never seems to run out of energy!”  

This was despite the fact that he had been sending letters to Charlie multiple times a day, requesting new facts about dragons.  He’d read all the books that his oldest brother had left behind in his room, and since the local muggle library didn’t have any accurate dragon books, the only way to find out more was to ask his brother, at least until he had access to the Hogwarts library.  He wasn’t allowed to check out books when he visited Harry, because Mrs. Pince said that he couldn’t bring them back to the Burrow with him.  Mrs. Pince let Harry check out books, but that was because Harry lived at Hogwarts, and also because nobody in their right mind would say no to Harry.  Ron could see the logic in that- besides, the Burrow wasn’t the safest place for books, what with his crazy owl and his dad’s many (and often explosive) experiments with muggle items.

In any case, Harry loved books, so Ron was very glad that his best friend in the whole world had easy access to them.  More often than not, when Ron entered through the floo for their playdates, he encountered Harry with his little nose buried deep within some text that was half the child’s size and looked complicated and full of words Ron couldn’t pronounce.  Today, the tome he’d set aside on the table was labeled A Brief Introduction to Arcane Goblin Rituals, which Harry cheerfully informed him that he’d gotten from “Uncle Filius” before setting it down next to his pre-algebra textbook and a mug of half-finished tea.  Then he’d shown Ron what he’d learned in violin lessons that week before insisting that his best friend give it a try.  Even though “Mary had a Little Lamb” was off the table for a moment, Ron proved to be a true natural with “Hot Cross Buns”, and Harry clapped and looked rather suitably impressed.  Professor Snape was over in the corner doing some marking and looking decidedly less impressed.

“Merlin help us, if this is the quality of work to be expected from the wizards we’re about to set loose upon the world,” he grumbled.

“Are the NEWTS students not paying attention during lectures again?” Harry asked, as the two young boys abandoned the violin, Harry putting it carefully back in its case.

“Of course not, flutter, that would be asking too much of them,” Severus griped, but he still smiled as soon as he looked up at Harry.  “Now come, child- let’s take young Mister Weasley to the village.  We’ll get some butterbeer and perhaps even do our dinner there.”
“What about your marking?” Ron asked, looking at the top essay, where the abrupt cessation of copious red markings on the first half of the page suggested that he’d left off grading halfway through that particular essay, not to mention the large pile of papers underneath still awaiting their overdue mangling by Severus’ red ink and cramped handwriting.

“These students have the rest of their life to become aware of their staggering inadequacy, I hardly see how waiting one more day will make any difference,” Severus replied, taking Harry’s hand.  “Needless to say, I expect better from you, at least, Ronald, when the time comes.” 

“What about me?” Harry asked, smiling impishly at the man.  

“You, little luv, are already exceeding my expectations on a daily basis.  You hardly require such a warning,” Severus told him plainly, causing the child to blush.  But it wasn’t as if it wasn’t true- his sweet flutterbat was currently requesting the third year potions textbook as a bedtime story on Severus’ nights to have him, since they’d already finished the first two together.

 “Now- come along, Ronald.  We need to leave so that Harry gets his dinner on time,” Severus demanded. Ron grabbed Harry’s other hand, since it was clear that Severus was not about to deign to touch a non-Harry child, even one who was marginally more tolerable than most of his ilk (and certainly more tolerable than his twin terror brothers).

_____

Just because Severus had blackmailed his way into coming with Sirius to the potluck on Privet Drive didn’t mean that he was happy about it, and it was evident on his face as he stepped through the floo into Arabella Figg’s cat-infested house on Sunday afternoon.

Sirius- having spent much of his time as a dog- seemed to have similar thoughts, eyeing the cats with a mixture of wariness and derision.   Well,  at least none were as big as Lily’s old kneazle, who was an absolute monster of a beast.  Sirius hadn’t even liked to take his animagus form around old Crookshanks.

Severus brushed cat hair off of his black turtleneck, letting out a large sneeze.  It horrified him that Harry had been sent here whenever the Dursleys were on vacation.  Sure, the poor child had been fed, at least, but his asthma must have made even breathing easily a challenge.  Harry had occasionally talked about how Mrs. Figg was a nice escape from the Dursleys, and it hit Severus square in the chest the sheer extent to which nice was a very relative term in the case of Harry’s childhood.

“Ah, Severus, it’s been a good while,” Arabella said, diplomatically.  “I don’t think I’ve seen you since we were all attending Order meetings together.”

“Mhhm,” Severus agreed, rubbing his eyes, which were itchy and dry.

“Snape, are you allergic to cats?” Sirius asked, his delight badly hidden.

“Well, I didn’t think so, but then again, I’ve hardly been stuck in a room with what must be fifty of the damn things before.”

“There are only seventeen,” Mrs. Figg corrected.  “Would you like a Claritin?”

“No thank you,” Severus grunted, sneezing again.  “Let’s just head out.”

“Alright,” Arabella agreed, grabbing her purse.  “It’s only about a ten minute walk from here.  Now, remember- you two are my nephews, so you’ll have to act like you don’t completely hate each other.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Severus agreed, still sounding rather congested.  “After all, I do it every day.”

Sirius rolled his eyes.  “You’re not very good at it,” he teased.

“Well, Harry thinks that we’re reluctant friends, at least, which means that I at least manage to hide my desire to beat you over the head with your own wand on a daily basis.  So I think that ought to be good enough- after all, when do brothers ever fully get along?”

“Fair point,” Sirius sighed, his heart sinking as he thought about his own brother.

Severus, oddly, seemed to notice, and his expression softened mildly.  “Regulus was a good man.  I think he would have turned back, if he’d lived long enough to have the chance.”  It was… odd… trying to console his childhood enemy, but Regulus had been someone that they’d both cared for, not that Sirius knew the full extent of it on Severus’ end.

The dark cloud that had come over Sirius’ expression seemed to lift slightly.  “You really think so?”  His voice was quiet, hopeful.

Severus slowed down, and Mrs. Figg tactfully kept walking a little way ahead so the two men could have their conversation in private.

“I think he regretted it much faster than I did, at least.  As soon as he took the mark, I could see it on his face.  I can’t say that he would have gone to the Order- he didn’t trust Dumbledore; he always was smart like that- but he definitely didn’t want to be where he was.”  Severus clenched his jaw tightly, wishing he’d had half as much sense.

“Thank you, Severus.  I… that means a lot, actually.” Sirius realized with some shock that he’d actually laid a comforting hand on the other man’s elbow without thinking about it when the other man did a full body shudder, startled by the contact.  

“Sorry,” he removed it.

“It’s… alright, I suppose.  I am just unused to being touched by non-Harry's.  However, do endeavor to refrain from such a thing again.”

“Of course,” Sirius laughed.  “And, just so you know, the technical definition for non-Harry’s is other people.” 

“I see no need to make such a distinction when they are so entirely unimportant,” Severus grumbled.  

Sirius rolled his eyes.  “It’s really rather frightening that you’re a teacher.  At a school.  With children.”

“I assure you, it was not my idea,” Severus grimaced.  “Definitely the last career path I would have chosen of my own volition.  But it did lead me, in a roundabout way, to Harry.  As such, I endeavor to refrain from hexing the odious little creatures under my care, and I’ve managed alright so far.  It’s better than if a man like Slughorn were still in such a position.  I might not be kind, certainly, but the children are all alive, at least.  And with the current bunch, I don’t think the old layabout would have managed that.  I swear, children are even worse and more destructive now than they were back in our day.”

“Well, considering I almost got you killed that one time, I’d say that’s rather terrifying,” Sirius agreed.

Severus jarred to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk.  “Is that… an apology?” 

“If that’s your definition of an apology, then you need to raise your standards, but that’s besides the point,” Sirius rebutted.  “But yes, it was going to lead to an apology, if you’d let me finish, you big greaseball,” he continued, unable to resist the playful taunt.  The other man wasn’t bothered by it, judging by the eye roll he received in return.  “It was wrong, alright?  And no matter what you did after, it doesn’t justify what I did then.  It was a really shitty thing to do to the love of my life, and it was a shitty thing to do to you.  I was young and dumb and honestly kind of fucked up.  We don’t have to like each other all that much, but we’re both in Harry’s life, and part of setting a good example for my godson means being the best version of myself.  And that means that I need to own my mistakes.  Besides, it hit me, reliving it over and over in Azkaban, just how badly that day could have gone if James hadn’t stepped in.  I hadn’t really conceptualized it before then.”

Severus still hadn’t moved, now gaping openly at Sirius.  

“Look, you don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to,” Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair.  “But we are late for a potluck, and we do have to pretend to be brothers, so at the very least, I am going to ask you to act like you tolerate me for the rest of the day.”
Severus shook himself out of his stupor.  “You’re right, which is definitely something I never saw myself saying.  I simply wasn’t ever expecting an apology from you of all people.  Whether I’m ready to forgive you or not is an entirely different question, but I am nonetheless grateful that you apologized at all- even if it was over a decade late.”  He simply couldn’t resist adding the last bit, and Sirius squirmed a bit guiltily.

“Fair enough, little bro,” he agreed, and Severus sputtered.

“Wait a second, what makes you think that you get to be the older brother in this charade?” he demanded, but Sirius was already laughing and jogging towards the park where the potluck was being held, which was now in their line of sight.

___________

The potluck was dreadfully boring, as it turned out.  Lots of gossipy old ladies talking about whose casserole was best, or who made the most muffins for the church bake sale.  Severus could feel his brain cells dying off one by one from even being in the vicinity.

“The lawn contest this year is really anyone’s guess,” Mrs. Number-18 was saying.   “Since Petunia’s roses are doing so badly lately.”
Sirius saw an opening.  “Oh really?” He asked.  “Because my Aunt Arabella said that she always had the prettiest roses- something about Mrs. Dursley’s little nephew being really good at gardening?”

The gathering crowd of women looked startled.  “Why yes, her nephew did used to do all the gardening,” one murmured, looking rather a bit surprised to remember that Petunia Dursley had a nephew at all.  “He was a very quiet boy, but always ever-so-polite when spoken to.  How strange, that I should have forgotten about him…”

The other women were muttering their agreement.  “The child was an orphan, if I remember correctly,” another mentioned.  “I wonder where he could have gone… he’s too young for a boarding school…”

“How old is he, exactly?” Severus prodded, playing along.  “Aunt Arabella said he looked much younger than his cousin, what with how small and skinny he seemed.”

“I believe they were the same age,” Mrs. Number-7 piped up.  “But you’re right- he certainly didn’t look it.  Granted, Dudley is a husky boy”- here the three had to hold back a snort- husky was certainly a polite way of putting it- “but even compared to the other children, the boy always did seem rather small…”

“Well, that’s one way to put it- personally, I always thought he looked like a complete waif of a child,” Mrs. Number 18 butt in again, always eager to sink her claws into the latest gossip.  “And his eyes- he had the most enormous green eyes, although I suppose they must have seemed larger in his gaunt little face.  My daughter came to visit once and saw him running to the shops to pick up a loaf of bread or some such for Petunia- she thought the little creature looked positively sickly.  She was absolutely ready to go up to number four and ask the Dursleys what business they had sending a fragile little thing like that running hither and thither.  I told her she shouldn’t stir up trouble.”

“Perhaps,” Severus couldn’t resist butting in, “we all ought to be willing to stir up a little trouble when it comes to the welfare of children.” 

Arabella shot him a warning look- they were trying to make a good impression, and it was a delicate balance to strike.

“Are you a parent then, dear?” One of the more mild-mannered neighbors asked, changing the subject before Mrs. Number 18 could get too offended.

The change in Severus’ countenance was remarkable, and he immediately became more animated as he nodded.  “Yes, I have one son- he’s nine.  Love of my life.  He’s an absolutely brilliant child.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Mrs. Number Seven piped up.  “What’s his name?”

“Hari,” Severus replied, using the Indian pronunciation, the one that was on his birth certificate.  There were lots of children named Harry, of course, but the extra little bit of anonymity couldn’t hurt, at any rate.

“Oh, what a good, old-fashioned name,” Mrs. Number 7 replied, while Mrs. Number 18 began to question if Severus’ (presumed) wife was some flavor of… exotic.  

“Is his mother… British?” she probed, raising her eyebrows in slight disapproval.

“His mother,” Severus barely refrained from growling, “is dead.” 

Mrs. Number 18 had the decency to mumble an apology, while the other women all crowed their sympathy in unison.

Arabella could barely hide a smile- Severus had basically made himself old lady catnip.  Tragically widowed (presumably) and raising his son all on his own?  He’d just given a very convenient excuse for his prickliness, and made himself seem all the more tragic and mysterious in the process.  They’d be sending her casseroles to pass along to her ‘nephew’ by nightfall.  

“Why isn’t little Harry here?” Mrs. Number 9 probed, making no effort not to Anglicize the pronunciation.  He tried not to bristle- after all, Harry heard the Anglicized version of his name his whole life, and seemed to identify more with it out of familiarity, but as these old harpies didn’t know that, it was the principle of the thing that bothered him.  Not that there was all that much difference, but it was enough that the lack of effort was still obvious.

“My nephew has pretty serious asthma,” Sirius jumped in, seeing that Severus was too busy being offended.  “We couldn’t safely bring him around all Auntie Arabella’s cats.”

“Oh, what a shame,” one of the other ladies tutted.  “I personally couldn’t imagine life without a cat.  Although I think one or two is sufficient,” She added as an afterthought, with a significant glance at Arabella, who just hid an eyeroll.  She was well used to it.  It’s not that she planned on having as many cats as she did, in any case.  It was more that so many of the people in Little Whinging got a pet on impulse, before deciding they were too much work and tossing them out to fend for themselves.  When Dumbledore had asked her to move there to keep an eye on Harry ( from afar, he’d stressed, quite insistently), she’d only had 3 cats.

“I think it’s quite nice of Arabella to take in strays,” Mrs. Number Seven piped in.  “Just like it was very good of Petunia to take in her nephew.  Although, it is true that we haven’t seen him in a while.  Perhaps we ought to check in, once the family gets back from visiting Vernon’s sister.”

“Perhaps they finally had to cut their losses and send him off to a reform school,” Mrs. Number 18 declared, rather viciously.  “Small as he was, Petunia always mentioned how much trouble he got into.”

Mrs. Figg looked at Severus and Sirius, hoping they weren’t about to attack the old bint.  The anger was rolling off of them in waves, but they were still and stony-faced at the moment.  She decided to salvage the situation the best she could.

“Oh, he was never so much trouble as that.  An absolutely lovely child, whenever I looked after him.  Very quiet and polite.  I suppose that it might seem that he got into more trouble than he did, since he was always being cornered and chased by the other boys,” she declared, plastering on a smile.

“Well, that’s not what my grandson says.” Mrs. Number 18 sniffed haughtily.  “According to Piers, the boy has such a sharp tongue.”

“And your Piers has an even sharper kick, or so I’ve heard,” Arabella spat back, beginning to lose her own temper now.  

“Ahh yes, young boys and their tendencies towards fisticuffs,” Mrs. Number 12 broke in, laughing nervously.   “Regardless, I’m sure the Dursleys wouldn’t send their nephew anywhere that wasn’t good for him.  We’ll just ask after him at the bake sale on Tuesday- Petunia always brings such lovely snickerdoodles.”

That Harry made, Severus thought savagely.  Whatever that awful harpy brings on Tuesday, it won’t come from her kitchen.  Merlin knew the woman couldn’t cook to save her life- Lily said that she’d failed Home Ec the first time and barely passed it the second.

Regardless, when they left the potluck, it was with a sigh of relief.  They’d planted a seed of doubt, and no racist old ladies had been maimed.  Both men counted that as a win.

_____

Severus went through the floo from Arabella’s living room directly to his own quarters, sneezing again from all the cat hair as he scrubbed himself thoroughly clean of it with a number of charms, not wanting any irritants remaining on his robe when Minerva dropped off Harry, since it was Severus’ night with him.  Sirius, to avert suspicion, apparated directly from Arabella’s home to the alleyway near Zonkos, making sure to stop and make a number of purchases, in case anyone asked what he’d been up to all afternoon.

Severus, for his part, had an excuse ready to go about a meeting with one of the journals that regularly published his muggle research.  He had another article coming out on Monday, so a meeting wouldn’t have been entirely implausible.  At any rate, the two witches he shared Harry’s custody with didn’t know enough about Muggle Academia to question the veracity of his alibi.

His dark expression lifted the moment the portrait hole leading into his office swung open, and Harry came trotting in holding Minerva’s hand.

“Hey Sevvy!  How was your day?” Harry asked as he removed his shoes, leaving him in one of the warm pairs of socks that Poppy knitted for him in her free time.

“Hello Flutterbat,” Severus replied, smiling widely as he squatted down, arms open to receive the eager nine-year-old rushing towards him.  “I did nothing of note- just some business to take care of in the city.  How was your day?”

“Minnie and Poppy took me to Edinburgh- there was an Indie band playing today that they said Da used to like!”

“That’s lovely, Flutter- did you have fun?” Severus asked, brushing a curl off the child’s forehead with gentle fingers.

“Well, yeah, but…” Harry wrinkled his little nose, as if deciding whether or not to say something.  Cocking his head, he clearly decided to come out with it.  “Dad had terrible taste in music,” he sighed.  

Severus barked a laugh.  “Your mother thought so too,” he confided.  “When your father was trying to woo her in our earlier years at Hogwarts, she would always meet me at our park in the summers with complaints about whatever terrible mixtape he’d sent her most recently.  The man learned to use the muggle post right after third year, and then poor Lily had to deal with a deluge of whatever awful love songs he’d been trying to woo her with that week.”
“What kinda music did mum like?” Harry asked, always eager to soak up any stories of his parents (the kinds he should have rolled his eyes at and been bored to death of hearing like most kids who grew up with their parents had)..

“Your mother had excellent taste in music, if I do say so myself.  She loved Fleetwood Mac and the Bay City Rollers most of all, but she also had a soft spot for the Beatles, and was known to enjoy classical music on occasion as well.  She never had the patience for an instrument, but she’d be delighted to listen to you play violin,” the potions master told his little boy.

“Did she like Penny Lane?” Harry asked, referencing his own favorite Beatles song.  Record players didn’t work at Hogwarts, but his guardians were always happy to take him to some of the many music shops that dotted the muggle towns and cities they took him to on excursions, so Harry was able to cultivate his own music taste in a way that he hadn’t been able to before (it would have been very difficult for him to hear the radio properly before he’d gotten his hearing aids, and even then, the Dursleys hadn’t been much for the radio, preferring the telly).

“It was one of her favorites,” Minerva confirmed, smiling at the sweet picture in front of her.  Severus was sitting cross legged on the floor now, and Harry had made himself at home on the man’s lap as he asked questions about his mum.

Harry smiled brilliantly, and then his eyes caught sight of the clock.  “Uh-oh, Mins- you better be going- Pops said she wants to take you out to dinner at seven, and then you got those opera tickets!”

“Oh goodness, you’re right.” The tabby animagus startled, gathering her wand and purse.  “Thank you, Harry.  I wouldn’t want to be late to such a lovely evening with a friend.”

“Friend, is it?” Severus quirked an eyebrow upward as Harry wiggled around, trying to find the most comfortable position to curl up against the potions master.

“I don’t know what you mean, Severus,” Minerva replied, cheeks reddening.  “Of course Poppy is my friend.  She’s yours as well.”
“Not in the same way that she seems to be yours, I hope to Merlin,” the man snorted, the flowers on his forearm flashing into view as he lifted his left hand to card through Harry’s curls, his right arm wrapped snugly around the child.

“You’re as meddlesome as Lily was,” Minerva declared, her whole face now bright red.  “I don’t know what you think you mean, but you ought to mind your business,” she scolded.  Then she gave Harry a kiss on the cheek and told him goodnight before walking briskly back out the portrait hole.
“Sevvy?” Harry asked, looking up at the man with his big doe eyes.  “What was that about?  Are Minnie and Pops in love like mum and da were?”

“Well, my perceptive child, I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see, since our dear Minerva was certainly not very forthcoming on the matter,” Severus replied, but the humor dancing in his black eyes told Harry that they were on the same page in terms of their suspicions.  “Now, why don’t we get you in a warm bath, and then we’ll have some cocoa and I’ll read you a bedtime story.  What would you like to hear tonight?”
“The article in the latest issue of Potions Monthly- the one about emerging theories in botanic concurrence,” Harry declared confidently, having seen the article on the title page when the owl with the journal arrived in Severus’ quarters earlier that week.  Severus just laughed and kissed his nose as he picked them both up off the floor.

“If your father were here,” he told his son, “he would be complaining about just how much you take after your mother- you might look a lot like James, but you’re all Lily.”

“Do you think he’d have been proud of me, though?” Harry asked, his voice sounding only slightly uncertain.

“Oh, without a doubt,” Severus agreed easily, as Harry’s face lifted, his niggling doubts squashed.  “He’d have been glad you took after your mother- he loved her very much, and he would have been happy to see her best traits passed down to you.  But he also would have complained endlessly about it, because he loved to be dramatic.  He wouldn’t have meant it, though.  And I’m sure Lily would have been delighted that you cause so much less trouble than your father did at your age.”

“Because da could be a real toerag?” Harry laughed, no heat behind the insult.

“Indeed,” Severus agreed.  “Although- and don’t tell your dogfathers I’ve said this, mind- he was much less of a toerag than Padfoot.  Now, which bubble bath scent would you like tonight?”

Harry picked orange blossom, and the ones on Severus’ tattoo glowed gently as he selected the bottle, smiling all the way.

“Toerag you might be,” he whispered to the spirit of James Potter as he went to prepare the cocoa, having left Harry to undress and sink happily into the bubbles, “But you made a great kid, I’ll give you that.”  A moment later, he frowned, not wanting to be too nice, on the off chance the specter really was listening.  “Your brother, however, is a real pain in my arse.  Even if he did apologize.”

A few miles away, down in Hogsmeade, Sirius lifted his head from Remus’ chest, startling the man into tugging the lock of dark hair he’d been idly playing with.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Remus asked, rubbing the afflicted spot on Sirius’ scalp as an apology.

“Not sure,” Padfood muttered.  “But I feel a disturbance in the force.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, luv.”  Remus laughed at the expression on his partner’s face.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.  All is well.”

Remus hummed, pressing a kiss into the hollow of Sirius’ naked collarbone.  “Always.”

Chapter Text

In Harry’s new, safe, loving little world, Wednesday night was boys’ night.  This meant that, while Minnie and Poppy were off having “Girls’ night” ( date night, Severus would always correct with a snort, once the two women were out of earshot), Severus, Sirius, and Remus would make dinner for them all together (and Harry could help, but only if he wanted to, and only the safe tasks, the ones that didn’t involve knives or fire or sizzling oil) followed by a night of board games or reading aloud from an age-appropriate book series.

The purpose of dinner, in the adults’ minds, was two-fold- one: for far too long, food had been a means of control over Harry, of forced labor and starvation and cruel mind games that had often ended up with him eating out of the trash or worse.  So, it was very important to the three men that Harry got to experience food the way it should be- an act of devotion and an expression of their love for him, and a communal, joyful experience. 

And two- it was an opportunity to share his heritage with him, and to make the foods that James would have made, if he was here. Sirius was at the stove making Euphemia amma’s famous chicken curry, the battered, heirloom masala dabba on the counter behind him (Hagrid had found it in the kitchen that night, and taken it, along with Harry.  But while Harry had gone somewhere he should have never been placed, the masala dabba had no bearing in Dumbledore’s convoluted plans, and so there had been no objections to giving it to Minerva for safekeeping.  It was dented from the blast, and the little spice pots inside were shaken, haldi and jeera and amchur all mixed up with dirt from what became the Potters’ final resting place, but she’d cleaned it up and kept it safe, and when Sirius had been released from Azkaban, she’d given it to him to hold for Harry, since it had been Sirius, along with James, who had inherited Mrs. Potter’s old recipes when she’d passed).  Severus was opposite, cutting all of the tropical fruits that James would have fed to their son, if only he’d been here to do it.  Pomona had made a corner of her greenhouse available for just that purpose, almost as soon as they’d brought Harry home, and well before he’d even woken up from the healing sleep they’d put him in magically.

Sweet, creamy sitaphal were split down the middle, the pockets of flesh pried loose and deseeded with a few careful flicks of the knife.  Fat red bananas were peeled by hand ( cutting fruit, James’ amma used to say, is an act of love too sacred for magic to have any place in it), and cut into appetizing little discs to surround a pile of mango, bright and honey-rich and almost too ripe to cut neatly- only Severus’ finely-honed skill at his craft enabled him to produce neat little squares instead of a mangled lump of pulp.  Pomegranate arils, freed from their pithy prisons, were sprinkled among the lot like delightful little surprises.  Then it was onto the lychee nuts, whose discarded seeds were off to join those of the sitaphal in a silly little dance at the command of Remus’ wand.  Harry’s bright eyes watched in rapture as he took up pre-flattened discs of dough, folding and rolling them tightly before carefully flattening them out again on the roti board, his careful movements yielding paratha far rounder than any Sirius had seen since Harry’s grandmother had made them, many years before.

He added just a pinch of Kashmiri powder to the bubbling curry, and Harry groaned.

“Aww, Pads, can’t you add a bit more than that?” he pleaded, his little moue of displeasure a mirror image of Lily’s when she was told all the things she wasn’t supposed to eat whilst pregnant.

“Sorry beta,” Sirius gently rebutted.  “But if you want the spicy gongura pickle, then this is all I can add.  Even with the stomach soother, too much karom will still make you feel ill,” he warned.  Because while Harry’s mouth might be able to handle spicy foods with the same ease that James had, his poor stomach was still weakened by the Dursleys and had to be taken into account.  He resolved to spread some particularly vicious gossip the next time he went with Arabella and Severus to a Privet Drive event, and wished it could be a vicious hex instead.

Harry, on the other hand, had already forgotten his disappointment in favor of jumping down from his step stool and wandering towards Severus, thin brown hands groping for a piece of fruit on the plate he couldn’t quite reach, what with the counter itself being at his eye level and the plate a good bit away from the edge.  Severus laughed and fed him a bit of mango before pulling him gently into his side and kissing the top of his head.

Remus gathered Harry’s impressively concentric stack of uncooked parathas, bringing them over to the tawa that stood heating on the hob next to the nearly-finished curry.  Each was flipped several times on each side until it began to puff, before being spread with ghee and gently scrunched to encourage maximum flakiness.  Soon, all was ready, and the warm, perfectly round parathas were used to gobble up the flavorful (if not all that spicy) chicken curry as Harry regaled them with a story that Emmy had told him about a particularly obstinate mouse that had evaded her hunt for longer than usual.

“Did you tell them how I made it sssshhhhiver in the face of my majesty?” the little snake demanded of her master from her seat on his lap.  Harry laughed and switched to parseltongue.

“I wasssss getting to that part,” he assured her, booping her nose with his clean left hand.  “You have ssssssso little patiencccce.”

“Becaussssse I ussssssed it all on that ssssssssstupid mousssssse,” the little serpent replied to the boy’s laughing rebuke.  

“You picked sssuch a sssaasssy one, Sssevy,” he said in English, his sibilants still slightly drawn out as he transitioned from one language to another.  The three adults traded amused smiles but didn’t otherwise comment.

“Or perhaps,” Severus replied, with a smile on his face and in his voice and in his eyes, “she learned it from you, brat.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at the man, who rolled his eyes and ruffled his hair.

“Well,” Remus added, the scars on his face wrinkling as he also smiled widely, “at least he comes by it honestly.  Both James and Lily were of a lightning-quick wit.”

“Well-met,” Sirius agreed, as Harry’s own smile grew at this new revelation about his similarity to both his parents. “Their domestics looked more like insult comic nights than anything else,” Padfoot continued.  “Not that they fought very often,” he added quickly.  “Seems they got it all out of their systems when we were all in school and every other word out of Lily’s mouth towards James was her calling him a toerag.”

“In all fairness, he was a toerag,” Severus defended, although there was very little heat behind the insult.  “You, on the other hand, were a flat-out dunderhead.”
Sirius rolled his eyes at their old rival as Harry eagerly soaked up the information from his loved ones’ old schooldays.

“How was Pads a dunderhead?” he asked Severus, his green eyes twinkling with mischief.

“How wasn’t he a dunderhead?” Severus snorted in amusement.  “The first day of potions, for starters- he forgot to take his cauldron off the heat before adding the quills for the boil cure.”

“Noooo!” Harry gasped.  “Pads, you did not break the cardinal rule of the boil cure!”
“‘Fraid so, pup,” Sirius lamented, swooning backwards in fake shame.  If Severus wanted to tell embarrassing stories to their kid, well- Merlin knows the man was doing him a kindness by only telling the harmless ones.  

“Oh, this man broke every rule there was and then quite a few that there weren’t,” Moony laughed, putting an arm around his partner.

“Like you were any better,” Sirius rebutted fondly, gently head-butting Moony under the chin.

“I was better at not getting caught,” Remus replied, playfully swatting his cheek before kissing the same spot.

“Ewwww, you’re bein’ all mushy again,” Harry complained, making a face.  “Can we go read the Hobbit now?”

“Of course, flutterbat,” Severus answered for the three of them, standing up and taking Harry’s hand.  “Now, are you two going to join us, or do I need to cast an augmenti?” He asked the mutts, who rolled their eyes but pulled apart and got to their feet as they argued playfully about whose turn it was to narrate.

“We’re saints for putting up with those two,” Severus told the little boy solemnly, who giggled and then put a finger to his lips as he snuck up behind the two before hug-tackling Padfoot from the back, disrupting the argument and causing them all to roar with laughter.

“It’s my turn to read a chapter,” he asserted.

“Very well, little knight,” Sirius yielded, flopping to the floor dramatically from Harry’s ‘blow.’  “You have bested me in conquest, and thus I must yield!”

“Your lands and tithings are mine!” Harry agreed, although he wasn’t quite sure what a tithing was.  It just seemed like the thing to say when you bested someone in combat.

“I’m not sure which one of them is enjoying this more,” Remus snorted, sharing a look with Severus as Harry conjured a wooden sword and waved it around, declaring himself High Lord of the Hallway Outside the Kitchen.

“You, I’d wager, since Harry wearing him out means he’ll actually sleep tonight,” Severus responded, motioning to Sirius.

“You act like I’m raising him and not married to him,” Remus huffed, but his eyes betrayed his amusement at the joke.

“What’s the difference,” Severus quipped.

Remus never got to answer, because Harry cried “Sevvy, help! He’s revolting!” As Sirius launched a tickle counterattack.  

Time to help my boy, Severus thought, and the smile on his face made Sirius realize immediately that he’d made a mistake.

Harry squealed with laughter as Sirius was placed under a very strong tickling charm, rolling on the ground and begging for mercy between gasping fits of laughter.  Boys nights were awesome!

________

Meanwhile, Minerva and Poppy were in Poppy’s office.  Miraculously, there were no students in the hospital wing that night, and so the only thing that Poppy had to worry about was keeping half an ear on the monitoring charm that would let her know if any new patients arrived.  Otherwise, her attention was completely on Minerva, whose cheeks were flushed and whose skin was warm under her touch, although that was not to be attributed to sickness- rather, to an entirely different kind of ministrations under Poppy’s careful hands.

“Oh,” she huffed a strangled breath from atop Poppy’s desk, her skirts in disarray.

“A whole barrel of whisky couldn’t make a dent in your composure, but twenty minutes on my desk and you’re at a loss for words,” the mediwitch teased, although her own breathing was labored, her hands still clutching the Gryffindor’s waist.

“Oh, do shut up,” Minerva playfully thumped Poppy’s shoulder, her voice returning.

“If you insist, my dear,” Poppy replied, lifting the other woman’s skirts again.  “Although I’d be careful what you wish for.”

Those were the last words either of them spoke for a long time.