In the dark and close confines of the hallway cupboard in Kall Hus, Harry wriggled awkwardly as he desperately tried to free himself. The problem with his current predicament, he realised, was that he had foolishly chosen to hide himself curled up on the bottom shelf of the antique cabinet, placing him in a sideways position in relation to the door. This meant that it was particularly difficult for Harry to gain any sort of purchase to push against the interior of the locked cabinet. Instead, he was forced to use his right elbow and knee to lean against the closed door. This was proving to be a rather ineffective method of escape.

Just when he was about to give up his feeble attempts out of sheer frustration, Harry realised that he could hear the soft but unmistakable sounds of someone breathing right outside of his self-made prison.

Jerking his head towards the sound, Harry was about to thump the side of his leg against the door when he unexpectedly tumbled out into air and light and freedom. Still reeling with shock at his sudden release from the confined space, Harry squinted as he looked to see who had liberated him.

“Riddikulus!”

Standing in front of him, eyes clenched shut and wand extended, was a boy of about Lucas’s age. His hair was chin length, fine and dark. He was wearing a black woollen cardigan over a graying smock that must once have been white, teamed with a faded pair of too-short dark brown trousers and a pair of grubby tennis shoes.

Harry was so surprised to see the strange boy that he found himself unable to speak for a moment. As for the boy, very slowly, his wand arm trembling, he peeled open one eye in order to observe the effect of his spell. He appeared to instantly recognise his error and huffed, lowering his wand to his side as his pallid cheeks flooded with colour in a blush of embarrassment.

“You’re not a Boggart.”

“Erm…no, not a Boggart.”

“I thought you were a Boggart.”

Harry, feeling that they had now both clearly ascertained that he was not, in fact, a Boggart, shrugged and using his elbows, pushed himself off his back and into a seated position on the floor. He took the opportunity to openly stare at the boy standing in front of him and noted two things. The first was that the boy did not seem all that surprised to see him. The second, was that this boy, with his beetle black eyes and hawkish nose, looked an awful lot like a prepubescent Severus Snape.

“So you’re back again, then,” the boy sighed in a resigned fashion, sliding ungracefully down the wall opposite where Harry sat and crossing his lanky legs in front of him.

Harry was confused. Back? What did he mean? He opened his mouth, about to verbalise his confusion, when the boy continued.

“You weren’t gone long this time, though. Just a couple of days.”

“A – a couple of days?” Harry was utterly bemused. The boy did seem a little familiar to him, but he assumed that this was because of his strong resemblance to Snape.

“Well, at least this time you had the good sense not to appear in the middle of a frozen lake. That was a really dumb thing to do. You’re lucky we both didn’t drown! You know, I really think that I am getting a bit too old to hang around with imaginary friends anymore,” the boy added conversationally, quirking an eyebrow and grinning a little at Harry.

Harry shook his head. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” the boy said mysteriously. “You never seem to know what’s going on whenever you appear. You know, Henrik, you can be a bit of a dunderhead that way.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, and he sat and stared at the boy in open-mouthed wonder.

“Snape?”

“Yeah?”

Eyes wide, Harry simply shook his head again. This could not be happening. Could it? Somehow, Harry was sitting in the hallway of Kall Hus, conversing with an eleven-year-old Severus Snape. It was beyond the realms of possibility and yet, here they both were.

Boy-Snape rolled his eyes at Harry’s apparent inability to communicate and stood up. He held out a hand to Harry, clearly waiting to help him up. Hesitantly, Harry reached out with a shaky hand and allowed Snape to pull him into a standing position.

“Alright?” Snape asked, noting Harry’s slight tremor with some concern.

“Uh huh,” Harry nodded, unable to offer anything more articulate than that.

“You disappeared kind of quickly the other day. I wasn’t sure if you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Harry wiped his clammy hands on his trousers and tried to gather his wits. “You called me Henrik,” he added stupidly.

Snape stared at Harry for a moment.

“Well, yes. That is your name, isn’t it?” he spoke slowly and deliberately, as though concerned Harry might be recovering from a head injury. “Just like I’m Severus…although you seem to have this really weird habit of calling me ‘Snape’ all the time. You know, I only really get called by my surname when I'm at school.”

Still caught up in the unlikelihood of his current scenario, Harry observed distantly that Snape was a great deal chattier and more even-tempered as a boy than his adult incarnation.

“Me too,” Harry said vaguely, providing a delayed response to Snape's previous comment. A moment later, he stiffened as he waited for the inevitable question about his own surname. What could he tell the boy? He didn’t want to reveal that he was a Potter – clearly this Snape was already old enough to attend Hogwarts, so it stood to reason that he would be acquainted with James Potter. Harry didn’t think that the young version of Severus Snape would be very receptive to hearing that he was currently assisting the time-travelling manifestation of James Potter’s son, no matter how mild-mannered the boy appeared to be in contrast with the stern professor that Harry was familiar with in his own time frame.

Time travel. Harry realised that he had finally come to terms with what was happening to him. He now knew that the boy he had seen in his room the other morning also had to have been Snape, albeit a younger version still than the one stood next to him now. How this was possible, he had no idea and yet it seemed the logical explanation, however illogical the concept of unintentional time travel might be.

“So,” Snape said slowly, a little uncertain. “I have something to show you. That is, if you’re interested?”

Harry ran his hand over his bristly hair, not sure how to take this eager, almost shy version of his Potions Master.

“Sure,” he said, nodding and smiling encouragingly at Snape.

Without further conversation, the older boy grabbed Harry’s wrist and tugged him down the hallway, breaking into a trot. “C’mon then, it’s this way!”

The pair rushed to the end of the corridor and Snape pushed against a large tapestry that covered the wall at the end of the hall from floor to ceiling. With a faint grinding noise, the tapestry and the wall behind it slid upwards, revealing a dimly-lit stairwell. There was no obvious source of light that Harry could see and he wrinkled his nose at the faintly musty scent of the air that wafted up from the cool recesses.

Snape started down the stairs with no hesitation, leaving Harry standing at the top for a moment. Noticing that his companion had stalled, Snape looked back up towards the landing where Harry waited, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“Well?” the boy blurted impatiently. “Are you coming down?”

“Okay,” Harry murmured.

Carefully, he lifted his foot to step down onto the first tread of the stairs and then abruptly felt all of the breath leave his body as he plummeted into a darkness so solid and complete that it was a physical presence.

***

Severus would kill the boy. That is, if there weren’t the possibility that he might already be dead. Or held captive somewhere, alone and injured…and utterly helpless. He cursed Dumbledore and then himself for listening to the manipulative old coot. What a ridiculous idea it had been to de-age Potter – to reduce him to such a state of complete vulnerability. A wizarding child so young was downright fragile, without the ability to manipulate magic in a directed and purposeful manner. Defenceless.

The entire family was now enlisted in the search for Harr – Henry. They had roamed the mazelike corridors and endless rooms of Kall Hus, calling that name over and over again. There was no reply.

When Lucas and Bonnie had first alerted Severus that they had ‘lost’ Henrik during an innocent game of Hide and Go Seek, he had not been particularly bothered (although he had pretended some mild concern for the sake of appearances). Knowing Harry Potter as he did, the idiotic Gryffindor had a knack for sneaking about and getting himself into trouble, usually helped along by that damnable Invisibility Cloak that had once belonged to the equally irritating elder Potter. He was therefore likely huddled away somewhere in an easily-overlooked spot, waiting for an appropriate amount of time to elapse before bursting out and declaring himself king of the castle.

Severus had been confident that a quick stroll through the manor house, with some judicious casting of Homenum Revelio would reveal the boy’s hiding place quickly enough. That had been almost an hour ago.

The false mild concern that Severus had earlier demonstrated was now a full-blown case of true panic and confusion. Potter could not be located anywhere in the house. And yet, the wards had not been breached. There was no evidence that anyone had Disapparated from the property in the past 24 hours, let alone the last hour. It was time to consider that for some reason, the reckless little fool had left the warm, safe confines of the house and wandered out into the freezing night. As much of an imbecile as Potter could often be, even Severus found it difficult to credit that the boy would do something that stupid in order to win a childish game.

It was when Severus had rushed to the entry hall and spied the now-familiar child-sized green parka and ubiquitous striped mittens and bobble hat still hanging limply on a hook next to his own overcoat on the coat rack that he had begun cursing both the Headmaster’s foolhardy plan and his own involvement in it. Clearly, if Potter had left the house, he had done so without thinking to dress appropriately for the cold temperature.

A Pop! beside him alerted him to the presence of one of the Manor’s many house-elves.

“Master Severus, we is finding Young Master Henry for you!” the wizened creature exclaimed, tugging on the leg of his trousers to gain his full attention. “The Young Master is safe with Mistress Agatha in the Drawing Room now.”

Severus sagged against the wall, flooded with relief for a moment. Another moment later and his relief had turned to rage. He stalked back down the hallway and burst through the French doors, taking in the scene before him with disbelief.

Aunt Aggie was seated on one of the red velvet settees by the fire, holding the small boy on her lap and talking quietly to him while rubbing her hand gently up and down the length of his arm. Severus could not believe the audacity of the spoiled brat – causing the entire household to go out of their minds with worry and then sitting there like a little prince and lapping up affection and attention as if it were his due!

Severus was unaware of how he made it across the room from the doorway to the fireside, but he had already grasped the boy by his upper arms, dragged him from Agatha’s lap and had proceeded to shake him roughly before anyone could so much as glance in his direction.

“You arrogant little cretin!” he shouted, all control lost in the face of the boy’s return. “Don’t you ever…do…that…again! Do…you…understand…me?” Each word was punctuated with a rigorous jolt of Potter’s upper body.

“Stop! Stop it! Severus – enough!” Aunt Aggie cried, finally pointing her wand at Severus and performing a nonverbal spell that forced the motion of his arms to still.

The boy remained held upright in Severus’s unyielding grip, staring with unseeing eyes straight through where the professor crouched before him, the small body trembling with distress. Severus regarded him properly for the first time since entering the room, shrugging off the confines of Aggie's spell. Potter's clammy skin was that same unhealthy pallor that Severus had observed the previous morning, his breathing laboured, coming in short, sharp gasps.

“He is ill, Severus,” Aunt Aggie said, clearly shocked at her nephew’s violent outburst. “He hasn’t said a word since Cadmus found him.”

Severus looked over the back of the settee to where Cadmus stood beside Hilde and their shaken children. The man was watching the scene with an expression of extreme distaste written on his face.

“The poor boy was so scared when the elf found him huddled behind that tapestry that he couldn’t even move, Snape,” Cad shook his head at Severus in disgust. “I had to lift him off the floor myself and he stayed all curled up, as if he had been petrified. I doubt that your little display of temper is likely to help him calm down.”

Couldn’t even move? Severus turned impatiently away from Cadmus’s disapproval to examine Harry more closely. Was it possible that the boy had experienced another episode like yesterday’s sudden illness? He surmised with a sinking feeling that given the child’s current condition, this was the most likely scenario and was immediately ashamed by his actions of moments ago.

“Henry?” he now whispered in a gentle tone far removed from his previous bellowing rage. “Henry, can you hear me?”

Potter’s eyes remained unfocused.

“Perhaps we should contact a Healer, Severus?” Aunt Aggie was still staring at Severus as if he was a particularly unwelcome Blast-Ended Skrewt that had wandered into her home.

“No,” Severus shook his head and thought quickly. “I recently became aware that Henrik is prone to these little episodes. I believe it is related to the grief he is experiencing after the loss of his mother – a form of shock.”

He could not allow a Healer to examine Harry. Even though the de-aging Elixir was not traceable, the glamour that the boy wore would be immediately detected once the Healer cast any form of diagnostic spell.

“Kora!” Severus snapped his fingers and addressed the little elf upon her arrival. “Please bring me my Potions kit.” Kora Popped away with a nod.

“Will he be okay?” Lucas asked in a scared voice.

Severus lifted the small child and laid him carefully on the settee, passing a hand gently over the glazed eyes and closing the boy’s eyelids.

“The symptoms should pass soon,” he muttered, hoping that he was correct in his assertion.

Agatha Summoned a fuzzy knitted throw and gently draped it over Potter’s trembling body. She moved to sit on the couch beside him, placing a hand on his leg and gently patting it in a motherly gesture of comfort. Kora returned, arms full of a black leather bag almost the same size as she was. The next few moments passed by, tense and silent as Snape carefully dosed the boy with several different potions.

“I apologise for my outburst,” Severus said once he had completed his ministrations, genuinely regretting his earlier behaviour. “I allowed my fear to override my rationality and I should not have behaved so poorly.”

“It is not us that you need apologise to,” Hilde spoke up, looking pointedly at Harry’s prone form. “When Henrik is feeling better, you will need to make things right.”

Agatha nodded briskly. “Hilde is correct, Severus. You have a child to care for now. It is time that you learned to temper your reactions to situations that are not in your control.”

Severus nodded tiredly. Even thought they didn’t know the full story, they were right. He did need to try harder to modify his behaviour around Potter. He could scarcely admit to himself that this latest outburst had been caused by his own fear that the boy had been harmed in some way, but that was no excuse for his physical assault on a child.

Hilde smiled a little shakily and placed one hand on her husband’s arm and the other on Bonnie’s blonde hair. “I think we should go get ourselves settled for the evening and give Severus and Henrik some privacy.”

“Of course,” Cad agreed, giving Severus one last warning look. “Please let us know if you need any help.”

“Goodnight, my dears,” Aunt Aggie looked up somewhat distractedly from her worried examination of Harry. “Please call on Kora if you need any assistance in getting yourselves settled.”

“One question before you go, Cadmus,” Severus interjected, as the rest of the family moved quietly out of the room.

“Yes?” the man hung back.

“You said a House Elf found him hidden in behind a tapestry?”

Cadmus passed his hand through his hair. “That’s right. Funny thing, that was. I think all of us must have walked down that hallway and passed that same tapestry multiple times tonight, and none of us ever noticed he was there. Couldn’t even find him with a Revelio.”

“Hmm,” mused Severus. “Funny thing…”

***

On the fringes of consciousness, Harry was able to hear the wash of quiet conversation between Snape and Aunt Aggie for quite some time before the words made themselves clear enough to be understood. He tried repeatedly to open his eyes, but he felt as though someone had cast a permanent sticking charm on his eyelids. Likewise, his mouth did not want to obey his desire to ask them what had happened to him. His hands and feet tingled unpleasantly, just as they had the previous morning.

Despite being unable to move from his current position, Harry felt no anxiety. Additionally, in his current state, he was unable to prevent himself from eavesdropping on what was clearly a private conversation not intended for his ears.

“-want you to think about this as an opportunity to turn things around in your life, Severus!”

A long moment of silence followed.

“You cannot begin to understand how impossible it is to undertake what you have asked of me.”

“Why, because of your work?” Agatha let out a humourless chuckle. “There are more important things than Potions, Severus. More important than Hogwarts! In any case, if I know Albus Dumbledore, he would twinkle his way through the remainder of his days to think that the cold and aloof Severus Snape had decided to break down one of his self-imposed barriers and truly learn to care for someone.”

“It is not that straightforward. I have many commitments and have not the time, the patience, the capacity nor the inclination to care for a child. It would not be a happy family arrangement for anyone.”

“It would be what you make of it.”

“What I make of it?” Snape sounded incredulous. “I am incapable of doing what you ask of me! I long ago gave up any rights I might have had to living the life that you wanted for me, Aunt Aggie. I set myself down the wrong path, made terrible choices and now all I can do is make the best of the mess I have made for myself.”

“Perhaps this is the best of that mess, Severus.” Harry felt Aggie’s warm hand stroke his hair away from his forehead. “You have a chance to redeem yourself in Henrik. But not only that – you have been given a wonderful gift. Cherish him. Let him know who you truly are and teach him by example how to be the very best of men. Please, Severus, take this one chance to do something good.”

Harry could hear Snape sigh once again. It sounded terribly full of regret. Somewhere within him, a memory stirred. He was sure that he had heard the voices of these same two people earlier that evening having an equally intense conversation in one of the hallways of Kall Hus. At the time, Harry had been curled up in darkness, perhaps still locked in the cabinet, or trapped behind the tapestry, or simply elsewhere, caught momentarily between this reality and another.

He remembered that he had remained deliberately silent then, fearing that his accidental eavesdropping would be discovered. As much as he had wanted to call out, to tell someone that he was there (wherever there was). As desperately as he had felt that he needed to cry out for help, Harry had remained mute. Recalling Snape’s earlier lecture about the dangers of listening in on private conversations, Harry had been loath to reveal himself in that moment.

During this overheard conversation between Snape and Aunt Aggie, Harry recalled hearing a similarly deep sigh of regret, but it in that instance, it had not come from his Potions professor. Rather, it was Aunt Aggie who had seemed distressed. He tried to focus on remembering what he had overheard.

Right now, he felt incredibly warm and drowsy and was consequently finding it difficult to recall the context of the exchange. He remembered that Aunt Aggie had been pleading, begging with Snape to change his mind about something. Snape had sounded distant and aloof. He had told her that it was too late, he had already taken ‘it’ (whatever ‘it’ was), and there was no going back. Besides, Snape’s voice had drawled spitefully, he was clearly no longer welcome amongst his own family.

There had been shouting then – angry words from Snape and a sense of terrible grief and disappointment from Aggie – followed by a sudden silence so complete that Harry had realised that he was somehow wholly isolated once again in that unending place of darkness.

He had drifted for a while, neither awake nor asleep, but aware that he was completely alone and surrounded by nothing. He tried to focus on getting back to the young version of Severus on the staircase behind the tapestry. He hoped that thinking of the boy might provide an anchor that Harry could latch onto, and somehow pull himself back out of the dark place. When that didn’t work, he thought of Professor Snape, and the expression on his face as he had observed Harry so carefully at the dinner table at Gatehouse Cottage the previous evening, the man’s features etched with lines that spoke of concern and, maybe, just maybe, a little bit of care. He remembered Snape’s desperately worried tone when he had conversed with the Headmaster over the Floo, coming to Harry’s defense as he tried to convince Dumbledore that Harry was in danger. It was at that very moment, right when Harry had been filled with the warm realisation that Snape was worried about him - Harry - that the silence that currently surrounded him had receded. He had heard the squeaky voice of a House Elf calling to him. The darkness still surrounded him, but it was the dim interior of the hallway, not the thick, black nothingness of wherever he had been drifting. As the world had once more begun to resolve itself, Harry felt that familiar paralysis that he had experienced just the day before. As terrifying as it was, Harry now recognised that the sensation heralded his return to the present time and he had gratefully allowed hands to touch him, arms to lift him, even as he remained trapped inside his own body.

Harry now returned his attention back to the here and now, shelving the previously overheard conversation away for later consideration.

“I think it best that we return to the Cottage,” Snape was saying, from his position at Harry’s side. “I can keep him more comfortable in his own bed and monitor him from there.”

“Severus, please don’t run away from this.”

“I am not running away. The child is unwell, and I do not think it best that he remain lying on a couch under a throw rug while he recovers.”

Harry felt a strong, warm arm slide behind his shoulders, lifting his upper body as the soft comfort of the blanket was carefully wrapped around him.

“At least use the Floo,” Aunt Aggie conceded. “It is freezing outside.”

“Of course,” Snape’s voice was suddenly close to Harry’s ear. He felt his limp body cradled in firm arms, his heavy head resting against a solid chest. Despite the bizarre circumstance of being carried like an infant by his snarky Potions professor, Harry felt incredibly safe. He would think later about the two conversations he had overheard tonight, when his faculties returned to him. For now, he allowed himself to slip away into sleep.

***

Severus sat at Harry’s bedside, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of blankets over the boy’s chest. The initial seizure had been cause enough for concern. A second, more severe episode not 24 hours later required action. He had sent off an owl immediately after settling the boy into bed. Dumbledore needed to be informed that there were now further ‘complications’ with their plan.

Frankly, he was tempted to administer the antidote and be done with the entire business. It was true, however, that he could not be certain that Potter’s symptoms were necessarily connected to his de-aging.

Unwilling to wait for communication from the Headmaster, Severus had already extracted a vial of blood from the boy’s arm and even now he had a cauldron brewing downstairs. He was hopeful that he would be able to ascertain from its contents whether the seizures were related in any way to the potion that currently worked its magic on Potter’s very cells.

He slipped his fingers around the frail wrist that lay atop the patchwork quilt and felt for the pulse. It remained sluggish and slightly irregular. The symptoms had seemed to be more extreme during the first seizure, but, then, they had only lasted a short time. This time, he had not yet been able to rouse Harry back to full consciousness, even though the episode had occurred almost three hours ago.

Severus hated feeling so powerless and ignorant. There was something deeper than a simple allergic reaction at play here. He felt instinctively that there was some interaction with Potter’s magic that was causing all of this. When Cadmus had mentioned that the boy was untraceable, even though he had been right there in the house, Severus had wondered at what that might mean. Was the boy somehow using accidental magic to unsuccessfully Apparate away from his current location, for whatever reason, not fully able to complete the transition? It would explain why they had been unable to locate him with magic. But he would more likely end up Splinched than in this strange semi-comatose state. Unless he was draining his magical core in the process…

Beside him, Potter stirred and muttered something incoherently.

“Harry? What are you saying?” Severus leaned towards him and squeezed the boy’s limp hand in his own, hoping to rouse him back into consciousness.

“C’n I ‘ave s’me water?” the child slurred, blearily opening his eyes.

“Here,” Severus released the small hand and took the cup of water that he had earlier placed on the nightstand and held it to Harry’s lips, allowing him to take a few sips before pulling it away. “Just a little. You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

“It ‘appen’d ‘gain di’n it?” he sighed.

“Yes,” Severus replied, quietly relieved that the boy had finally come around. “Unfortunately for you, it ‘happened’ right when you had chosen to hide yourself away, far from adult assistance.”

“Mmm,” Potter blinked slowly as he apparently tried to recall the details.

“How are you feeling?”

The boy stretched and flexed his arms and legs experimentally.

“Better, now I c’n move again,” he appeared more alert than he had just moments ago.

“What do you mean, ‘now you can move again’?”

“I felt like I was stuck in limbo. I could hear people talking, and I could feel stuff, but I couldn’t speak or move. It was like that yesterday too, but it felt much scarier the first time,” he shrugged. “I guess this time I knew that I would be okay.”

Severus shook his head at this misplaced logic. He was about to point out how flawed Potter’s line of thinking really was but decided that it would not be the wisest course of action. After all, he did not want to cause undue panic in the boy. He felt somewhat responsible for causing his condition in the first place.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Sir,” this was said quietly, but Potter looked up at Severus and he could see at once the genuine appreciation in the boy’s eyes.

***

Harry slept for almost fourteen hours straight after initially coming round after his ordeal at Kall Hus. He was now feeling himself again, as much as he could in his current de-aged form, in any case. He was confused about what was happening to him and wanted to question Professor Snape about it, but the man seemed reluctant to enter into any further conversations with him.

After briefly checking Harry over that morning, and making sure that he was provided with a light meal for lunch, Snape had disappeared into his rooms. Harry felt slightly awkward around the man and was unsure how to go about explaining to Snape that he now suspected that his odd seizures were actually episodes of time travel. He left the professor to his solitude and curled up amongst the cushions on the overstuffed settee, where he gazed listlessly into the fire and thought of Snape spending his time in this very room as the boy Harry had met the day before.

It was very strange, Harry thought, that he had apparently travelled back in time and met his Potions professor in at least two different time periods, but Snape seemed to have no recollection of these meetings now. Surely at least the name Henrik should mean something to the man, even if Harry’s altered physical appearance hadn’t prompted old memories to surface? It was one mystery among several that Harry felt the need to unravel.

He still felt a bit lost here in Sweden, even without the unsettling events of the past couple of days added to the mix. It was disconcerting to be forced into a situation where most of his time was spent in close contact with his hated Potions professor. Harry knew there were few other options for him, now that the Dursleys were seemingly out of his life for good. He did not want to impose himself upon the Weasley family, for fear of putting their lives at risk and Dumbledore appeared to want nothing to do with him.

At lunch, Harry had seen dismay on Snape’s face upon reading the Headmaster’s response to the owl his teacher had evidently sent the day before. Harry glimpsed the three-word missive to “CONTINUE AS PLANNED” just before Snape had crumpled it into a ball, tossed it into the kitchen fireplace and stalked angrily from the room.

Scrubbing now at his shaven head in frustration, Harry sat at the window seat in his bedroom, staring unseeingly out at the wintery landscape of the manor grounds. He felt uncomfortable about the situation with Snape’s family. Clearly there was a difficult history there. Snape had said as much to him just before they had arrived, but Harry hadn’t really thought about how great an impact it would have on the man. He seemed…deeply unhappy. Well, he supposed that Snape was generally always unhappy, but that was his usual snarky, ‘I’m a greasy git’ personality. This was different. Snape seemed guilty and remorseful about something.

Harry knew those feelings well – he had lived with them for the past almost seven months since the death of his godfather – and recognised them in Snape’s dark-eyed gaze whenever the man looked at his aunt.

He shivered in the draught coming from the window. The young Snape he had encountered was so far removed from the cold and aloof man Harry knew in this time. ‘Severus’, Harry thought to himself with a small smile, remembering the boy’s eager dark eyes looking up at him from the depths of the hidden staircase. He felt a twinge of remorse that he had been forced to leave before Severus had shown him whatever was waiting to be unveiled in that secret room.

In the next moment, Harry was sitting bolt upright, excited at the thought that he could still find out exactly what was concealed at the bottom of those stairs. Even though last night, he had been abruptly torn from that time, the room would surely still be there now!

Harry warmed to the thought of an adventure, putting thoughts of both Severus and Snape aside for a moment, as he eagerly planned his return to the tapestry at the end of the hallway at Kall Hus.