Severus Snape lay in the living room of Gatehouse Cottage, his lifeless body supported by the transfigured wing-back chair, which now resembled something more like a heavily-padded dentist’s chair. The man was as still and silent as death. As Harry watched proceedings from his position on the settee, he stared resolutely at his professor’s chest, waiting with bated breath for any reassuring sign of movement.
Albus Dumbledore, grasping his wand firmly, shifted his weight back and stood creakily from his kneeling position beside Snape’s right arm, which presently hung limply from the edge of the reclined chair. Carefully, almost tenderly, the elderly wizard swept his aged hand along Snape’s sharp jawline and held his fingers firmly against the side of the lifeless man’s throat, feeling for a pulse. Harry slid from his spot and sidled over to take the Headmaster’s place at his teacher’s side, exhaling slowly as he finally noted the gentle rise and fall of the black-clad chest.
“He will be fine, Harry,” Dumbledore reassured him, noticing the boy’s fearful countenance for the first time since he had uttered the incantation that had placed Severus Snape into a bewitched sleep. Harry swallowed hard; his mouth and throat felt terribly dry and he realised that he was trembling slightly. He felt a warm and steady hand squeeze his shoulder.
“Are you sure, Professor?” he asked in a small voice. “He doesn’t look very good.” Tentatively, he reached out and lightly touched the back of Snape’s right hand, needing some physical reassurance that the skin was indeed still warm.
“I have spelled him into a healing sleep for now. I will awaken him in a few hours, and I have every confidence that he will arise feeling very much refreshed and bearing no sign of any difficulties.” The pair stood together at Snape’ side, silently observing the unconscious wizard.
“Wh-what happened?” Harry finally stuttered, not shifting his gaze away from Snape’s face, which looked oddly peaceful in repose. The soft light from the fireplace seemed to warm his ashen skin, softening the usually harsh lines into something altogether more youthful. Still, Snape looked a little ill. There were shadows deepening under his closed eyes, and Harry noticed that his facial muscles gave a little tic every so often, as if the man were in pain.
“I thought that you were just going to check for any missing memories?” Harry continued. “Why was he screaming like that? He wouldn’t stop and it just kept getting worse and worse and I thought he... It sounded – he sounded like – like someone was torturing him.”
Aware that he was babbling, Harry bit his bottom lip to stop himself from losing complete control. He was still shaking badly and could feel his heartbeat in his throat, the after-effects of the adrenaline that had flooded his body moments before working its way through his system.
He noticed that Dumbledore, too, was pale and a little unsteady on his feet.
“Things did not go precisely to plan, I am afraid,” the elderly wizard moved slowly away and sank onto the far end of the settee, stroking his beard distractedly. “It would appear that whomever modified Professor Snape’s memories also took great pains to ensure that they would not be easily retrieved.”
Harry nodded in agreement. “I thought you were going to kill him.”
“For a moment, Harry, I feared that very same eventuality myself.”
Harry once again touched the back of his professor’s hand, this time giving it a gentle squeeze. The gesture was more for himself than anything else. Only minutes earlier, this same hand, now slack and immobile, had clenched in agony while Dumbledore had performed the specialised form of Legimency required to identify traces of Obliviation. Having watched his professor succumb to the spell with such unexpectedly violent results, Harry now realised with sudden clarity that he was very much dependent on his teacher here in Sweden. More surprisingly, he found that it didn’t bother him at all to feel so reliant on Snape, for the man had proven himself completely reliable and steadfast over the days that they had spent acting as father and son at Kall Hus. Of course, Snape was as irascible as ever, quick to anger at some of Harry’s more foolish behaviour (like the eavesdropping and the hiding in cupboards). But he had also been concerned for Harry. Having an adult care for him when he was ill, or someone to reassure him when he was feeling upset was an oddly comforting experience. Harry never thought that he would have used the word ‘comforting’ to describe his interactions with Professor Snape, but it was the truth and he was not about to lie to himself right now. Not when he had come so close to losing the man.
Still feeling shaky, Harry released Snape’s hand and clambered up onto the settee beside Dumbledore, unaware that the Headmaster had just now been observing his interaction with the Potions Master with a great deal of interest.
They both sat in silence, contemplating what could have been, the only sounds in the room those of the gently crackling fire in the grate and the deep and regular breathing of the Potions Master.
Events had unfolded quickly over the past several hours. Snape, apoplectic at the very idea that an unknown wizard had performed a complex Obliviation on him at some unspecified time in the past, had immediately swept from Harry’s bedroom and Fire-called the Headmaster. He had wasted no time in explaining the situation, giving no indication that he had noticed that Harry had followed him down the stairs and was listening to every word spoken between the two wizards.
It had rapidly become apparent to Harry that Snape was worried that his mental defences had been breached and his mind compromised in some way that might prove a danger not just to the man himself, but also to Harry, Dumbledore and the Order at large. His professor had spoken in a quietly urgent voice through the Floo connection, and what he had said made Harry realise just how great the risk might be.
“I do not understand the nature of this violation as of yet, Albus,” Snape had hissed into the green flames of the fireplace. “I cannot, therefore, rule out that Imperio may have been cast against me.” The man had turned his head, to look straight into Harry’s eyes, revealing that he had certainly been aware the entire time that the boy stood just behind him.
“Potter is no longer safe in my care,” he paused, never shifting his gaze away from Harry’s. “He is not safe, Albus. Not until we can ascertain the extent of the mind magic that has been performed.”
Harry had stepped tentatively towards his teacher, only to feel an invisible force preventing him from moving any closer.
“Harry, listen to me,” Snape intoned urgently. “You are to go immediately to your room and lock the door. Kora!”
The tiny figure of the house elf Popped into existence beside Snape, looking curiously between her master, the still-active Floo, and the small child being held at bay with a defensive ward.
“Kora, remain with Harry in his room. Ward the door against me. You are not, under any circumstances, to permit me entry, even if I order you to comply, is that understood?”
“Yes, Master Severus, Kora is understanding these instructions,” with wide eyes, she nodded her acquiescence.
“You are only to open the door once Albus Dumbledore instructs you that it is safe to do so,” Snape whirled about to face the fire once more.
“Albus, come at once,” the Potions Master’s attention was now entirely focused on the Floo. “We haven’t any time to waste. I will meet you at the Apparation point and escort you across the boundaries of the wards.”
“I will be there as soon as I can complete the Apparation hops, Severus. It may take a little time.”
Snape nodded and brushed his lank hair away from his forehead impatiently as the Floo call ended in a lick of green flames. Harry stood staring at his teacher in confusion. The orders had come so thick and fast that he was still reeling at the fact that Snape had employed a shield spell that was clearly designed to protect Harry from his own professor.
“Well? Why you still standing there?” Snape roared, his previous quiet determination now giving way to rage. “Get away from me! NOW!”
After that, it had only been a matter of a half an hour or so that Harry had been forced to wait in his attic bedroom. He had paced the length and breadth of the small space as he waited for assistance to materialise. Kora was still standing guard when Dumbledore’s kindly voice had announced his presence on the other side of the elf-warded door. Still, that short stretch of time felt like an eternity to Harry as he remembered the terrible expression on his professor’s usually impassive face.
It seemed impossible to him that someone, anyone, could have Obliviated a gifted wizard like Severus Snape, without the man’s knowledge. Still, Snape was very clearly convinced that something was amiss. It was frightening to Harry. Merlin, it was also frightening to Snape! The sense of urgency in the professor’s voice had bordered on panic and Severus Snape never panicked.
Despite his obvious alarm, Snape had apparently swiftly considered the implications of the mind magic performed without his knowledge and had not thought of the risks to himself, but rather had focused his concern on Harry.
The professor had taken immediate steps to protect Harry, calling in both the Headmaster and Kora and making sure that he was safely locked away in the bedroom. Recalling the moment when Snape had looked Harry straight in the eyes, during his Floo-call with Dumbledore, he could not help but wonder at the emotion evident in that piercing stare. Harry had never seen Snape look like that before. There was fear there, but something more, too. Something softer.
***
Despite his previous anger at the Headmaster for his devious machinations in de-aging Harry and placing him in the care of Severus Snape for the duration of the winter break, Harry was hugely relieved to sit quietly in the older man’s reassuring presence. They had waited together in companionable silence now for a couple of hours, Harry steadfastly refusing to leave Snape’s side until he could be sure that the professor was alright. It was now heading towards the early hours of the morning and Harry’s eyes felt itchy with fatigue, his head leaning heavily against the sofa cushions.
“I must ask you, Harry, how you are coping with your current circumstances – here in Sweden?” Dumbledore smiled warmly as he spoke, but his gaze was direct and questioning. "After all, Christmas is but a few days away and I would hate to think you were unhappy here."
“Well, actually,” Harry hesitated. He sat up straighter and stared at his hands. Somehow, sharing the details of his interactions with a much younger Severus Snape felt like a betrayal. He was reasonably certain that Snape had yet to share those details with Professor Dumbledore and something was stopping him from explaining it all himself.
“I have enjoyed meeting Professor Snape’s family, Sir. And I have gotten to know – a different side – of Professor Snape.” There, that was an honest answer that was also about as Slytherin as they come. Snape would be proud. And perhaps a little shocked that Harry was capable of such duplicity.
The Headmaster beamed, his eyes flashing with undisguised relief. “You cannot possibly know how pleased I am to hear that,” he replied. “I know that this time spent together must be challenging for both of you.”
“Yeah, but it’s been okay. And, well, Professor Snape has been…erm…considerate of my needs.”
“That sounds very diplomatic, Harry,” Dumbledore chuckled.
Harry blinked at him. “Oh, no, I don’t mean to sound like that. He – Professor Snape really has been very…kind to me.”
The blue eyes twinkled. “Kind, Harry? I would recommend you avoid describing Professor Snape in such terms when in his presence,” the elderly wizard turned slightly away to look over the sleeping Potions Master and Harry could tell that he was holding in his amusement.
Harry sighed and rubbed a small hand across his face.
How could he explain to Dumbledore that Professor Snape made him feel protected? The man had cared for him when he had been unwell. He worried for Harry’s safety. He had shared his theories with him about the side-effects of the Aetate Mutatio potion and had tried to convince the Headmaster to allow Harry to return to his true age in order to avoid further harm. No adult had ever before looked after him in such a way.
Sure, Dumbledore had previously expressed his regret about what had happened to Sirius, sharing that he cared for Harry. He believed this to be true. In his own way, Albus Dumbledore had shown over the years that he wanted Harry to be safe. The fact remained, however, that every summer, Harry had been forced to return to the indifferent Dursley household. Sirius himself had wanted to provide a home for Harry, but he, too, had allowed that his godson return to 4 Privet Drive for those punishing weeks over the holidays. Molly and Arthur Weasley were gentle and caring in all their interactions with him, but he had always felt the stinging knowledge that he was not their son. The Weasleys would never have allowed for one of their own children to be locked away in a bedroom with bars on the windows and locks on the doors and then to return to that same environment once they learned of the situation. And that was exactly what had happened in second year, when Fred, George and Ron had arrived so triumphantly to rescue him in the flying Ford Anglia. The twins had told Molly Weasley exactly why the rescue had been necessary and yet, their mother had done nothing. At the end of that year, after slaying the Basilisk, after saving Ginny from the clutches of the shade of Tom Riddle, Harry had simply returned to Dudley’s second bedroom for the summer. Nothing had changed.
The worst of it all was that Harry now knew that he had no family. The Dursleys had dumped him and turned their backs, going on with their lives as if they had never once grudgingly housed a small boy in the cupboard under their stairs. Sirius, in the blink of an eye, had passed through that insubstantial veil, forever lost. And Severus Snape had told Aunt Aggie that he had no interest in taking on the burden of the guardianship of a child. Admittedly, he had been responding to Aunt Aggie’s misplaced understanding that Harry was Snape’s natural-born son; a five-year-old boy named Henrik. Still, Harry knew that the rejection would have been even more vehement, had they both been speaking about the care and custody of Harry Potter, rather than Henrik Snape.
Distracted by a small movement in his peripheral vision, Harry turned his head toward the kitchen and realised, with a strange thrill of excitement, that he must once again have slipped backwards in time.
There, sat on a stool beside the kitchen range, was Severus Snape. He had his head bowed as he carefully tied off the shoelaces of his worn leather boots and consequently had not yet noticed his companion. Harry quickly took in the fact that both Dumbledore and the adult version of Snape were now missing from the empty living room, which otherwise boasted identical furniture laid out in a slightly different arrangement, minus the transfigured wing chair that Dumbledore had earlier spelled for Professor Snape to recline upon. A soft light filtered through the curtained window near the front door of the cottage, suggesting that it was either very early in the morning or perhaps heading towards dusk. Harry guessed the former. He returned his attention to Severus, who was humming softly to himself and looked, to Harry, to be of a similar age to the first time they had met.
Not wanting to startle the boy, Harry softly cleared his throat, causing Severus to glance up at him. He tried not to laugh outright at the boy’s double-take.
“It’s you again!” he whispered intently.
“Hi,” Harry replied, smiling a little at the young boy.
“Shh,” Severus hushed, frowning with a scowl reminiscent of his adult self. “Mum’s up there asleep. I’m not supposed to be out of bed yet.”
“Oh,” whispered Harry in a modulated tone. “Sorry, I didn’t realise it was so early.”
“Never mind about that, now! Come outside. We can talk properly there,” the dark-haired boy stood as he hissed, marching over to Harry and grabbing his wrist. He looked momentarily surprised that he was able to physically grasp Harry’s arm, but then simply tightened his grip and pulled Harry toward the door.
As the pair stepped outside, Harry could not help his sharp intake of breath at the shock of seeing the gardens of Gatehouse Cottage in their full summer bloom. Wildflowers riotously tumbled out of borderless garden beds that led straight to the front door, interrupted only by the crushed gravel pathway that met up with the main drive of Kall Hus. Lush grass surrounded the single pine tree that stood sentinel in the centre of the driveway. The stand of trees that Harry had looked out at each day from his attic window, ordinarily reaching their skeletal limbs out against a stark winter skyline, now rustled with the fullness of verdant green leaves against a sky washed with the fading pinks and oranges of the dawn. In the distance, behind the manor house, the lake glistened. The entire effect softened a landscape that Harry had felt was so stark and unforgiving when he had first arrived at the Prince property. It was soothing to the eye and he immediately wanted to run out into the garden and explore. Something was holding him back, however.
Severus still clutched at his arm, peering at him fixedly. He yanked Harry around the side of the cottage and silently headed away from the main driveway towards a heavily treed area at the back of the garden, not stopping until they reached the cover of the pines. A light breeze stirred a susurration through the dark green needles here, providing a soothing counterpoint to Severus Snape’s burning stare.
“Where did you go?”
“Huh?” nonplussed, Harry tilted his head and slowly pulled his arm back out of the tight grip. He rubbed a little at the reddened mark that Severus had left on his wrist.
“You were just there in my bedroom yesterday, and then you weren’t anymore. Where did you go?”
“Oh,” realisation dawned that Harry was back where he had started his time travel adventures, albeit apparently one day later in the timeline. “Um, I had to go. Someone was calling me.”
He wasn’t sure exactly how much of the truth he should share with this boy. It sounded ridiculous to say that he had been yanked back through time and space to his own dimension and he wasn’t exactly sure how else to phrase it.
“Right,” Severus narrowed his eyes. “So, someone was calling you and then you just disappeared into thin air?”
“Erm…something like that, yeah.”
Severus glared at him.
“You didn’t Apparate. There was no sound and you kind of just faded away,” he inspected Harry with a dubious look. “You’re far too young to be able to Apparate, anyway. Although you aren’t a Muggle, so I guess it might have been accidental magic. It was weird, though. You are weird.”
Harry felt uncomfortable under Severus’s intense scrutiny. Even aged seven, the future Potions Master already knew how to pin someone with just a look. He wanted to ask how the boy seemed to simply know that he was a wizard, but he supposed that having the ability to appear and disappear at will might have given the game away.
“Sorry, I know I must have scared you-“
“You did not scare me!”
“Okay, I didn’t scare you. I’m sorry I just appeared like that and then disappeared again. I’m sorry I am here today. Well, actually, I’m not exactly sorry ‘cos I kind of wanted to see you again,” Harry blushed a little at his own unexpected confession. Where had that come from? “Look, I don’t exactly know why this keeps happening, but it does.”
“And you’re not a ghost,” Severus nodded, more to himself than to Harry. “I can touch you.” He proved his point by prodding at Harry’s chest with a sharp finger.
“Ouch,” Harry rubbed at his sternum and frowned.
“Sorry,” Severus shrugged, not appearing at all bothered by Harry’s discomfort. “I’m Severus, by the way. Severus Snape. You’re Henrik, right?”
Harry nodded, feeling at once the surreality of the situation. “Yeah, I’m Henrik.”
He rubbed self-consciously at his neck, unsure of what to say now that the introductions were complete. Severus, however, felt no such awkwardness, or if he did, he hid it well.
“I wonder if I’m the only one who can see you?” he mused, glancing back up at the cottage with a pensive look. “We’d better go back. I’m not supposed to leave the cottage without Mum knowing. It’ll be breakfast soon anyway.”
Harry shrugged. He, too, was a little curious about whether he could interact with anyone else in this time apart from Severus Snape. It also occurred to him, however, that things could get decidedly awkward should any adults question where Harry had come from. It wasn’t exactly usual for five-year-old boys to wander about without the company of a parent, even in the wizarding world.
Severus had started to move back towards the cottage but stopped suddenly and turned to Harry.
“My mum will want to know where you came from,” the thought had clearly only just occurred to the boy and Harry felt a moment of absolute triumph that he had already considered that problem before the quick-minded Severus Snape. He nodded.
“It’s a problem,” Severus continued. “Because only members of the Prince family line can cross the wards unassisted.”
In the back of his mind, Harry recalled that he already knew this. Professor Snape had informed him about the wards when they had first arrived, holding Harry’s wrist as they had crossed over onto the property. Harry had felt the power of the ward magic at the time as a welcoming tingle over his skin.
“So how did you get through the wards, Henrik?” the question was a simple one, yet it was stated slowly and with such suspicion that Harry could not help but tense at the wary look on the boy’s sharp-featured face. He did not know how to answer that question.
Severus raised one eyebrow, folded his arms over his chest and stepped back from Harry. He very clearly expected an answer. Right now.
“I know you want to know. I know that you are worried that I’m not who I say I am. I don’t think I can tell you yet who let me through the wards. But, please, you have to believe me when I tell you that I am not here to hurt you. Please, trust me,” Harry said quietly and utterly sincerely.
He knew that the words were too worldly for a child of five. He knew that everything about him screamed that here was a wizard pretending to be something that he wasn’t. And it was all true. For Harry wasn’t Henrik. He was a teenager, pretending to be a small child. He was an orphaned boy, pretending to be at peace with his place in the world as the Chosen One, the Saviour of the Wizarding World. He was an interloper in this time and place. But he was not pretending to be Severus’s friend. He knew this boy. He was this boy.
Harry knew loneliness. From what he had seen of the young Severus Snape, here was a boy who spent a great deal of time in his own company. Professor Snape had said as much when Harry had questioned what his visits to Kall Hus had been like as a child: ”A little lonely at times, perhaps…I was an only child, surrounded by adults in a huge house”.
Harry knew what it was to be completely alone in a house filled with people. He had watched from the ventilation slats in his cupboard as the Dursley family had gone about their daily lives. Had stood in the kitchen, preparing elaborate meals, while the rest of the family had gathered about the dining table, sharing stories of their day. Sat to the side, forgotten, while they celebrated important milestones; birthdays, Christmases, promotions and other such personal milestones. He wanted Severus to understand that he was not a foe, but instead, a friend.
Severus stood there for a moment, eyes narrowed, and arms still folded. And then he smiled. It was an expression so genuine, so absolutely real and true and honest that Harry was absolutely floored.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” the dark-eyed boy grinned at him. “Let’s go get some breakfast!”
Chapter 11