Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Severus stepped forward, his piercing blue eyes scanning the eerie, pale stone surroundings. The atmosphere shifted suddenly, thickening like the air before a storm. The candle flames seemed to flicker with an intensity that unnerved him, almost as if they were alive, reacting to his and James's presence. Harry clung to him, tiny arms wrapped tightly around Severus's neck, his sniffles echoing in the uneasy silence, was it the disappearance of Fluffy that troubled him, or the ominous archway ahead?

Severus's chest tightened with a ghostly moan echoing up the steps of the archway, filling him with apprehension about what lay beyond. What kind of life had Harry endured? What could threaten such innocence? Severus swallowed hard, his annoyance mingled with worry. Who would harm such a child?

"It'll be alright," James reassured him, turning towards Severus with a comforting gaze. Severus blinked, meeting James's golden eyes. He knew James was right, but he couldn't shake the fear. Unease clouded his thoughts, a nagging sense of forgotten importance haunting him.

"Severus?" James's voice broke through his turmoil.

"I know," Severus finally replied, his voice uncertain. "I'm coming, it's just... overwhelming."

James smiled softly, understanding evident in his eyes. "I know but we're in this together, we'll be okay."

Severus looked at James, struck by how much he had grown. When had James matured so? His heart skipped a beat, an unfamiliar vulnerability surfacing. He lowered his gaze, uncertain of his own feelings and the uncertainties ahead. Could he protect Harry?

"I'm here," James assured him, placing a hand on Severus's shoulder. "You don't have to face this alone, trust me. You can lean on me."

Severus met James's gaze again, finding resolve in his words. Nodding, he adjusted Harry in his arms, ready to face what lay ahead.

"Okay," he whispered, squinting down the misty steps. "What's down there?"

“Only one way to find out.”

James joined him, their curiosity and apprehension mirrored. Harry whimpered softly, seeking comfort in Severus's embrace, the chill in the air thickened and Severus wrapped his Ravenclaw robes around them both, offering warmth and security.

Severus adjusted his Ravenclaw robes, wrapping them more tightly around the toddler to shield him from the sudden cold. The Lion and the Raven stepped down together, one slow, uncertain stride at a time. The candles hovering above flickered violently, their flames swelling until the light burned too brightly to bear, and then, without warning, the world around them vanished.

They were outside.

A quiet street unfolded beneath their feet, bathed in moonlight. Stars scattered the sky like scattered shards of glass, and the full moon hung above them like a watchful eye. Severus froze, his breath fogging in the chill air, no wonder Harry was shivering; it was bitterly cold. He pulled his robes tighter, cocooning the toddler in warmth, Harry whimpered, snuggling closer, his little hands gripping Severus as though terrified he might vanish.

"Where are we?" James murmured, brow furrowing as he ran a hand through his black hair, unease etching his features. "This... this isn't Hogwarts."

Severus turned his gaze behind James, eyes narrowing on a worn street sign.

"Privet Drive," he read aloud, his voice quiet but edged with uncertainty, the sign was mounted to a low brick wall, behind which loomed tall, skeletal trees swaying gently in the wind.

James stepped forward, eyes scanning the empty street. "Privet Drive? That’s a Muggle street, isn’t it?"

"We’re in Surrey," Severus replied, shifting uneasily, an owl drifted overhead, its wings silent against the wind, he watched it pass, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the air.

"Harry must’ve been here," he whispered, more to himself than to James. The thought clung to him like mist, cold, heavy, and full of things left unsaid.

The owl vanished into the night sky, wings silent, fading into the stars. From the shadows beneath the towering trees, a figure emerged, an old man cloaked in deep crimson robes, his long silvery beard catching the moonlight like strands of mist. Severus and James froze; breath caught in their throats.

James's eyes widened, brows arching in stunned recognition.

“That’s... Dumbledore,” he whispered, his voice brittle with disbelief, his hands clenched at his sides. “What’s Headmaster Dumbledore doing here?”

Severus stepped cautiously beside him, frowning, his gaze locked on the elder wizard, who was now walking past a stone shed, beside which sat a tabby cat, still and alert. Without pause, Dumbledore pulled out a curious object, the Deluminator. One by one, he drew the light from every lamppost, plunging the street into shadow. The cat let out a quiet meow.

Dumbledore glanced down and spoke softly, a ghost of a smile touching his features. “I should have known you’d be here... Professor McGonagall.”

Severus blinked in confusion...Professor McGonagall?

His brow furrowed as the tabby cat’s silhouette shimmered and shifted, stretching into the shape of a tall woman with a pointed hat and emerald robes, Minerva McGonagall stood before them, stern and silent.

James stepped forward, raising his hand.

“Professor?” he called, voice uncertain, he waved. Nothing, neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall reacted, it was as if the two of them weren’t there at all, like they were watching ghosts in a memory.

"I don't understand," James murmured, eyes darting between the figures. "Why would they be on a Muggle Street? Why would Harry be here?"

Severus looked down at the toddler in his arms, Harry trembled and peeked up with wide eyes, a faint pout on his lips, Severus gently rubbed his back.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

The two young wizards exchanged a glance, their silent agreement leading them closer to Dumbledore and McGonagall, still, no acknowledgment.

“Good evening, Professor Dumbledore,” McGonagall said, her voice low, her usually sharp expression softened by sorrow. “Are the rumours true, Albus?”

Dumbledore's voice, though calm, carried a heavy weight. “I’m afraid so, Professor, the good... and the bad.”

Rumours? Severus's stomach turned, he studied the older professor’s expression, reading between the lines, trying to unravel the story before it was spoken aloud.

“And the boy?” McGonagall asked gently, though her words trembled with dread.

“Hagrid is bringing him,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes scanning the sky, his voice had gone quiet, wistful.

James stiffened and his voice cracked, "The boy? They mean Harry… Hagrid has him? Why would Hagrid have Harry? What... what happened?”

Severus said nothing, his lips drawn thin. Even McGonagall, always composed, looked as if the world had shifted beneath her feet.

“Do you think it wise to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?” she asked.

Dumbledore gave her a gentle, unwavering look. “Ah, Professor, I would trust Hagrid with my life.”

James nodded faintly, golden eyes glimmering. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’d trust my son with Hagrid... right, Sev? If anything ever happened… Hagrid would take care of him.”

Severus opened his mouth to speak, to agree with James, to believe in Hagrid, in all of it, but nothing came out. The words refused to form. His chest tightened as a strange heat pricked at his eyes, and his stomach turned over, sour and restless. Something was wrong. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did, deeply and unshakably, the quiet was broken by the low growl of a motor.

Both professors looked up and from above, cutting through the starlit sky like a shadow, descended a flying motorcycle. Its tires screeched as it touched down on the empty street, the engine sputtering before falling into silence. At the handlebars sat a massive man with wild black hair and a thick beard, Rubeus Hagrid, he tugged off his goggles, eyes red-rimmed and tired.

James let out a soft, awestruck whistle. “Wicked, I didn’t know Hagrid had a motorcycle.”

Severus didn’t share the enthusiasm, his frown deepened into something sharp and brittle. “James! What if Harry’s on that deathtrap?”

“He wouldn’t… Hagrid wouldn’t do that,” James’s smile faltered, his golden eyes flicked to the bike, wide with dawning realization,“Right?”

Severus shot him a look, hard, searching, and James opened his mouth as if to protest, but the words never came. He swallowed them instead as Hagrid swung his leg off the bike and approached the professors, his voice uncharacteristically soft for someone so large. “Professor Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall.”

Dumbledore stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “No trouble, I hope?”

“No, sir,” Hagrid murmured, gently shifting a bundle in his arms. “Little tyke fell asleep just as we were flyin’ over Bristol.”

He gave a quiet chuckle and carefully handed the bundle to Dumbledore. “Heh. Try not to wake him. There y’go.”

Severus stumbled forward, his knees weakening beneath him, his breath caught in his throat...that bundle… It was so small, so quiet…

James stared too, frozen, his gaze locked on the blanket in Dumbledore’s arms. “That’s not…”

It was.

It was Harry, wasn't it?

McGonagall stepped back, her lips pressed into a tight, pale line. She looked troubled, her eyes darting across the silent houses like they might leap to life.

“Albus,” she whispered, “Do you really think it’s wise? Leaving him here? I’ve been watching them all day, they’re… they’re dreadful. The worst sort of Muggles, cruel, small-minded and they’re not even blood relatives...”

“He has no one else,” Dumbledore said gently, adjusting the baby in his arms. “His godparents are… unable to take him in. We have no choice, not really, here, at least, he will be safe and hidden.”

McGonagall’s mouth twisted with frustration, but she said nothing for a few minutes.

“This boy will be famous,” she murmured instead, softer now, but tinged with something mournful. “Every child in our world will know his name.”

“Exactly,” Dumbledore replied. “And he’s far better off growing up away from all of that, until he’s ready.”

Then, carefully, he crouched and laid the sleeping baby on the doorstep. Hagrid sniffled behind him, his massive shoulders trembling, he tried to clear his throat, but the sound cracked. His grief was thick and heavy in the air.

“There, there, Hagrid,” Dumbledore said, gently. “It’s not really goodbye, not forever.”

The giant nodded, eyes glassy, a small envelope was tucked between the folds of the blanket, a letter, a farewell.

James took a step back, his breath shaking.

Severus’s arms tightened protectively around the Harry in his arms, the real Harry, warm and alive and safe, and his heart ached with confusion and dread. This felt like a memory, a glimpse into a past that neither of them remembered living or were never supposed to see.

“Good luck, Harry Potter,” Dumbledore whispered to the sleeping child.

The street fell into silence again and James raked a trembling hand through his already-messy hair, fingers tugging at the roots. His breath came fast, too fast, fogging in the cold night air, the way Dumbledore spoke, how McGonagall avoided looking at the baby, how Hagrid was crying, it didn’t feel like a memory, it felt like a funeral with no gravestones.

Severus clutched Harry tighter, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

“Harry’s godparents are unable?” he repeated, voice cracking, barely louder than a whisper, he stared down at the little boy in his arms, at the soft curve of his cheeks, the way his small fingers gripped Severus’s robes like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispered, his eyes raising to meet James. “We’re dead.”

James flinched.

“Something happened, you and I… we’re dead.” The words came out jagged, like glass in Severus's throat. “Lily must be Harry’s godmother, and they, they, decided the safest place for him was with her sister, her sister, James.”

James turned away, jaw tight, his hands fisting at his sides.

“What happened to Remus? To Sirius? Regulus?” Severus continued, a tremble in every word. “I don’t understand, that Harry, that Harry is a newborn, barely days old but this Harry…”

He looked down again, Harry still nestled against his shoulder, warm and breathing and real. “He’s three, he knows us, he knows who we are. We’ve raised him, we’re not dead, we can’t be.”

“Sev…” James started, but the words failed him. He stepped closer, gently placing a hand on Severus’s shoulder. “No, listen to me, we’re not dead. This doesn’t make sense, but we’re here, you’re holding him, you're holding Harry, do you feel that? The weight of him? The warmth he is giving off, that proves he is real.”

Severus didn’t reply, but his grip tightened protectively.

James continued, quieter now, but with a tremble of conviction. “We would never abandon him, not you, not me. Lily wouldn’t send him away unless she had no other choice, Sirius and Remus, Merlin, they would die before letting Harry go to those Muggles and Regulus? There's no way any of them would have given Harry up like this.”

Severus shook his head, dazed. “Then why is he here, James? Why are we seeing this? Why now? Why does this feel like a grave I forgot we were buried in?”

James had no answer, he looked at the doorstep, at the tiny bundle that wasn't their Harry, but was and he didn’t know if the knot in his chest was fear or guilt or something far older.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “But we’ll find out, together, we’ll figure it out. It’s…a puzzle, but we’re here for a reason.”

Severus sat down slowly on the cold pavement, his limbs heavy and heart heavier still. He hugged Harry close, pressing the toddler into his chest like he could keep the world at bay if he just held tight enough. Harry, ever perceptive for a child so young, wound his arms around Severus’s neck and squeezed back with all his might, burying his face into Severus’s shoulder like he was the one offering comfort.

James crouched beside them, silent now, the disbelief slowly giving way to dread, he placed a steady hand on Severus’s back, grounding him. That’s when they noticed it, everything had frozen. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hagrid were still as statues, expressions half-caught mid-motion, like time itself had stopped breathing.

Severus blinked, his gaze darted to the blanket on the doorstep, to the unmoving baby curled beneath it. He wanted to go to him, to pick him up and run. Take him away from here. Anywhere but here but his legs wouldn’t move. Something in the world had locked in place, and Harry, the toddler Harry in his lap, trembled and clung even harder, his tiny fists bawling into Severus’s robes, his bright eyes welled up with tears and then, without warning, the street around them crumbled like sand. The stars dissolved first, then the bricks of Privet Drive, the streetlamp, the front door, it all blew apart in a storm of particles.

Harry whimpered, face pressed into Severus. James swore under his breath and ducked forward, shielding both instinctively as the sandstorm whirled and roared, until, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

They were indoors, somewhere dark and somewhere damp. Thunder cracked outside, rattling the door on rusted hinges.

James stood slowly, brushing grit from his arms and clothes. His hair stuck to his face from sweat or sea spray, he wasn’t sure which.

“Where are we?” he murmured, taking in the dim room.

Severus didn’t answer, he didn’t think he could. He was still on the floor, Harry snuggled tightly in his arms, the little boy shaking faintly but no longer crying, just... holding on. Holding him.

James turned to them and dropped into a crouch again. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

“What sort of question is that?” he murmured, his voice thin and hollow. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling, James.”

James offered a soft, weary smile, then reached out to pinch baby Harry’s cheek. “You alright, bud?” he cooed. “You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

Harry sniffled, his tear-tracked face peeking up, without a word, he raised his arms.

James hesitated only for a moment, glancing at Severus, then carefully lifted the toddler onto his hip.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re scared,” he said softly, bouncing him just a little. “You’re a brave little wizard, right?”

Harry didn’t answer, he just tucked his face into James’s shoulder with a tired sigh.

James rubbed soothing circles into his back, but his gaze caught on the window.

“What the… we’re on a rock?” His brow furrowed.

Severus, pulling himself to his feet slowly, rubbed his face. “We’re not on a rock.”

“We are, we’re in a house,” James clicked his tongue, stepping to the window. “On a rock, in the middle of the bloody ocean.”

Severus joined him at the window, frowning. He didn’t want to believe it but when he looked outside… the truth slammed into him like cold water. Jagged black stone, a narrow stretch of rock surrounded by churning, stormy sea. A rickety house, alone and exposed, under a boiling sky.

“What is this?” he breathed. “Why would the Dursleys move here?”

“I don’t think they did,” James muttered, eyes still scanning. “This doesn’t feel like a move, it feels like they’re hiding.”

Severus inhaled deeply, trying to centre himself. “Where’s Harry?”

The toddler turned his head from James’s shoulder and tilted it innocently, blinking. He didn’t say anything, but there was something knowing in his tiny smile.

Severus gave him a tired look but his lips did twitch with a small smile. “I know you’re here.”

Harry’s grin grew a little, then he laid his head back down against James’s shoulder, eyes fluttering.

“He must be around here somewhere…” James muttered, stepping back to look around. The space was dim, run-down, smelled like seaweed and rot, a broken table, some battered chairs.

A couch that looked older than both combined, snoring, loud, nasal snoring. From two different directions. James and Severus exchanged a glance. James pointed up the creaky staircase.

“Probably up there.”

Severus wandered past the couch, and stopped, lying on it like a prince in comfort, was a pudgy boy, his mouth agape. Severus’s mouth twisted. “The Dursleys must have son, themselves…”

His eyes drifted along the floor and froze, laid out on the cold, hard floor in a ragged sleeping bag was a much thinner, much smaller boy. Black hair stuck up in every direction, glasses slightly crooked, Severus sank to his knees slowly, staring...there, that was him, it was Harry. Eleven years old and laying on the floor, all alone, he was in a thin, old and worn-out sleeping bag, he didn’t even have a blanket.

“Harry…” Severus breathed out and James stood beside him.

Harry sniffed, he was prompted up by his elbows, his blue eyes staring down at the drawing of a birthday cake he did in the dust. Happy Birthday Harry was written over the cake in the dirt. He glanced at the sleeping boy’s watch lying nearby, it beeped quietly, it was midnight.

Harry smiled faintly and whispered to himself, voice barely audible.

“Happy Birthday...” He whispered to himself. “Make a wish, Harry.”

He closed his eyes… and blew out the drawn candles.

James and Severus stared at the small boy sitting on the floor. The birthday drawing, the whisper, the quiet puff of breath over scribbled candles, it all dug deep, a knife straight into the heart.

James swallowed hard. “It’s his birthday,” he said quietly, like saying it too loud would shatter the moment. “He’s… he’s celebrating it alone.”

Severus said nothing, but the sharp clench of his jaw spoke volumes. His blue eyes didn’t blink as he looked at Harry, at how thin his arms were, how bony his wrists looked where the oversized sleeves of his jumper had ridden up. No cake, no gifts, not even a candle.

Just a drawing in the dirt?

James stepped closer, kneeling beside the boy.

“Harry…” he whispered, reaching out a hand that passed through the air, it didn’t connect, Harry didn’t even flinch.

“Harry?” Severus tried to ask, his voice softer, almost trembling but again, the boy didn’t hear, didn’t look up, didn’t see them.

It was like they weren’t even there.

James shut his eyes briefly, then opened them again and leaned forward.

“Even if you can’t hear me,” he said firmly, “We’ll always celebrate your birthday, Harry. Every single year, I promise.”

Severus stood frozen for a long moment, as if the words were dragged out of him, he said, “There will always be a cake for you… even if it’s just from me.”

Harry quietly curled himself back into the sleeping bag, unaware of the vows made just inches away but Severus was still staring. At the outline of the boy’s ribs, the hollowness in his cheeks. The oversized clothes that did nothing to hide how small he really was, his mind was spinning, the air felt tight.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Severus said slowly, almost to himself. “Why would they put him here… why would Dumbledore…why would Lily…”

“Because he thought it was safe,” James cut in, standing up now, his fists clenched. “Because he…because he trusted them…

“…Did Lily trust them.” Severus bit his bottom lip, his voice dropped, quiet and bitter. “This is what safe looks like? A child on the floor on his birthday, with no one? No cake? No presents? No… no love?”

James turned away, ran a hand through his hair, then looked back. “Look, I don’t see any marks, Sev, not on his skin, at least, no bruises, no cuts. I don’t think they’re hitting him.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not hurting him,” Severus snapped back. “I know what this looks like, James, I lived it.”

James exhaled, anger and guilt fighting behind his golden eyes. “I know, I know, I’m not saying it’s fine. I’m angry, too, they’ve neglected him, they’ve left him here, cold, alone, like he doesn’t matter. That’s abuse in its own way.”

The wind howled outside, thunder cracked but the only thing either of them could hear was the quiet beep of that wristwatch, the silence of a birthday spent alone.

James looked down at the boy again, then back at Severus. “We’ll fix this, somehow. We’ll never let him feel like this again.”

Severus nodded, barely but the fear in his eyes hadn’t faded…the only way this could really happen is if…he and James really were dead. If something had happened to Remus, Sirius, Lily and Regulus.

The thunder cracked and a loud thud echoed through the cabin as the door trembled beneath the force of something heavy, Harry flinched, his eyes wide. Another bang followed, louder this time, and both Harry and Dudley scrambled back. Harry ducked behind a wall while Dudley clambered onto a windowsill, shaking.

Footsteps thudded down the stairs, Petunia and Vernon rushed in, the latter gripping a double-barrel shotgun with trembling hands.

“Who’s there?!” Vernon bellowed, his face flushing. “AHH!”

The door thundered again, with a deafening crash, it burst off its hinges and slammed to the floor. The force of it knocked Severus backward in shock, James instinctively passed the toddler into Severus's arms and stepped in front of them, shielding them as a massive figure stepped into the dim light.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” James let out a sigh of relief. “It’s just Hagrid!”

“Hagrid?” Severus echoed, straightening as recognition flickered in his eyes. “Hagrid found Harry?”

The little boy in Severus’s arms perked up at the name, beaming brightly. “Hag-rid always finds Harry!” 

“Yeah? Always, huh?” James chuckled, glancing at the toddler.

The giant man ducked inside, brushing the storm off his shoulders.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Hagrid muttered, casually lifting the door and propping it back into place.

“I demand you leave this instant! You’re breaking and entering!” Vernon raised the shotgun, his voice high with panic.

Petunia gasped behind him, frozen in fear, but Hagrid didn’t even flinch. He stepped forward and snatched the gun from Vernon’s hands, bending the barrels upward like they were made of rubber. The gun discharged with a blast, sending a hole straight through the ceiling as Vernon and Petunia screamed.

“Yeah, Hagrid!” James grinned, staring at Vernon and Petunia’s horrified faces.

“Blimey, I haven’t seen you since you were a baby, Harry!” Hagrid squinted at Dudley. “Though you’ve filled out more than I expected, especially ‘round the middle.”

Dudley stammered, pale as a sheet. “I-I-I’m not Harry!”

Harry hesitantly stepped out from behind the wall, his voice barely audible. “I-I am.”

“Course you are!” Hagrid grinned. “Got somethin’ for yeh.” He rummaged through his coat. “Might’ve sat on it, but I reckon it still tastes fine.”

He pulled out a squashed cake, proudly handing it over. “Baked it meself. Words and all.” He chuckled, eyes twinkling beneath his shaggy hair.

Severus let out a quiet breath of relief as Hagrid placed the slightly squashed cake into Harry’s hands. Of course, it was Hagrid who would bring a birthday cake, it was so perfectly, clumsily him. He smiled faintly at the sight: a pink sponge with vivid green icing, lopsided and a little smudged, but full of heart.

Harry’s wide blue eyes blinked down at the cake, his lips parting in awe. It looked like he didn’t know what to do with it.

Severus’s voice was soft with concern. “It’s not your first birthday cake, is it, Harry?”

The boy didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, he didn’t hear him. Harry gently lifted the lid of the cake box, revealing the green icing message: Happee Birthdae Harry.

“Thank you!” Harry gasped, his eyes widening.

Hagrid beamed. “It’s not every day a young lad turns eleven, now is it, eh?”

He lumbered over to the sofa, pulled out his pink umbrella, and pointed it toward the cold hearth. With two bright sparks, a fire sprang to life, making the Dursleys gasp. Harry’s eyes grew wide with astonishment.

James grinned, nudging Severus. “My granddad used to do that too.”

Severus let out a soft snort of amusement, shaking his head. The toddler in his arms, however, was not nearly as entertained, he gave a frustrated pout, clearly upset that Hagrid wasn’t acknowledging him, he cooed with a little huff, wriggling.

Severus bounced him gently, whispering, “He doesn’t see you, little one, not yet.”

Harry, the older one, placed the cake aside and looked up at the towering man before him.

“Excuse me,” he meekly called, slowly walking towards Hagrid, “Um..but… who are you?”

“Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.” Hagrid smiled, speaking mysteriously purposely, making James brighten up, his chest puffing out with pride, he really loved Hagrid.

“Course, yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts.”

 “Sorry…” Harry mumbled quietly, glancing downward and shaking his head, “No.”

James’s smile faltered, his golden eyes narrowed as he stared at the boy. “He doesn’t know… they didn’t tell him; they didn’t tell him anything.”

“No? Blimey, Harry, didn’t yeh ever wonder where yer mum and dad learned it all?” Hagrid asked disbelief, shifting on the sofa.

Harry blinked. “Learned what?”

“Yer a wizard, Harry.” Hagrid leaned forward gently.

Harry frowned, confused. “I-I’m a what?”

“A wizard and a thumpin’ good one, I’d wager, once yer trained up a bit.” Hagrid beamed with pride. “Your mum and dad were two of the best ones I knew!”

Severus felt his face grow warm at that, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about Hagrid calling him ‘mum’.

“No, you’ve made a mistake,” Harry shook his head quickly, his bony fingers pulling at his sweater in such a Severus manner, “I mean, I can’t be a wizard. I’m just… Harry, j-just Harry.”

Severus’s lips twitched with something painful and wistful; he looked down at the toddler pressed to his chest and murmured into the baby’s soft hair, “You’re not just Harry.”

The toddler giggled and snuggled closer, his tiny arms wrapping around Severus’s robes.

“Well, Just Harry,” Hagrid grinned, tapping Harry on the shoulder, “D’yeh ever make anythin’ happen, something you couldn’t explain? When yeh were scared… or angry?”

Harry looked down, softening, he didn’t answer, but the silence said enough. James eyed his future son’s face curiously, he recognized that expression, he had made it more than five times in his life.

Hagrid, satisfied, handed over a parchment envelope, thick and sealed with the Hogwarts crest.

“Dear Mr. Potter…” Harry’s fingers trembled as he read the letter. His voice was soft, but it pitched as he read the inked words.” We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“He will not be going!” Vernon exclaimed, face turning purple as he stepped forward. “We swore when we took him in, we’d put a stop to all this nonsense!”

Gasping, Harry’s eyes widened, and he turned to them, betrayal in his voice. “You knew? You knew all along and you never told me?”

Snorting loudly, Petunia rolled her eyes and inched towards the small boy. “Of course we knew. How could you not be? My perfect sister, always so special, Mum and Dad were so proud, ‘We have a witch in the family!’ they’d say but I saw her for what she was. A freak.”

Severus’s eyes darkened, and his grip on baby Harry tightened. He always disliked Petunia, but right now, he finally hated her. She had no right to speak about Lily like that, no right, Lily loved her, she was always thinking of her and wanting to keep Petunia safe. How dare she speak of Lily like that!

“Then she brought home him, that Snape boy. Said he had nowhere else to go after his father died,” Petunia’s voice turned bitter, her cold eyes narrow and lips peeling back in disgust, “Our parents were all too willing to take him in, said he was part of the family. I was supposed to call him my new brother.” She scoffed in disgust. “But I knew better, he was a freak too.”

Severus, stunned, stared at Petunia. “Lily… brought me home?” he whispered. “They took care of me?”

His chest tightened and Severus felt like he was going to faint. Why would she do that? Lily was to kind to him, really, too kind. He didn’t deserve her kindness, he didn’t deserve anything, he was nothing compared to her.

Severus was just a…a…he was something and while he couldn’t remember what it was, he knew it was bad.

“And then he had you, with that Potter boy, and that proved my point. He was a freak of nature,” Petunia snarled, clicking her tongue with distain. “A man gave birth to a child, bloody twisted if you ask me, and I knew you were always going to be a freak too and when they went and got themselves blown up, we were stuck with you because we were the only ‘family’ left.”

Severus shuffled his feet from the words. He almost agreed with Petunia, it was strange for a man to give birth, to be pregnant, sure he knew it was due to a potion in the wizarding world but…to muggles, that would definitely make him a freak.

“You’re not a freak.” James sternly said, making the shorter raven jump. He didn’t even notice the Gryffindor come closer to him. “You’re not. You made Harry, you have him life, that makes you special.”

Lips twitching, Severus wanted to believe him, he really did…but he just couldn’t. What man, what wizard, would give birth to a child?

“And don’t even get me started on that Potter boy,” Petunia added, sneering even more. “His family refused to take you in, so we had no choice but accept you, all because they went and got themselves blown up.”

James balled his hands into fists. “My family would have taken Harry. There must’ve been a reason they couldn’t, there had to be.”

“Blown up?” Harry interrupted in disbelief. His heart was pounding in his chest, his shoulders hunched and body shaking, Severus wanted to comfort him, “You told me my parents died in a car crash!”

“A car crash?! A car crash killed James and Severus Potter?!” Hagrid yelled, getting up with a thud.

Severus Potter? Is that what Hagrid just said? Severus opened but then shut mouth, he didn’t know how to feel about that, because…because that meant…no, no, having a child with James was one thing but-but…that was another thing!

Severus Potter, it didn’t even sound good. It sounded foreign, strange, not right at all!

Petunia snapped, “We had to say something.”

“It’s an outrage! A scandal!” Hagrid howled in anger.

James inhaled sharply, his arms were crossed, his hands were twisted and pressed underneath his armpits. He tilted his head away, his golden eyes flaring with anger from what was being said. He was disgusted by Petunia, how she was talking about Severus and Lily too, how could she be so cruel? His golden eyes flared with even more frustration upon catching Dudley sneaking away with his son’s only birthday cake.

“He’ll not be going!”

Hagrid turned on him, eyes narrowing. “Oh-ho-ho, and what are you gonna do to stop him, you great Muggle lump?”

“Muggle?” Harry asked quietly, stepping closer to Hagrid.

Hagrid, gentler now spoke to Harry, “Non-magic folk.” 

“This boy’s had his name down since the day he was born! He’s going to the finest wizarding school in the world, under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had, Albus Dumbledore.”

Harry smiled softly at the name.

Vernon, sneering, “I will not pay to have some crackpot old fool teach him magic tricks!”

“Crackpot,” James repeated, his lips twitching. He was trying not to laugh at the fact Albus Dumbledore was called a crackpot old fool.

Hagrid’s eyes flared. He whipped out his umbrella again and aimed it. “Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me.”

“Hagrid, the brats stolen Harry’s cake.” James hissed and as if Hagrid heard James, the wizard tilted his head in Dudley’s direction, catching Dudley shoving a piece of Harry’s cake into his mouth. With a quick flick, a spark flew from his umbrella, straight into Dudley’s backside.

With a squeal of fright, Dudley toppled over, a curly pig’s tail sprouting from his rear. Petunia screamed, Vernon swore, and the Dursleys scrambled out of sight.

Harry and James laughed, openly and freely, Hagrid chuckled along with them. Baby Harry in Severus’s arms giggled, covering his face with both pudgy hands, while Severus only stared after the Dursleys, unsure if he should be disappointed in everyone for doing such a thing and laughing at it, or shrugging it off, since the Dursleys had it coming.

“Er… if yeh wouldn’t mind not mentionin’ that at Hogwarts,” Hagrid whispered to Harry. “Technically, I’m not supposed to do magic.”

Harry nodded quickly. “Okay.”

“Ooh, bit behind, best be off.” Hagrid checked his pocket watch. He walked over, picked up the broken door, and wedged it back into place, he turned to Harry. “Unless… yeh’d rather stay?”

“Don’t stay,” James said, looking at his young son. “Don’t stay here, you deserve something so much better. You’re better than them in every way, go with Hagrid.”

It was like Harry really heard his words; he appeared to be debating what James said. He let out a soft hum, his blue eyes glowing in a way that belonged to Severus before he turned to Hagrid and smiled.

“Yeah, I want to come too.”

James smiled, pride shining in his eyes. “That’s my boy.”

“Wooo! Go me!” Baby Harry cheered, making James laugh again.

Without warning, the world shattered around them.

The air trembled, space twisted, and suddenly, Severus and James were no longer standing in the ruins. Instead, they found themselves inside a shadowy, flickering inn. Time shifted with a breathless hush, the scent of wood smoke and old magic curled in the air.

Severus blinked, pale and wide-eyed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” he muttered.

James let out a low hum, casting a look around the dim, firelit room.

“Now this,” he said with a half-smile, “This is more like it, warm and quiet. Feels like something real.”

He dropped into a creaky wooden chair, patting the seat beside him invitingly. Severus hesitated before sitting, the ghost of a smile brushing his lips. Harry shifted in his arms, small fingers curling into Severus’s robes.

“He’s tired,” Severus murmured, brushing soft strands of hair from the toddler’s forehead.

“Yeah,” James agreed, voice lowered. “Poor kid... who knows what time it even is.”

He reached out and gently stroked the back of Harry’s head. “It’s alright, buddy, you can rest. We’re not going anywhere.”

The little boy blinked sleepily at James, then sighed and let his head fall against Severus’s chest. His breathing slowed. Severus cradled him tighter, running his fingers through his hair as his gaze swept the room.

“Where are we?”

James yawned, propping his elbow on the table. “Leaky Cauldron, I think.”

Severus tilted his head, intrigued. “You've been here before?”

“A couple times.” James shrugged, almost sheepish.

“A couple of times?” Severus repeated suspiciously. “Doing what, exactly?”

“Not what you’re thinking,” the Gryffindor said seriously, his golden eyes hardening. “I swear to Merlin I didn’t do anything to be concerned about.”

Severus snorted and turned his nose away, yeah right. Like he’d believe that. James was, no, is a very popular boy. He might even be the most popular boy at Hogwarts, he probably had thousands of students throwing themselves at him. Severus shivered, he bit back the groan of disgust at the thought James being in one of those rooms upstairs with some flossy from their year.

James eyed Severus face, his lips curled crookedly, his eyes softening. He prompted his elbow up onto the table and leant his head against his hand.

“What?” Severus demanded, noticing he was staring.

“Nothing.” James smiled. “Just admiring how cute you can be.”

Severus shot him a sharp glare, but he didn’t bare his teeth at the taller boy like he truly wanted as Hagrid walked in with eleven-year-old Harry trailing behind him. Neither noticed two teenagers, Hagrid placed steaming bowls of soup and thick bread on the table. The boy's eyes looked red-rimmed, he hadn’t been crying, but it was close.

Severus watched him closely, a chill settling into his bones. What happened out there? What did between leaving that rock and getting to the Inn?

Hagrid shifted beside Harry. “You alright, Harry? You’ve gone all quiet.”

“He killed my parents, didn’t he?” Harry whispered, pointing to the lightning mark on his forehead. “The one who gave me this. You know who it was, I can see it in your face.”

James leaned forward sharply, eyes darting to the sleeping toddler in Severus’s arms. He pushed the baby’s hair back gently.

“There’s no scar,” James said quietly, a note of confusion lacing his words.

Severus looked between the two Harrys. “Scar? He has a scar on his forehead?”

“Looks like it. It’s not on the toddler, though…” James breathed out thoughtfully

Hagrid pushed his untouched bowl away, his face grave. “First thing to understand, Harry, and it’s important, not all wizards are good, some go bad, really bad.”

He paused, eyes darkening. “There was one, years ago, the worst there ever was. Name was... V—V... I can’t…”

Harry leaned in, nervous. “Maybe write it down?”

“No, can’t spell it, alright then.” Hagrid whispered, as though saying it might wake the dead. “Voldemort.”

Harry’s face twisted in confusion. “Voldemort?”

“Shhh!” Hagrid hissed.

James and Severus froze, the name rang strangely familiar, like a nightmare half-forgotten. Severus clenched his jaw, he felt like he had heard that name before but couldn’t remember from where, his fingers began to tremble around baby Harry.

“It was a dark time,” Hagrid went on. “He gathered followers, pulled people into the shadows. If you stood up to him, you died, your parents fought him, Harry, they were brave, but no one survived him... no one, except you.”

James leaned back, stunned. “The Dark Lord... Voldemort. We fought him?”

“And we died,” Severus muttered bluntly, “He killed us, he tried to kill Harry.”

James reached out a hand toward him, but Severus leaned away, not ready.

Harry’s voice came again, faint and fearful. “He tried to kill me?”

“That’s no normal cut on your head, that mark came from a curse, Harry. A deadly one, something ancient.”

Harry touched his forehead, his lip trembling. “What happened to him? To Voldemort?”

Hagrid glanced toward the door, his voice lowering. “Some say he died, I don’t think so. I think he’s out there, weak, waiting but one thing’s certain, something in you stopped him. Something he couldn’t understand.”

He looked straight at the boy. “That’s why everyone knows your name. You’re the Boy Who Lived.”

Severus stiffened, the words echoed like a tolling bell.

The Boy Who Lived.

His heart pounded, the weight of it sinking into his chest, slowly, he lowered his head and pressed his face into the baby’s soft black hair and held him, as if he could keep the darkness from ever coming back.

Severus turned sharply, eyes locking with James’s, the world had gone still, too still and shadows trembled in the corners of the Leaky Cauldron. Something in Severus’s face was cracking, he tried to breathe, to stay composed, but his voice shook.

“He tried to kill him,” he whispered. “Voldemort, he killed us... just to get to Harry.” His hands curled tighter around the small, warm body in his arms.

He feels like he knows why! Severus feels like he should know everything! But he can’t remember! Why can’t he remember?!

“But why, James? Why would anyone want to harm a baby?”

James opened but then shut his mouth, his eyes flickered, noticing the way the Inn suddenly seemed to vibrate. He glanced around them, watching small glasses and bowels vibrate on the spot, sliding across the smooth wood.

“Sev…” James reached for him, voice low and steady, “You’ve got to calm down, you’ll wake him…”

But the magic in the room was already changing. The air grew heavy, thick with invisible threads tugging at the seams of reality. James could feel it, like the entire inn was breathing in with them.

“We die,” Severus hissed. “What’s point in us having a kid if we’re just going to leave him behind?”

“Severus,” he said again, firmer now, “You’ll tear it apart, I think Harry’s reacting to your emotions!”

Too late, the Leaky Cauldron shattered. Light burst from the walls. The scene of Harry and Hagrid dissolved like smoke, the room groaned and folded in on itself, magic unravelling with a soundless scream.

“Severus!” James shouted, and launched forward, throwing himself over Severus and baby Harry just as the world burst into flame.

Severus hunched forward instinctively, shielding the child with his body, his fingers digging into Harry’s back. James wrapped his arms around them both, locking the three of them together in a desperate, protective hold as the memory burned away.

A warm breeze stirred their hair. Light filtered over them like a gentle tide.

James blinked, dazed, beneath him, the ground had turned to smooth, sun-warmed stone. His legs were drawn up, cradling Severus, whose back was pressed to his chest. Baby Harry lay between them, blinking up in sleepy confusion.

James exhaled shakily, resting his chin against Severus’s shoulder. “It’s alright. We’re alright,” he murmured. “Whatever this is… whatever's after him… we’ll protect him, no matter what.”

Severus hiccupped, trembling. “How?” he rasped. “We’re dead, James. We die and I don’t know why.”

James just shook his head, he held Severus tighter, then nodded toward Harry, who blinked his big, blue eyes and clumsily turned around in Severus’s lap. With tiny, steady hands, the toddler climbed out of his arms and stood.

Severus watched, breath held, as Harry toddled forward and began exploring the space. He wanted to grab onto the toddler and pull him back, but Severus didn’t, he felt no danger around them, nothing to threaten Harry. The stone underfoot was warm, the sky above, clear, impossibly blue, the breeze tasted like wildflowers and summer.

“He knows us,” James said softly, tilting his head, his golden gaze finding the toddler picking at the small white stones littering the floor. “This Harry remembered us, he recognized us, that must mean something’s changed.”

“What do you mean?” Severus meekly asked.

“Severus, Harry called us Papa and Mama, he said we had baths together, shared food, acted like a real family.” James paused, inhaling deeply. “This Harry…the one we found in the forbidden forest and saved from the Dementor, he’s different to the Harry we’re following now. That means we changed it, we saved him.”

He wanted to believe James, he really did, he really wanted to believe in the Gryffindor but he couldn’t His stomach churned, and chest tightened, Severus blinked hard until his vision blurred.

“But I don’t understand it,” he whispered. “No matter how hard I try, it just... doesn’t make sense and I feel like…like…I’ve forgotten something. Something important, something that explains all of this.”

James held Severus gently, like one might hold something fragile and brilliant and burning all at once. He felt the weight of Severus’s trembling breath, the tension still coiled tight in his shoulders.

“It’s alright,” James murmured. “It’s okay not to understand everything right now, you don’t have to solve the whole puzzle this second.”

Severus tensed. “But I always…”

James chuckled softly, pressing his forehead to the back of Severus’s neck. “I know, you always do. You fix things, you solve things. It’s very Ravenclaw of you but maybe… maybe it’s a good thing you can’t this time.”

There was a beat of silence, then Severus slowly turned in James’s arms, shifting so they were face to face. For the first time, that close, he truly looked at James, really looked. The golden flecks in his eyes shimmered like amber caught in sunlight. It stunned him.

“What do you mean by that?” he whispered.

James smiled, a warm, dazzling smile, the kind he only ever offered to Severus, unguarded and full of something unspoken.

“Because if you figured it all out,” James said gently, “If you fixed everything on your own like you always do… I’d feel proud, sure, amazed, obviously but also a little lonely.”

Severus frowned, his voice low. “Why would that make you feel lonely?”

“Because that would mean you didn’t need me and I… I want to help,” James let out a soft laugh and brushed a loose strand of hair from Severus’s face. “For once. I want to be the one holding things together. You always save everyone, fix everything, it’s nice to think maybe I get to help you now.”

Severus flushed a deep crimson, looking away sharply, why was James saying such nice things to him? Severus wasn’t anyone special. He pushed his hand gently against James’s chest, intending to shove him away, but faltered when he felt the soft rhythm of James’s heartbeat under his palm.

“Let me go already.”

 “Okay, for now~” James teased, his grin widening as he raised his arms, “But you know lions don’t give up that easily~”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Give up on what, exactly?”

James just shrugged, infuriatingly pleased with himself, and leaned back against the pale, sun-warmed stone behind them. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

Severus sighed, cheeks still hot, and stood up with a quiet huff. James always left things half-said, he scanned the space around them, taking in the new world they’d somehow stumbled into again. It was open, bright, yet eerily quiet, the sky stretched endlessly above, too blue, too perfect.

It was familiar, cosy, safe…

“…Where are we now?” Severus asked, his voice wary but calmer.

James let out a long groan as he straightened his back, stretching his arms high above his head until his joints gave a satisfying pop.

“Ahhh, there we go,” he sighed, tilting his head to squint at the sky, sunlight washing across his features like gold paint. “We’re on the rooftop of Hogwarts, middle tower.”

Severus blinked, startled. “What? How do you know that?”

James dropped his arms and grinned, tapping the side of his nose with a wink. “A Gryffindor never gives up his secrets.”

Severus rolled his eyes, lips twitching despite himself.

He turned his gaze back toward Harry, who was toddling carefully along the warm stone, delighted by a tiny, shimmering creature flitting between chimneys, something like a winged mouse with feathers instead of fur. Its laughter-like chirps echoed faintly in the breeze. Severus felt the tension in his chest loosen, ever so slightly. There was no fire here, no screaming, just sunlight, a baby, and a heartbeat he still swore he didn’t care about, but somehow always noticed.

James had been right.

This Harry, the one wrapped in impossibility and innocence, knew them, somehow and he'd called Severus Mama. The word had landed like a stone in a still pond, rippling through Severus’s very bones, he wasn’t sure if he liked it, not entirely, but it still meant something. Something real.

A high-pitched giggle pulled him from his thoughts.

Harry’s tiny form had collapsed into a sit, delighted by the creature now perching on his foot. The critter gave a musical squeak before fluttering off again, leaving Harry squealing with laughter. He looked up, his big, round blue eyes locking onto Severus.

“Mama!” he called joyfully, waving his arms with such abandon he nearly toppled over.

Severus couldn’t help it, his lips curled into a smile, soft and quiet. He lifted his hand in return and waved gently back.

The wind shifted then, catching Harry’s curls and Severus’s robes, bringing with it the faintest sound, like bells in the distance. Hogwarts breathed around them, old and alive, full of magic that curled like ivy through the stones.

James leaned closer, his voice soft behind Severus. “Told you… whatever this is, however, it’s happening… he knows you, he trusts you. Harry recognizes you as his mother and that means something.”

“Mama!” Harry chirped, waddling toward Severus with a beaming smile. His tiny fingers clutched at Severus’s dark Ravenclaw robes, tugging gently as he giggled again, “Mama!”

Severus blinked, staring down in stunned silence. James only laughed, scooping the toddler into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“See?” he said, tapping Harry’s nose, “You’re his Mama, that’s all that matters.”

Severus tilted his head slightly, blue eyes tracing over the pair in front of him, father and son. It was too much. Sweet, strange, overwhelming. His chest ached with something he didn’t have a name for. Deep down, a whisper curled in his mind like smoke…this isn’t right.

He couldn’t be a Potter. Could he? Harry… wasn’t his. He wasn’t the one meant to die for Harry, to carry that kind of love in his bones. Right?

…right?

Then, a sharp scream echoed from the courtyard below.

“Down! Get down! Aaahhh!” a voice cried out.

“Nevile!”  A familiar voice cried out in fear.

“That sounds like Harry,” Severus blinked, startled.

 Baby Harry cooed in confusion, glancing up at him with wide eyes. Severus chuckled under his breath.

“Not you,” he whispered. “The other one.”

Suddenly, a boy rocketed past them, a blur of black robes and a scream trailing behind him like a ribbon. His broomstick twisted violently, barely under control. James and Severus rushed to the edge of the rooftop, pressing against the cool, white-streaked stone to see.

Below, a line of first years stood nervously in the grass, each with a broom at their feet. Madam Hooch’s unmistakable voice screeched across the courtyard.

“She’s still teaching?” James murmured in disbelief. “Bloody mental.”

Harry giggled at the word, snuggling into James’s shoulder with muffled laughter. James looked down, mock serious. “Oi, don’t repeat that one.”

Harry only squealed harder, muttering something joyfully incoherent.

Severus shot James a flat look. “Terrible influence.”

“The best influence,” James replied smugly, puffing out his chest. “Right, Harry? Learning a lot from Papa?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically, and Severus exhaled with a long, weary sigh. He leaned into the warm stone, narrowing his eyes.

“What’s happening down there?”

James clicked his tongue and pointed upward. “More like, what’s happening up there?”

Neville Longbottom, clearly terrified, soared past again, his broom twitching like a panicked animal. He smacked into the side of a wall, bounced off with a yelp, and veered wildly through the air.

“Come back down, Mr. Longbottom!” Madam Hooch cried, raising her wand. The students below scrambled away as Neville whooshed through them, completely out of control.

“Longbottom?” James echoed, stunned. “Frank? Frank had a son? With who?”

“Probably Alice, right?” the shorter wizard said quietly. “They are dating.”

James hummed thoughtfully, “That is true…”

Severus barely shook his head. His eyes were fixed on the boy above. “James... doesn’t this feel familiar?”

James squinted, then his expression darkened. “My broom, someone jinxed it, and I couldn’t control it…but who could be casting that spell?”

“It is highly unlikely it is a first year,” Severus’s chest tightened. He scanned the courtyard, the rooftops, the shadows. “Their magic isn’t strong enough to keep up such a dangerous spell.”

James adjusted Harry on his hip, suddenly more alert. “So, who’d target Frank’s kid? He’s barely been here long enough to make enemies.”

Severus’s heart thudded in his ears, he focused harder. “Unless… unless Neville wasn’t the target.”

James’s jaw clenched. He looked down at the child in his arms, Harry gurgled happily, watching Neville’s spiraling chaos with awe.

“One guess,” James muttered, “Who they meant to hit.”

Severus inhaled sharply, his hands curling against the stone.

"Ahhh! Whoa!"

Neville's scream tore through the air like a ripped seam, his small hands clenched the broomstick with white-knuckled desperation, his face blooming scarlet as the wind yanked at his robes. The broom wobbled violently, jerking left and right like a bucking beast.

Severus's breath hitched, his ice-blue eyes widened as he grasped James's sleeve, his voice raw.

"He's going to fall. He’s going to lose his grip!"

James turned slowly, his golden eyes grave and shining with alarm. His hand came up, pressing gently to Severus's arm, keeping him frozen in place.

"No," James whispered. "Don’t try, you can’t touch him."

Severus’s voice cracked like thunder. "He's a child! Eleven years old!" His gaze cut to James, furious and helpless. "We have to do something!"

James held on tighter. "I know. I want to help him too, but we can't. We're not really here."

The words hit like a blow to the chest. The memory, of course, they were only shadows in this world, silent echoes trapped in time. Severus staggered back a step, chest heaving, as the sky seemed to darken above them.

Below, Neville spiralled past a looming stone statue, its spear gleaming with unnatural sharpness. His cloak snagged and in one awful second, he flipped mid-air, dangling like a broken puppet, arms flailing.

Severus leaned over the roof’s edge, his lips trembling. "This is cruel," he murmured, voice stripped bare. "He's hanging there."

James pulled him back just as a quiet, pitiful cry floated up: "Ah... Help..."

Even baby Harry whimpered, eyes wide and glossy. He buried his face into James’s sweater, a tiny sniffle escaping. James looked away, jaw clenched.

With a sickening sound, the cloak tore and poor Neville dropped but fate played one last trick, his torn cloak caught on a torch bracket, twisting his body midair before slipping free. The second fall was worse, there was no scream this time. Just the dull, heartless thud as he hit the stones below.

A shrill voice shattered the frozen silence. "Everyone, move! Out of the way!"

Madam Hooch barrelled through the crowd, her robes snapping behind her like wings. Severus leaned forward again, just in time to see her kneel by Neville's motionless form, her voice tight with urgency.

"Broken wrist, oh dear. It's a broken wrist, no more than that," she soothed, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of panic.

A small girl stepped forward, bushy brown hair, wide amber eyes glistening with worry.

"Is he all right?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Baby Harry let out a soft coo, reaching out toward the girl from James’s arms. James smiled faintly, whispering, "Friend of yours?"

The baby nodded furiously, clapping his hands.

"Tch, tch, poor boy,” Hooch, steady now, helped Neville to his feet, murmuring quietly. “You're alright, cCome on, off to the hospital wing."

She turned to the others with steel in her voice. "If I see a single broom leave the ground before I return, you’ll be off school grounds before you can say 'Quidditch.' Understood?"

The field fell deathly silent.

As the professor disappeared with Neville, Severus’s body sagged. He ran his hands down his face, fingers dragging against the skin until they trembled.

"You alright?" James asked softly, voice like distant thunder.

"He’ll live, he has a broken wrist but he’s okay," Severus muttered, but his voice was hollow. "But Merlin... that’s so hard to watch."

James nodded slowly, his gold eyes warm but dimmed with sorrow. "I know, I hate it too."

Severus gazed down at the courtyard again, tiny, innocent figures below.

"They’re just children, they’ve barely become anything yet. They shouldn't have to break before they've even learned how to stand."

James stepped closer, brushing his hip lightly against Severus in quiet solidarity.

"It makes me angry too," he said, voice low and furious. "Especially knowing we can’t do a damn thing to stop it."

The courtyard below had quieted, the students subdued, their voices hushed like a forest holding its breath. Severus and James remained above, cloaked in shadow, watching the scene unfold beneath them as though from a dream, or a nightmare.

Severus’s voice was low when it came, almost too soft to catch. “It’s horrible, how many first years had to join the war? How many of these kids lost their parents? Their family members?”

James didn’t respond at first, his gaze stayed fixed on the courtyard, on the children laughing nervously now, trying to shake off what they’d just seen. Then he exhaled, a sound full of pain and weariness.

“Try not to think about it,” he said. “We can never really know the outcome of the war, it might look peaceful and calm, but who knows the damage the ‘Dark Lord’ truly committed before he….”

James trailed off, unable to finish his sentence but Severus got it anyway. His blue eyes glanced at Baby Harry in the Gryffindors arms, the baby was sucking on his thumb now, staring down at the kids below with a giggling smile. Severus breathed softly though his nose and turned his gaze back to the first years…

“I wonder how many…” Severus whispered, his voice barely clinging to the wind. “Are like Harry…”

James turned, his arms tightening protectively around the sleeping baby. The weight of those words fell heavy between them.

“How many poor children lost people they loved,” Severus continued, eyes unfocused, staring into the distance as though trying to count ghosts. “How many were forced to be orphans… because of some madman’s twisted dream. How many were pushed to choose, pick sides in a war they never asked to be part of…”

There was something broken in his voice now, raw and scraping. A truth he’d kept buried too long.

For the briefest flicker of time, less than a heartbeat, Severus saw himself.

Older, hollow and a man worn thin by years, grief carved deep into every line of his face. He was kneeling in darkness, cradling someone in his arms, someone small, someone precious, but the figure was obscured, faceless. Only the raw anguish on Severus’s aged features was clear, he was crying, silent tears slipping down his sunken cheeks, mourning something, someone, he’d loved beyond reason and then it was gone.

Like a whisper lost in the wind, the vision vanished, leaving nothing but an echo of sorrow. Severus blinked, and the world righted itself. The rooftop, the courtyard, the soft cooing of the baby in James’s arms.

…everything as it had been.

He didn’t mention it, didn’t ask.

The image dissolved into the fog of forgetting, slipping from his mind as quietly as it had arrived, like the man himself, lost to time and space, a shadow never meant to linger.

As quickly as he remembered, Severus forgot it, as if it had never been put into his mind to begin with.

“…How many people had to die,” he choked out, “For causes they didn’t even understand?”

James didn’t speak. He couldn’t, he swallowed hard, lips pressed into a thin line, his golden eyes shimmering with pain.

“Severus…” he finally murmured.

But the Ravenclaw shook his head sharply. “No.”

His eyes shut tight, long lashes trembling like blades. “It’s not right, James. It’s not fair. Why is this happening? Why do children, innocent, pure lives, get crushed beneath the boots of monsters and men playing gods?”

James felt a sharp ache bloom in his chest. He stepped closer, gently shifting Harry in his arms so the child’s head rested near his heartbeat.

“I don’t have an answer,” he said softly. “But I ask myself the same thing, every single day.”

Severus’s voice cracked. “I’m tired of watching them suffer. Of feeling useless and powerless to stop it.”

“You’re not powerless, Severus,” James said, his voice firm but kind. “You care, that matters more than you think.”

Severus opened his eyes, red-rimmed and wet. “Caring doesn’t stop a Killing Curse.”

“No,” James admitted. “But it’s where resistance starts.”

James was quiet for a long moment, too quiet. His jaw twitched once, twice, before he spoke again, his voice low and shaking at the edges.

“I hate it here sometimes,” he muttered.

Severus turned to him slowly, brow furrowed.

James’s eyes were locked on the distant courtyard, but they didn’t see it anymore. They saw halls soaked in whispers, shadows that moved when no one was looking.

“Hogwarts used to feel like home,” he said bitterly. “Now it feels like a breeding ground.”

“For what?” Severus asked, though part of him already knew.

James exhaled through his nose, sharp and angry. “For monsters.”

He shifted his grip on Harry, but it wasn’t the child he was angry at. It was something deeper, something that had been festering inside him for too long.

“There are students here,” he continued, “who already call themselves Death Eaters, not in the open, no, but behind closed doors, in dark corners, they’re organizing. Recruiting, threatening and manipulating. They target the ones who are lonely, scared, angry... the ones who want to matter.”

Severus’s lips pressed into a hard line.

“They feed them lies,” James said, voice rising ever so slightly. “Promise them power, protection, meaning and the kids believe it, because they’re just that. Kids. And the ones doing the convincing? They don’t care if those children die the moment they’re sent into the real world. They expect it, they use them up, like firewood.”

“It makes my blood boil,” James whispered harshly. “Watching them lie, cheat, devour their way through the school. Smiling in class, wearing masks when the professors are looking, and then the moment backs are turned, they’re dragging another first year into the dark, promising them glory while they sharpen the knives behind their backs.”

Severus’s breath caught. He hadn’t realized how much James had been seeing. How much he’d been holding in.

“It’s a war already,” James said. “And it’s being fought in common rooms, in empty classrooms, in the library stacks, quiet, insidious, like poison.”

He looked down at Harry, brushing his fingers over the boy’s soft hair.

“And what terrifies me most,” he said, barely above a whisper, “Is that I don’t know how to stop it.”

Severus looked at him, really looked, at the quiet rage, the helplessness, the burning urge to protect that lived just beneath James’s skin and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t see the boy who used to be his rival.

He saw a man who had chosen to care, even when it hurt, even when it would never be enough.

“Did you see his face?” a sharp, amused voice cut through the courtyard below, snapping Severus out of his daze.

His breath hitched.

He scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes and leaned against the warm stone of Hogwarts, its ancient surface grounding him. The heat from the stone soaked into his temple as he pressed his head against it, trying to steady himself.

When did I start caring this much? he wondered bitterly. When did he let it all get so close to his skin?

“Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze,” the voice sneered again, “he’d have remembered to fall on his fat arse.”

Down below, a boy in sleek Slytherin green stood smugly among a small group of snickering students. Pale blond hair glinted in the sun, his posture dripping with inherited arrogance.

James narrowed his eyes, bouncing baby Harry slightly on his hip. “Oh, he’s got to be a Malfoy. There’s no way he isn’t a Malfoy. That smirk, the hair. it’s practically trademarked and very Lucius.”

Severus made a quiet, tired noise. “The likelihood is high; the Malfoys have an heir contract. Lucius would’ve needed to produce an heir straight out of school to preserve the bloodline.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” James muttered. “Pureblood paranoia always breeds in panic.”

“Give it here, Malfoy!” came a voice below, high, young, and furious.

Eleven-year-old Harry strode toward the Slytherin boy with fire in his step.

James lit up, puffing his chest out like a proud stag. “Oh, look at you, my boy! So much like your papa, aren’t you?”

Baby Harry giggled, wriggling happily in James’s arms. “Papa!”

Down below, young Draco twirled the Remembrall between his fingers like a toy. “No,” he said sweetly. “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find.”

With a gleeful smirk, he hopped onto his broom and took to the sky.

“How about on the roof?” he called, circling above the crowd like a predator.

“God, that little sod,” James growled. “I’d knock him off his broom myself if I were Harry.”

“You’re a terrible influence,” Severus deadpanned.

“Oh, ah!” James gasped as young Harry huffed, rolled his eyes, and mounted his broom without hesitation.

“Harry, no way!” a girl below cried out, grabbing his arm. She had wild brown hair and sharp amber eyes.

“You heard what Madam Hooch said! Besides, you don’t even know how to fly!”

James chuckled. “She’s got your tone of voice. Are we sure that’s not your child?”

Severus ignored him, too focused on the sight unfolding. His lips thinned. “He’s flying, of course he is. You’re both idiots!”

Baby Harry whined suddenly, squirming in James’s arms and reaching for Severus, his voice was a soft squeak of disapproval.

Severus sighed, accepting the baby without protest. “I didn’t mean you…” he mumbled as the child pouted and laid his head against Severus’s chest, grumbling.

“Now you’ve wounded both our hearts.” James playfully said.

Severus rolled his eyes but tilted his head toward the sky, where older Harry now hovered across from Malfoy, small hands clenching his broom.

“Give it here, Malfoy, or I’ll knock you off your broom!” Harry barked.

“That’s my boy!” James declared proudly.

“I got kicked off my broom remember,” Severus said flatly.

“Yeah, but I saved you,” James replied smugly, not taking his eyes off the duel-in-the-sky.

Severus puffed his cheeks. “Like that makes it better.”

“It does!” James gasped. “It made me your knight in shining armour!”

Mouth opening but then shutting, like a fish out of water, Severus turned red. He immediately turned his head away with a grunt.

Draco spun on his broom, theatrical as ever. “Is that so?”

Then, with a wink and a cruel grin, he hurled the Remembrall like a baseball into the air.

Harry dove.

The crowd below gasped as he streaked toward one of the towers, fast, reckless, perfect. A flash of scarlet and black, a comet in the sky. Just as he was about to crash through the window where Professor McGonagall worked, his fingers snatched the Remembrall clean from the air.

A second passed and then cheers erupted. Harry slowed, gliding back to the courtyard with ease as the other first years rushed to meet him.

James practically beamed. “Ah! My boy takes after his papa!”

“In every reckless, Gryffindor way,” Severus noted, arching an eyebrow. “Including getting detention five minutes into his first flying lesson.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” James’s grin faltered. “That wasn’t really my fault, you know, Sirius was just whining because Remus got sorted into Ravenclaw and…”

“Cause, cause…’” Severus mimicked mockingly.

James sputtered, then snorted as he caught himself. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the realist,” Severus said, a faint smile touching the corner of his lips, more quietly, “But... he really is brilliant.”

“And to think he came from us~” James said with a dazzling grin, his voice full of warmth and wonder. He gave Severus a playful nudge as they both watched the young first-year Harry, triumphant and shining in the glow of the other students' admiration.

Severus blinked slowly, lips twitching as something unfamiliar stirred in his chest. “Yeah… to think he came from us.”

The words echoed between them, soft, improbable, surreal.

Harry Potter. Born from them.

It was… ridiculous, more than that. It was unbelievable. A cosmic joke, maybe, or a mercy neither of them had earned.

“Mama?” a small, bright voice cooed suddenly.

Severus blinked and found baby Harry staring directly into his face, his impossibly large blue eyes wide with innocent curiosity, their noses nearly touched.

“…Um. Yes?” Severus murmured awkwardly.

The world shifted and not metaphorically, literally.

Severus’s breath caught as a strange, electric pressure swelled around them. The air rippled like heat off pavement, it groaned, vibrating low and slow, like something ancient awakening. His arms instinctively tightened around baby Harry to keep him safe, the infant now quiet but alert in his hold.

With a loud thud, the sensation ended, sudden and final, as if something heavy had fallen far away, they were somewhere else.

Severus exhaled sharply.

 “Bloody hell,” James exclaimed, his voice low with awe and alarm. His golden eyes blinked wide and owlish. “That was… different.”

“We moved again?” Severus said, voice hushed, testing the air around them, his pulse beat wildly in his throat as he glanced around. “But… we’re still at Hogwarts.”

“Are you okay?” James turned toward him, his brows furrowed, voice soft with concern. His gaze flicked from Severus to the baby humming gently in his arms.

“I’m… okay,” Severus replied, uncertain at first. He waited for nausea, for vertigo, for that sharp twisting of space and memory but, nothing. “I actually feel fine this time.”

James smiled in relief, his posture relaxing slightly. “That’s good.”

Severus avoided his eyes, choosing instead to focus on their new surroundings, on the way the ground sloped gently down toward the edge of the forest, on the smell of damp earth and wood smoke.

“…We’re outside Hagrid’s hut,” he noted.

Indeed, the crooked little house stood nearby, puffing lazy clouds of smoke from its chimney. The trees of the Forbidden Forest loomed just beyond, their dark branches shifting gently in the breeze.

Severus shifted his grip on the baby, pressing his lips into a thoughtful line.

“This is still part of the memory, isn’t it?” he murmured.

“Looks like it,” James said, walking a little closer to the edge of the path. “I wonder why this spot, though…”

From somewhere near the hut, the low, gruff voice of Hagrid echoed through the trees, warm and comforting, yet tense, almost panic-liked.

“…we’re not alone out here,” James said under his breath.

Severus tensed. “Something’s about to happen.”

“Nonsense,” Hagrid barked, though the word rang hollow in the cool autumn air, there was something uneasy in his voice, like a man trying to convince himself of a lie.

James and Severus exchanged a wary glance before turning, only to find the half-giant had crept far closer than they'd realized.

“Why would anyone curse young Neville Longbottom’s broom?” Hagrid demanded, his dark eyes flickering with the beginnings of fear.

Severus took a step back instinctively, something sharp stirring in his chest. He hadn’t noticed the boy at first, hadn’t felt his presence, but there he was, standing not five feet away. Harry, and not the infant clinging to James’s arm, but the older one, eleven, the boy stared up at Hagrid, flanked by two Gryffindors who looked oddly familiar, one a girl with bushy brown hair that glinted like spun gold in the sunlight, the other a tall, flame-haired boy whose freckles and posture stirred something just out of memory.

Harry's voice was quiet, but it struck like a whispered spell. “Who knows? Maybe the same person who let that three-headed dog into Hogwarts on Halloween.”

The air seemed to still.

Hagrid’s shoulders tensed.

James blinked, rapidly now, as though trying to shake something loose in his mind. “Does he think… does Harry think Hagrid cursed Neville’s broom?”

Severus opened his mouth, then shut it, no, it didn’t make sense. Hagrid wasn’t capable of that but then, why say it?

“I mean,” James began again, hesitantly, “I guess if Hagrid owns the three—”

“Fluffy!” came a sudden, defiant cry.

They all looked down, baby Harry had thrust out a tiny fist in protest, eyes wide and unwavering.

“Right. Fluffy,” James said, lips twitching into a grin.

“I could believe Hagrid was involved with Fluffy,” he continued, “But cursing a broomstick? No. That’s not him, he wouldn’t even know how.”

Severus didn’t answer. His eyes were on the older Harry, who hadn’t moved. The boy wasn’t looking at them, he hadn’t even acknowledged their presence, but there was something coiled in his stillness. Something wary, something… hunting.

What does he know that we don’t?

“Who told you about Fluffy?” Hagrid’s voice broke through, lower now, more cautious. He looked at the three children with suspicion, though he didn’t seem to notice the weight Harry’s words had carried.

The redheaded boy puffed out his cheeks, clearly trying to stall. “Fluffy?”

“That thing has a name?” the girl asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“’Course he’s got a name,” Hagrid said, too brightly, as if trying to steer the conversation off a cliff. “He’s mine, bought him off a bloke in the pub, Irish fella. Lent him to Dumbledore to guard the…”

His words faltered, his eyes widened slightly, as though he'd just realized he’d wandered too close to a drop.

“Guard the what?” Harry stepped forward like a shadow sliding across the ground.

Hagrid stepped back. Shook his hands, shook his head. “Shouldn’t’ve said that, nope. No more questions. That’s top secret, that is.”

“So, Dumbledore is hiding something inside the school,” James muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why wouldn’t he? A three-headed dog roaming a corridor and students just wandering about... Of course, our Harry stumbled across it.”

Severus turned his head slowly to look at him. “Our Harry?” he asked softly, the phrase echoed in his mind like a half-forgotten lullaby.

“That’s it,” he whispered a moment later, more to himself than anyone else. “Harry doesn’t think Hagrid cursed the broom. He thinks someone’s trying to steal whatever’s being guarded.”

Harry's eyes never left Hagrid’s face. “But someone is trying, Hagrid. Whatever Fluffy is guarding, someone's after it.”

Hagrid lifted his arms and let them fall to his sides in a helpless gesture. “That’s nonsense. No one knows ‘cept the professors, and they’re all Hogwarts staff.”

“Hogwarts staff or not, I know a spell when I see one.” The girl’s voice cracked the air like ice. “You have to maintain eye contact for that kind of hex. Someone was watching us during our first practice. From the castle, they could’ve killed Neville.”

Harry nodded, fire in his eyes. “Exactly.”

Hagrid’s expression darkened, not angry but afraid. “Listen to me, all three of yeh,” he said slowly. “Yer meddlin’ in things that ought not to be meddled in. Dangerous things, that dog’s guardin’ somethin’ between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel, that’s all I’ll say.”

At the name, Harry froze, he glanced at his redheaded friend, then back at Hagrid. “Nicholas Flamel?”

Hagrid was already muttering under his breath, shaking his head as if the words might fall out and betray him further. “Shouldn’t have said that… shouldn’t have said that…”

“Nicholas Flamel,” Harry repeated in a hush, as Hagrid turned and wandered back toward his hut, his massive figure now hunched with regret.

The boy turned to his friends, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who’s Nicholas Flamel?”

“I don’t know.” The girl shook her head, her eyes wide. “But I’m going to find out.”

“Hermione, you’re bloody terrifying when you’re like that,” Ron muttered, recoiling half a step as if warding off a spell. “It’s like you go full-on demon the moment you find something you haven’t already memorized.”

Hermione didn’t flinch, she merely rolled her eyes, arms crossed in sharp disdain. “Oh, shut up, Ronald. Not everyone was cursed with the gift of a pea-sized brain.”

Ron blinked, dumbfounded, then, with the exaggerated suffering of a martyr, he turned to Harry. “You hearing this?”

But Harry only grinned, that grin, the unmistakable, crooked smirk of James Potter, all trouble and spark. His eyes gleamed, bright and mischievous, as though he'd found great joy in the rhythm of their bickering.

Even James let out a quiet snort of laughter behind them, until his smile faded, replaced by a flicker of concern. He stepped closer, gaze sharpening. “What’s wrong?”

Severus hadn’t realized his expression had changed, he blinked at James, startled. “It’s nothing.”

James wasn’t fooled. “That’s your ‘I’m going to spend the next eight hours obsessively thinking about this’ face,” he sang teasingly, then reached forward to tickle the infant Harry nestled in Severus’s arms. The toddler squealed, delighted, giggling like a chime in the wind.

Severus gave a strained smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“It's just…” he began hesitantly. “Nicholas Flamel. Who is he? And why would Dumbledore be hiding something for him inside the school?”

The grin dropped from James’s face, he blinked, then said carefully, “Nicholas Flamel is…or was…a French wizard. An alchemist, he’s best known for creating the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Severus blinked. “The Philosopher’s what?”

“A legendary stone,” James explained quietly, voice low and oddly reverent. “It’s said to grant immortality. The Elixir of Life comes from it. Flamel lived for centuries with his wife, Perenelle. By now… he’d be well over six hundred years old. At least, in our time. Whether he’s still alive now…”

James’s words trailed off, but the implication lingered, heavy and unspoken. “If Dumbledore’s guarding something for him, I’d say the odds are high...I guess that means the stories are try then.”

“How do you know that?” Severus stared, his thoughts churning like storm clouds. “If all that was true, I would have definitely heard about it or more likely, I would have read about it.”

There was a silence and James looked away, his features tightening. It wasn’t embarrassment, it was something else. Something troubled.

“What?” Severus pressed, his voice quieter now, more cautious.

“Sev… don’t you,” James murmured, and licked his lips nervously. “You’re the one who told me, you told us…you told all of us about Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Severus froze, his breath caught.

He told them?

He searched his mind, frantically, but came up with nothing. Not a trace, not a whisper of memory, just... emptiness.

“I… I don’t remember that,” he whispered.

James stepped closer, his brow furrowed, hand gently brushing Severus’s arm. His voice lowered. “Severus… are you sure you’re alright?”

Severus didn’t answer, his throat felt tight. His heartbeat was too loud in his ears because there was a feeling growing in his chest, slow, cold, unmistakable…something wasn’t right and it had started long before today.

~#~

Christmas at Hogwarts had always shimmered with quiet magic—snow swirling against tall windows, garlands glittering across ancient stone, and the scent of pine and cinnamon clinging to the air like a spell itself.

Severus had seen many Hogwarts Christmases. Far too many. He had spent almost every one tucked away within its walls, never returning to that cold, damp house where silence hung heavier than snow, and shadows outnumbered people. His mother had died young. His father… well, drink had taken what little remained of that man long before death ever tried.

So Severus stayed.

But this year… something was different. This year, even Hogwarts couldn’t fully hold back the ghosts.

He squeezed his eyes shut until the world blurred, not from tears, he would never let them fall, but from the weight pressing behind them. He didn’t want to think about his father. Didn’t care if he was gone, didn’t care if—

“Are you okay?” James asked softly beside him, voice nearly lost in the whisper of enchanted carols echoing through the hall.

Severus turned his head slightly, jaw tight.

“You’re pale. I can take Harry, if you…”

There it was again. That maddening gentleness. James had become too careful around him. Too soft, too patient, too, concerned. As if Severus were a porcelain thing about to crack.

“No thank you,” Severus cut in sharply, though not loudly. “I can quite manage.”

He clutched Baby Harry closer, the toddler warm and heavy against his chest, fast asleep. The child’s soft cheek was pressed against his robes, a patch of drool slowly soaking into his only good Ravenclaw tie. And yet, somehow, it calmed him. The quiet weight of Harry’s breathing steadied his heart.

James opened his mouth again, clearly about to press further, but Severus straightened and stepped away before he could.

He drifted through the decorated hall with deliberate calm, his eyes sliding up to the tall arched windows, where snow drifted past like ash. Outside, Hagrid was dragging an enormous Christmas tree across the frost-covered grounds.

“Merry Christmas… Merry Christmas… Ring the Hogwarts bell… Merry Christmas…”

The ghosts of Hogwarts floated aimlessly above, humming through the halls like a choir from another time, their translucent forms beaming with mirth.

Severus barely heard them.

“Severus,” James called gently, catching up once more. His voice had shifted—lower now, heavier. “It’s a lot, I know. But bottling it all up won’t help. You can talk about it. If you want.”

Severus stopped cold, then pivoted sharply on his heel. “And why would I want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice brittle. “Really think about it, James. What exactly is there to talk about? I don’t even remember half the things I’ve apparently done!”

James blinked, surprised, but not hurt. Not angry. Just... looking.

And then he moved, slow and deliberate, and reached up to gently cradle Severus’s cheek with one warm hand. It was a light touch, careful but steady, as though grounding him in the present.

Severus stiffened but he didn’t pull away.

“You do remember,” James said quietly, brushing his thumb just beneath Severus’s eye. “Maybe not in words but it’s there. I can see it in you. The ache and the doubt.”

Severus laughed, but it broke halfway out of his throat. “I’m hurting? How can I be hurting over something I don’t even know?”

“Because you do know,” James replied, his voice no louder than the falling snow. “Maybe not the facts, not yet but you know something’s missing and that’s tearing you apart.”

His golden eyes softened. “You’ll blame yourself, even if it’s not your fault. I know you.”

Severus stared back at him, the words sticking like frost in his chest.

“Your head might have forgotten,” James said gently, his voice warm—too warm, “but your heart hasn’t. Everything you're feeling—the tightness in your chest, the dizziness, the way you can’t breathe—it just shows how deeply you care. It’s okay. We’ll undo this. We’ll fix it. You will remember everything you’ve forgotten.”

Severus bit down hard on his bottom lip, his voice small but brittle with fear. “What if I don’t? What if it gets worse? What if I forget… everyone? What if I forget myself?”

James didn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll remind you. Every second, every day, for weeks, for months, for centuries, if I have to. I’ll remind you who you are, what you’ve done, and just how much you’re loved.”

Loved. The word hit him like cold water.

Severus’s breath caught in his throat. Loved? By everyone?

Why?

Why would anyone love him?

He wasn’t anything special. He was pathetic, scrawny, sour-faced, with a crooked nose and eyes too old for his age. He was awkward in crowds, stiff with affection, resentful of attention. A nobody among somebodies. Why would anyone choose him?

His voice dropped into a quiet defiance. “And what if I think they shouldn’t?”

James met his gaze without blinking.

“Then you’d be wrong,” he said simply. “Because why wouldn’t anyone love you? You’re brilliant. You’ve saved us more times than I can count. You’ve taught us things no one else ever could. You’ve sacrificed everything, your time, your safety, even your name, for us. You’ve stood up for people when no one else would. You’re everything, Severus and whether you believe it or not, you’re someone a lot of us care about.”

Severus blinked slowly. His lips trembled. Heat crawled up his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned his face away. James’s touch still lingered on his skin, buzzing with something electric that made Severus’s spine tingle, and he hated it.

No. He didn’t hate it, h just should…because Lily loved James. She’d chosen him. Severus couldn’t betray that, not even now, not even if Harry was… theirs.

“Knight to E5,” called a familiar voice.

Both boys turned toward the Gryffindor table, where Harry sat beside Ron, the chessboard glowing between them. The room was mostly empty. The sight hit Severus like a punch to the chest.

“Harry’s alone,” he whispered.

James exhaled sharply, nodding. “Yeah… he doesn’t have anywhere to go for Christmas.”

Harry watched as his knight marched across the board, only for Ron to smirk and say, “Queen to E5.”

Hermione suddenly walked straight through James, utterly unaware of him as she stepped up beside Ron.

“That’s totally barbaric!” she gasped, watching as Ron’s queen smacked Harry’s knight off the board with her chair.

Severus found himself agreeing with her but also feeling something stranger, déjà vu.

“That's wizard's chess,” Ron said proudly, looking at Hermione, “I see you’ve packed.”

“I see you haven’t,” she replied with a sniff.

“Change of plans, my parents went to Romania to visit Charlie,” Ron shrugged, turning back to the game. “He’s studying dragons there.”

“Really?” Harry asked, blinking in surprise.

“Yep,” Ron beamed, glowing with brotherly pride.

“That’s good, then,” Hermione said softly, glancing at Harry. “It would be a sad Christmas to spend alone.”

Harry leaned his chin into his palm. “Wouldn’t be any different from the others.”

“Oh, Harry…” Hermione whispered, sympathy etched into her face.

Severus shifted Baby Harry in his arms and hugged him tighter, burying his face in the toddler’s soft black hair.

He felt his heart ache, Harry really did spend Christmases alone... before Hogwarts?

He wondered, not for the first time, what it might have been like if things had gone differently. If he and James hadn’t died. If the war hadn’t taken so much, if their family had stayed whole.

Would there have been music? Laughter? Would the house have been filled with light? Would Harry have been happy?

Severus closed his eyes, holding the sleeping child a little closer, hoping, maybe, he could give the boy something now that he hadn’t had before.

“Don’t worry,” Ron chirped. “I’ll take care of him.”

“I’m sure you will.” Hermione snorted, then leaned in toward the table, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I expect to hear all about the chaos you two unleash across Hogwarts while I’m gone. Maybe you could pay Peeves a visit? I heard he’s not particularly fond of the Christmas decorations in the West Wing.”

She straightened with a smirk. “Happy Christmas.”

With a dramatic flip of her bushy curls, she turned and strolled away down the corridor.

“I think we’ve been a bad influence on her…” Ron chuckled. “So, shall we go see Peeves? Maybe he has some exciting suggestions we can use?”

Harry laughed, eyes bright. The chess match was forgotten in the light of mischief.

“At least he has some great friends,” James said warmly, watching the trio from a quiet distance. “They make him happy, that’s what matters.”

Severus nodded, a soft smile on his lips. “They remind me of Sirius and Remus.”

“Really?” James asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Ron’s as mischievous as Sirius ever was, and Hermione’s as sensible as Remus,” Severus said with a light hum. “You and Sirius corrupted Remus, just like Harry and Ron are corrupting Hermione.”

“That poor girl,” he added wryly. “It’s probably too late to warn her.”

“Oi,” James laughed, bumping Severus’s shoulder gently. “That was completely uncalled for… but also kind of accurate.”

A hush swept through the grand hall of Hogwarts as a strange chill licked the air. Snow, soft and silvery, like whispers of forgotten dreams, began to drift gently from the enchanted ceiling. Severus closed his eyes, inside, something twisted, as if time itself had exhaled and folded in on them once more.

When he opened his eyes, bleary and slow, the toddler in his arms still slumbered, nestled warm against his chest. Odd, he thought, baby Harry hadn’t stirred.

“Is it... Christmas morning?” he muttered, shifting slightly. A twinge ran through his stiff legs, making him grimace.

Beside him, as always, James lingered, solid, unreal, familiar. He reached out toward the child. “Let me hold him.”

Severus hesitated, holding Harry made the whole tangled mess feel a little lighter. A little less like it might all slip away but still, with reluctant care, he passed the sleeping boy to James. Instantly, Harry whimpered, curling tighter into James’s arms with a soft, instinctive trust, he let out a loud, dramatic puff of gas right against James’s chest.

James gasped. “Merlin’s beard, that’s lethal.”

Severus’s lips twitched despite himself. He looked away, maybe... maybe it was the right moment to let go.

“Harry! Wake up! Come on, Harry, get up!” came Ron’s voice, echoing up from below.

Both men turned. Somehow, impossibly, they were now in the Gryffindor Tower. Severus blinked in confusion. He didn’t remember ever being here, but the layout was strangely familiar, like a dream half-forgotten. Everything looked right, except the bright wallpaper and the tall, glittering Christmas tree in the centre of the room.

From the upper dormitories, an eleven-year-old Harry emerged, barefoot and yawning. His hair was a disaster, wild and black like a bird’s nest, impossibly like James’s, he rubbed at sleepy eyes and peered down.

“Merry Christmas, Ron,” he murmured with a slow smile.

“Happy Christmas, Harry!” Ron waved from below, already munching on a festive box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

Severus frowned at the sight.

“That’s not a proper breakfast, Ronald,” he muttered disapprovingly.

James chuckled. “Come on, Sev, it’s Christmas.”

Severus gave him a sharp look.

“And what exactly are you wearing?” Harry asked, tilting his head at Ron’s oversized red sweater.

“What’s wrong with it?” Severus asked quickly, inspecting it himself. “It’s... charming.”

James nodded in amused approval as Ron flushed pink.

“Mum made it,” Ron said shyly. “She made one for you too.”

Harry blinked, owl-like. “She did?”

“Course she did,” Ron beamed, pointing toward the presents under the tree. “All of those are yours.”

“Presents?” Harry’s voice cracked, soft and uncertain, as if the word itself was fragile. His blue eyes grew wide, and his shoulders hunched, like he expected the gifts to vanish if he blinked too long. “I-I have presents?”

Severus sucked in a breath, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. It hurt, that quiet disbelief in Harry’s voice. It was too close to his own childhood, to cold Decembers and empty rooms. He never wanted that pain for any child, let alone this one.

“He’s never had presents?” James asked, barely a whisper, stunned.

Severus didn’t answer, he couldn’t.

“Why didn’t my parents take him?” James’s voice cracked. “He could’ve had... birthdays, cake, family…”

“There must be a reason,” Severus said quietly, laying a hand on James’s sleeve.

Their eyes met, confusion and sadness swimming between them.

Meanwhile, Harry was climbing slowly down the tower stairs, bare feet padding toward the glittering tree. His fingers trembled slightly as he picked up a note.

“Your father left this in my possession before he died,” he read aloud. “It is time it was returned to you, use it well.”

“Well, go on!” Ron handed him the first package, eyes wide. “Open it! What did your dad leave you?”

Severus turned to James. “Do you know what it is?”

“No idea.” James shrugged.

“You’re serious?”

“I’m James,” he replied dryly.

Severus groaned. “That joke will never be funny.”

Harry traced the folded edges of the gift with quiet wonder. “Something from my dad...”

“You, okay?” Ron climbed up beside him.

Harry didn’t answer at first. “I don’t know much about them,” he said softly. “This... this might be the first real thing I’ve ever gotten from him.”

James stared at his son, future, present, ghostlike, his golden eyes dimming with sorrow. He hugged the toddler in his arms a little closer.

“I’m right here,” he whispered, though Harry couldn’t hear.

Severus shifted, glancing between father and son, the weight of time thick in the air.

Harry inhaled slowly, as if the gift itself might vanish with one wrong breath, carefully, almost reverently, he began to peel the wrapping open, no tearing, no rush. He folded each edge as though the paper were precious, the sight made something twist sharply in Severus’s chest. Children were supposed to rip into presents, wild with joy, not treat them like fragile treasures.

Harry let out a small hum, a curious sound from the back of his throat as he stood and held up a long, silky piece of fabric. It shimmered strangely in the firelight.

“What is it?” he murmured. “Some kind of... cloak?”

James’s mouth dropped open. “Holy sh-”

“Put it on!” Ron interrupted, eyes wide with wonder. “Let’s see what it does!”

Harry draped the cloak over his shoulders, and vanished.

Ron gasped. “Whoa!”

Harry stared down at the empty space where his body should be. “I’m... I’m gone.”

“I know what that is!” Ron said, practically bouncing now, he shoved his sweets aside and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s an invisibility cloak!”

“Invisibility cloak?” Severus echoed, his voice distant.

“You have one?” he asked James quietly.

James opened his mouth, but Severus raised a hand. His voice came out small and uncertain.

“I think I already knew that didn’t I?” He frowned, brow furrowing. “But I forgot...”

James winced. “I don’t use it much, so... maybe it slipped your mind.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” Severus said quietly. “I highly doubt you never used it. Not with all the pranks you and Sirius were known for.”

James looked at him, concern in his golden eyes. “Sev…”

“Why would you leave it to Harry, though?” Severus went on, shaking his head. “He’s eleven. Can you imagine what kind of mischief he and Ronald will get into?”

James flushed. “Hey, I'm dead. I didn’t give it to him now.”

“No, but leaving it behind for him to find in his first year at Hogwarts?” Severus scoffed. “That does sound exactly like you.”

“Ah, well…” James wanted to protest but found he really couldn’t.

Meanwhile, Harry was spinning in slow circles, staring down in amazement. “I’m really invisible?”

“They’re rare,” Ron said in awe. “Your dad must’ve been incredible, imagine the stories he must’ve had.”

Harry’s smile faltered.

“Sorry,” Ron said quickly.

“It’s okay,” Harry replied softly. “I wish I knew more about him too.”

James frowned deeply. “Bloody right you should have. I would've told you everything, every wild thing we did.”

Ron stood and patted Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s happy you have it now.”

Harry gave him a watery smile. “I hope so.”

“I know so,” James whispered. “But now I’m wondering... who gave it to you?”

“You don’t know?” Severus asked, eyes narrowing.

James shook his head. “It was my father’s before mine. We promised it’d never leave the family, I must’ve trusted someone, really trusted them, to give it away.”

Harry looked back down at the note, brow furrowed. “There was no name, just said: ‘Use it well.’”

Ron snorted. “Use it well? I’ve already got, like, six ideas.”

Severus groaned, long and dramatic. “Wonderful. I’m beginning to suspect he’s the bad influence.”

James burst into laughter, and the toddler in his arms squirmed, letting out a tiny, sleepy protest.

“I think Ron’s brilliant,” James said through his grin. “I’m already feeling that spark of Gryffindor pride in him!”

“Oh, you would,” Severus muttered, crossing his arms.

Why is Harry a Gryffindor? Why couldn’t he have been a Sly…wait…

Ron had already wandered off toward the far shelves, animatedly listing all the “brilliant” things they could do with an invisibility cloak. Harry followed close behind, grinning shyly, his footsteps quiet as they disappeared into the corners of the common room, unseen and unheard by the two older wizards.

James chuckled, watching their retreating forms. “They’re going to cause chaos.”

Severus hummed, arms folded, but the edges of his mouth twitched in reluctant amusement. “Oh, undoubtedly. I give them three days before they end up in the Forbidden Forest or the Hospital Wing.”

James leaned slightly closer, his voice low. “Still... nice to see him smile, isn't it?”

Severus said nothing for a moment, only nodded, the silence stretched, warm and gentle.

A tiny, sleepy noise stirred the quiet.

In James’s arms, baby Harry wriggled softly, letting out a high-pitched squeak and blinking open his eyes. His lashes fluttered, his small fists rubbing at his face as he blinked blearily into the firelight.

“Hey, there you are,” James whispered, his voice suddenly soft and honeyed with affection. “Good morning, sleepy stag.”

Little Harry yawned, his head wobbling slightly as he lifted it to look around. His eyes, bright, big, and so startlingly full of wonder, landed on the towering Christmas tree in the centre of the common room.

He gasped, a hand flew to his mouth as though he'd just discovered a dragon made of sweets.

“Oooh...”

James grinned and took a slow step closer to the glowing tree, letting the baby lean toward it. Above, charmed snowflakes drifted lazily from the ceiling, dissolving before they touched the floor. Harry stretched a handout, fingers splayed in a clumsy reach. He tried to catch one, then another, each time they vanished just before landing in his palm.

He giggled in delight. A high, soft sound that made James’s heart ache with joy.

“You like the snow, huh?” James said with a chuckle, adjusting his grip so Harry could reach a little higher. “Magic snow’s tricky, gotta be quick.”

Harry’s lips puckered in concentration, his little hand swiping through the air again.

“Snow,” he whispered, eyes wide.

Behind them, Severus stood still, watching.

His throat tightened. That…that was what was supposed to happen. Harry, his little hands reaching for magic, held safely in his father’s arms. That wonder in his face, that safety, that warmth. It was meant to be like this, no cupboards, no silence and no forgotten Christmas mornings.

…Not like this.

Not just like this, shadows watching from a memory that had never really happened.

James looked over his shoulder and met Severus’s eyes. For a second, something unspoken passed between them, not quite friendship but something gentler.

Severus looked away first, blinking hard.

“Merry Christmas,” James said softly, looking back down at the small boy in his arms.

Baby Harry leaned against his chest again, one hand still half-reached toward the floating snow, already drifting back to sleep, a dreamy smile curling his lips.

“Merry Chrimas,” he mumbled, making James grin.

The world around them shimmered and twisted again, like a curtain of light being tugged by invisible hands. Severus groaned sharply, shielding his eyes as glimmering sparks flared into being, tiny stars blinking in and out of the air like shy diamonds, they floated for a heartbeat, then melted away and just like that, time shifted again.

Now they stood, strangely and stiffly, in the boy’s dormitory high within Gryffindor Tower. It was night, dim, a single window creaked slightly ajar, letting a breeze curl through the circular room like a ghost with nowhere to be. The air was cold but smelled faintly of pine needles and old books.

“Erm…” Severus muttered, frowning. The dorm had six beds instead of the usual four. He glanced sideways at James.

James lifted his brows. “Did they... cram in more students?”

“Why are we even in the dormitory?” Severus asked flatly, though his voice softened as his gaze dropped to the toddler perched lazily on James’s hip.

Baby Harry hummed quietly, thumb in his mouth, something that always made Severus twitch. He wanted to scold the habit away, but tonight… he let it be.

Suddenly, the door creaked open and the eleven-year-old Harry slipped in like a shadow on tiptoes, weaving past the sleeping boys, eyes wide with secret purpose. He darted to a bed and pounced.

“Ron, Ron,” he whispered, shaking his friend with both hands. “Wake up, come on! You’ve got to see something!”

Ron groaned, flopping over like a lump of laundry. “Nooooo… need… sleeeeep…”

Harry crawled onto the bed, determined. “I’m serious!”

“Mmhf, go 'way, Harry. I need my beauty rest,” Ron muttered, dragging a pillow over his head.

Harry paused. His face scrunched with comical focus. “If you don’t get up, I’m putting a spider in your bed.”

A muffled gasp. “You wouldn’t,” Ron whispered in horror, peeking one eye out, then, gravely, “Oh. You would. You’re evil.”

Harry flushed, shaking his head quickly. “I wouldn’t, really but please. I found something in the castle. It’s amazing.”

Ron grunted. “Can’t it wait till morning?”

“Nope!” Harry hopped off the bed, bouncing on his heels. “Come on!”

In the shadows, Severus rubbed his eyes, his tone low and thoughtful. “I wonder what he’s found.”

James yelped and stumbled backward just in time as young Harry practically hauled Ron from the bed.

“I hate it when people walk through me,” James grumbled. “It’s unsettling.”

“It’s not so bad,” Severus replied dryly. “At least one Harry enjoys it.”

He motioned toward the toddler, who giggled whenever someone passed through the grown-ups, like it was the funniest trick in the world.

“So,” James said, still scowling, “We’re following them?”

“Yes.” Severus was already moving, his cloak sweeping behind him like trailing smoke.

The boys darted ahead, whispering and giggling as they slipped through the door like two mischievous cats on a midnight hunt.

James trailed behind them, huffing as he adjusted baby Harry on his hip.

“Honestly,” he grumbled, “How do eleven-year-olds walk so fast? Their legs are all angles and no weight. It’s unnatural.”

Severus arched an eyebrow, his voice dripping with dry amusement. “You weren’t this slow when we were at school. I distinctly remember you sprinting down the hallways like a winded golden retriever with a sugar quill addiction.”

“I wasn’t carrying a miniature human,” James shot back, shifting the toddler who was beginning to stir with curious blinks. “He’s heavier than he looks.”

At that, baby Harry gasped dramatically, lifting his head from James’s shoulder. His blue eyes widened as if thoroughly scandalised. “Not heavy!”

Severus blinked, lips twitching. “He speaks.”

“He listens too well.” James groaned.

“Harry not heavy,” baby Harry repeated, now more insistent. “Harry snuggly!”

“Oh, Merlin,” James muttered, trying not to laugh as the child squirmed and puffed out his tiny chest. “Okay, okay, you’re not heavy, you’re made of clouds and giggles. You weigh as much as a floating bubble. Happy?”

“Yup,” Harry beamed, pleased, and then leaned back against his dad’s shoulder like a very smug, oversized cat.

Severus chuckled under his breath, watching the way the toddler curled against James, utterly trusting and at peace. “He’s going to be trouble when he learns sarcasm.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” James said dryly, stepping around a tapestry. “I already see the glint in his eye. That’s a Potter gene, we’re doomed.”

Ahead, Ron and young Harry disappeared around a corner, still unaware they were being followed by a pair of invisible grown-ups and a three-year-old cloud-baby with a bruised ego and a sticky thumb.

Severus tilted his head and smirked faintly. “Pick up the pace, then, hero. The long-legged shadows of your future await.”

“This-this-is why I was never a Ravenclaw. Too many metaphors.” James huffed again, adjusting baby Harry with a mock glare.

Baby Harry clapped his hands once. “'Thadow'!” he squealed.

“See? He gets it,” Severus said smoothly.

The moment Harry whipped out the invisibility cloak and flung it over himself and Ron, Severus’s frown deepened. He didn’t need to see them vanish to know they were about to lose them.

He shot James a sharp, unimpressed look. James, of course, responded with a low, sheepish whistle and looked away.

“Relax,” he chirped a little too brightly, “It’s not that hard to follow them. Look, even with the cloak, you can sort of guess where they’re heading.”

“Oh? And how, exactly, do you suppose we do that?” Severus asked flatly.

Before James could answer, baby Harry patted his cheek with a giggle, earning both their attention.

“There, there, Papa,” he said sweetly, pointing ahead with a chubby finger. “We go that way. Harry knows.”

James blinked. Severus raised a brow. Then they both looked where the toddler was pointing. James shrugged. “Well... what harm could it do?”

Severus opened his mouth, then promptly shut it. He had no argument, not really. With a sigh, he turned and followed the direction baby Harry had chosen, James trailing beside him with the child still perched on his hip.

Following the occasional creak of doors swinging open on their own and the gentle hush of unseen footsteps, they wandered through corridors neither had ever set foot in before. Silent stairwells, narrow halls with shifting shadows, and at last, a shimmering, mirror-like door that rippled like water when touched. They stepped through it and found themselves in an oval-shaped chamber, quiet and strange, with a single towering mirror standing in the centre like a solemn monument.

Before the glass stood the younger Harry and Ron. Harry yanked off the cloak in a flurry, excitement practically vibrating off him, while Ron stood beside him, squinting sleepily at the mirror.

“Harry, where are we?” Ron mumbled, stifling a yawn.

“I was in the library,” Harry whispered, pulling Ron closer, “almost got caught by Filch. Found this place by accident.”

“So, you just wander around Hogwarts at night?” Ron asked with a frown. “By yourself?”

Harry gave him a tired look. “I’d rather have company, but you never wake up when I try.”

“What can I say?” Ron grinned, rubbing his eyes. “Sleep’s my middle name.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Come on. Look in the mirror.”

James stepped behind the two boys, frowning. “I don’t recognize this place,” he murmured, golden eyes scanning the walls. “Did we ever come here?”

Severus tugged at the sleeves of his robe, lips tight. His stomach turned uneasily. Something about this room made him feel... off.

“Just look,” Harry whispered, nudging Ron forward. “Properly.”

Ron stepped up, peered in, then blinked. “That’s me... I’m Head Boy! And holding the Quidditch Cup! And, blimey, I’m Captain too? Look at me!” He puffed up proudly, then hesitated. “You see something different, don’t you?”

Harry’s face had gone soft and distant. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I see my mum and dad.”

Severus inhaled sharply, the words hit like a stone to the chest.

“I don’t see anything.” James stepped closer, frowning at the glass.

“Me neither,” Severus added, eyes narrowing. “Maybe... because we’re not really here.”

Nearby, baby Harry waved at the mirror with glee. “Papa! Mama!” he squealed.

“What?” James blinked down at the toddler. “You see-”

“Papa! Mama!” baby Harry beamed again, pointing right at the mirror.

James swallowed, his voice caught in his throat.

Back in front of the mirror, Ron shifted awkwardly. “Do you think it shows the future?”

Harry’s eyes didn’t leave the reflection. “How could it?” he whispered. “They’re gone.”

“Sorry... stupid question.” Ron winced.

“No,” Harry said softly. “It’s a normal thing to wonder.”

A moment passed, quiet and full. Ron wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Let’s head back. You’re tired. I can tell.”

Harry nodded and let himself be led away, the echo of their footsteps fading down the corridor.

James, Severus, and baby Harry stayed behind, surrounded by stillness.

Severus stared after them, chest aching with something old and sharp. Regret, maybe. Or longing. Or both.

Behind him, the mirror stood like a silent witness, offering not answers, but reflections of what could have been.

“Back again, Harry?”

The voice was soft, almost like mist curling through the air. James flinched, spinning around. There, approaching the mirror with quiet footsteps, was none other than Albus Dumbledore, his expression unreadable and kind.

Severus turned sharply too, eyes narrowing.

“Is it just me, or…” James began, then paused as they noticed: Harry was back, alone, Ron was nowhere in sight.

“Did we jump forward again?” James muttered.

“We must’ve,” Severus said under his breath, frowning. “We didn’t even feel it this time.”

Dumbledore’s gaze rested on the young Harry, who was sitting cross-legged on the stone floor in front of the mirror. The boy stood slowly as the headmaster approached.

“I see that you, like so many before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised,” Dumbledore said, voice low and knowing.

“Mirror of Erised?” Severus echoed, arms crossing defensively. His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on his sleeves.

“Heard of it?” James asked, glancing sideways.

“No,” Severus growled, frustrated and more than a little bitter. “Maybe I did once... I don’t know.”

In front of the mirror, Dumbledore’s voice softened. “I trust by now you’ve begun to understand what it does. Let me give you a clue, the happiest man on earth would look into it and see only himself... exactly as he is.”

Harry tilted his head, his eyes shining faintly in the dim light. He looked longingly into the glass.

“So, it shows us what we want,” he whispered. “Whatever we want most.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore replied quietly. “And no. It shows nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged slightly as he bowed his head.

“You,” Dumbledore continued gently, “Who have never known your family... you see them beside you but remember this, Harry, this mirror gives neither knowledge, nor truth. Men have wasted away before it. Even gone mad, that is why, tomorrow, it will be moved to a new home and I must ask you not to go searching for it again.”

He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

Harry looked back at the mirror, silent.

James took a trembling step forward, reaching instinctively for his son’s shoulder, but his hand passed straight through, as always.

“We’re right here,” he said anyway, voice rough. “We’re here, Harry. You’re not alone.”

Beside him, Severus stood still, watching. His blue eyes stayed fixed on the reflection in the glass, the ache in his chest pressed tight and heavy, like a memory that didn’t know where it belonged.

“Had it always been here?” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “All this time... even when we were students?”

James didn’t answer, he couldn’t.

Because in that moment, the only thing that mattered was the boy in front of the mirror—so close, and yet still too far away.

Baby Harry sniffled.

~#~

Severus perched atop the Dursleys' staircase, pondering the enigmatic question.

"Why is a Raven like a writing desk?"

Beside him, baby Harry giggled, clutching the smooth, white-painted stair rail. The Dursleys seemed to have settled comfortably into their home since Harry had left for Hogwarts.

"It appears a year has passed," remarked James, hands in pockets as he inspected the family photos lining the walls, his golden eyes briefly glancing at the calendar. "They've dressed up nicely."

"And locked Harry away in his room," muttered Severus dryly, observing the twelve-year-old boy nodding to Vernon before retreating into his solitude.

James tilted his head, clicking his tongue. "Why did Lily leave him with them again?"

"I... don't know," Severus whispered, the question piercing his heart.

Why had Lily made this choice? He had always held his friend in high regard, but now he couldn't fathom her decision. These people were despicable, the epitome of cruelty. Seeing Harry subjected to their mistreatment filled him with anguish, he closed his eyes, standing up and stretching his weary legs.

"I wonder what transpired here," he mused, scanning the surroundings. "Harry seems to be reliving significant memories; something significant must have occurred in this house."

James nodded in agreement. "Let's visit Harry's room. Whatever happened must have left its mark there."

Severus glanced towards Harry's room; grateful it was no longer the cupboard under the stairs. He suspected they had given him a proper room out of fear now that he was mastering magic. A scoff escaped him; they were nothing but cowardly fools.

Severus rubbed his eyes, exhaustion tugging at every corner of his being. Skimming through Harry’s memories wasn’t just tiring, it was draining, a quiet, emotional war he wasn’t built to fight. Emotions, even on a good day, were a puzzle to him but this? This was unravelling him.

"Hmm?" James exhaled softly, halting behind their twelve-year-old son’s future self.

The boy stood frozen in the hallway, his sharp blue gaze fixed on the door ahead. From behind it came a wild, mad burst of laughter.

“Oh,” James blinked, golden eyes wide. “I suppose... whatever it is, it’s in there.”

The baby version of Harry let out a high, delighted gasp at the sound, then darted forward before anyone could stop him.

“Harry, wait!” Severus called, scrambling after the speedy toddler as he zipped through the bedroom door like a ghost through fog.

“That’s wicked,” James whispered in awe. “I didn’t know we could actually pass through things!”

“James!” Severus snapped, breathless and annoyed.

“Oh, right!” James muttered, kicking himself into motion and following the child. Both men slipped through the door to find a small, chaotic presence bouncing on the bed.

“It’s a house-elf,” James said slowly, staring. “And... it’s laughing like it’s completely lost its mind.”

Baby Harry clapped his pudgy hands over his mouth, giggling as the little creature sprang up and down with manic energy.

Severus sighed heavily, a hand pressed to his chest. He wasn’t frightened, certainly not just... overwhelmed. That was all.

“Harry Potter!” the elf squealed with delight, leaping off the bed. He nearly tripped on his too-large feet, and the older Harry caught him just in time.

“Such an honour it is!”

“Who...” Harry licked his dry lips, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Who are you?”

“Dobby, sir! Dobby the house-elf,” the tiny creature replied, tugging at the rag wrapped around his thin frame. “A pleasure to meet you!”

“Dobby, huh?” James rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“You’ve heard that name before?” Severus asked, trying to summon the same memory.

“Sort of,” James frowned. “I think the Malfoys got a new elf recently. Named Dobby.”

Severus’s eyes widened. “Then... what is their elf doing in Harry’s bedroom?”

"Not to be rude or anything," Harry said with a strained, polite smile, "But this really isn’t a great time for a house-elf visit..."

“Oh yes, sir! Dobby understands!” the elf cried, waving his hands dramatically. “It’s just, Dobby came to warn you! It’s difficult, sir, Dobby wonders where to begin!”

Harry blinked, taken aback. Then, awkwardly, he gestured toward the bed. “Um... why don’t you sit down?”

“S-sit? S-sit down?” Dobby repeated in a trembling voice. He stared at the bed as if it were made of fire, twisting his hands in distress.

“He’s crying?” James said softly, throat tightening.

“What is it?” Severus asked, eyeing the taller wizard.

“No, no, no, poor Dobby,” Baby Harry whispered sadly, toddling over and hugging Severus’s leg. The man instinctively scooped him up, holding the little boy close as Dobby’s strange grief deepened.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” the older Harry said, leaning forward. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t.”

Dobby hiccupped, red eyes brimming with tears. “Offend Dobby? Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir... but never, never has Dobby been asked to sit down by a wizard. Like... like an equal.”

“He hasn’t?” Severus murmured, lips tight.

“You can’t have met many decent wizards then,” Harry said bitterly.

“No, I haven’t,” Dobby admitted, and then, as if punished by his own words, he gasped in horror, slapped his own face, and ran to bang his head against the dresser. “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

“Why is he doing that?” Severus gasped as Baby Harry whimpered, burying his face into the man’s chest.

“Hey, he’s okay, buddy,” James murmured, ruffling the toddler’s messy black hair. His eyes met Severus’s briefly, something unspoken passing between them.

Meanwhile, the older Harry tried frantically to calm the elf. “Dobby, stop! Please, shh! It’s okay. Please don’t do that.”

Dobby didn’t stop. He pounded against the wood and walls, shrieking his guilt to the heavens.

Finally, Harry reached out and gently pulled him away. “It’s all right. Really, there’s no need to hurt yourself.”

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," the elf sniffled, dragging a small stool closer and clambering onto it with all the gravity of a knight mounting his steed. "Dobby nearly spoke badly of his family."

"His family?" Severus clicked his tongue, voice sharp with distaste. "The Malfoys aren’t exactly known for their compassion."

"And clearly they treat their house-elf like dirt," James added coldly, folding his arms.

Harry tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Your family?"

Dobby swung his thin legs, childlike and restless. "The wizarding family Dobby serves, sir. House-elves belong to one family, forever. If they knew Dobby was here..." He trailed off, shrinking further into himself.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then closed it again.

"But Dobby had to come," the elf said suddenly, trembling. "To protect Harry Potter, to warn him. Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year."

Harry stared, caught off guard. Dobby twitched nervously, wringing his fingers, his wide eyes glassy. "There is a plot... a terrible, wicked plan... something awful is going to happen."

James's golden eyes narrowed. "The Malfoys, it’s got to be them. Dobby wouldn’t be here unless Lucius was involved in something dirty."

Severus gently bounced baby Harry in his arms, cooing softly. The child sniffled once, then peeked up and offered Severus a sleepy smile.

"What kind of terrible things?" the older Harry asked. "Who's behind it?"

Dobby visibly strained, battling himself. "Oh…he... Dobby cannot say!"

"That’s okay, I understand," Harry said quickly, grabbing Dobby’s arms just as he began reaching for the desk, clearly about to slam his head into something. "You don’t have to say anything."

"Don’t make me talk…L-" Dobby squeaked, scrambling up and grabbing the lamp. He raised it high, aiming it at his own head.

"Dobby, no!" Harry hissed, wrestling it from him. "Let’s not use the lamp to commit self-harm, okay?"

Before Dobby could argue, or try again, a noise echoed from downstairs, footsteps, heavy and rising fast.

Harry froze. Then, with a panicked grunt, he sprang to his feet, flung open the closet, and shoved Dobby inside.

"Stay in there! Don’t make a sound!" he whispered urgently.

The bedroom door flew open.

Vernon Dursley stood there, his face an alarming shade of crimson, veins bulging at the temples, eyes practically bursting from his skull.

"What the devil are you doing up here?!" he barked.

"I was just..." Harry stammered as, behind him, Dobby slowly creaked the closet door open.

Harry casually leaned back, pressing it closed again.

"You’ve ruined the punchline of my Japanese golfer joke!" Vernon’s moustache bristled.

James scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I can already tell, it’s probably awful."

"Do you even know what that joke is?" Severus curiously asked.

"No," James shrugged. "But if Vernon finds it funny, I doubt it’s worth knowing."

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, quietly shutting the closet door again.

Vernon’s eyes flicked to the closet, then back to Harry. He lifted a thick finger, his face still flushed. “One more sound, and you'll wish you'd never been born, boy.”

James growled low in his throat. How dare that man speak to their son like that.

As Vernon turned, he noticed the closet door nudging open again. “And fix that door,” he barked.

Harry shut it quickly. “Yes, sir.”

Vernon glared at him a moment longer before storming out, yanking the door shut behind him.

The moment the coast was clear, Harry opened the closet. “See why I have to go back?” he asked quietly.

Dobby stepped out, pulling a sock from his long ear.

“I don’t belong here,” Harry continued, his voice barely a whisper. “I belong in your world, at Hogwarts.”

Severus’s heart clenched. Harry was right. He didn’t belong here. And the more Severus saw, the more he questioned Lily’s judgment. Why had she left Harry with these people?

James scoffed. “Imagine what that potato would’ve done if Harry had let Dobby out.”

“I hate that man so much,” he muttered.

Severus said nothing, jaw tight. He agreed, Vernon Dursley was far worse than anything he remembered from Harry’s surface-level memories.

Dobby sniffed the sock once and tossed it aside.

“It’s the only place I’ve got friends,” Harry added meekly.

Dobby tilted his head. “Friends who don’t even write to Harry Potter?”

“That’s... suspicious.” James clicked his tongue, narrowing his eyes down at the small Elf.

Harry’s brow furrowed. “I expect they’ve been…” He paused, then stared at Dobby. “Wait, how do you know they haven’t been writing to me?”

Dobby shuffled nervously. “Harry Potter mustn’t be angry with Dobby. Dobby hoped, if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him, he wouldn’t want to go back to school, sir...”

James’s mouth opened, then closed with a sigh. “I get he meant well,” he said, “but that’s messed up.”

Severus glanced at the baby in his arms. Baby Harry was less interested in the elf now, his eyes drooping, Severus hummed to him, rocking gently. It seemed to toddler slept a lot during this time skipping thing, maybe it drained his energy to show them?

“Give me those, now.” Twelve-year-old Harry stood up, stern.

“No!” Dobby yelped. He dodged Harry’s grasp, flung the door open, and sprinted out. Harry chased after him.

Dobby skidded to a stop at the kitchen doorway, eyeing Petunia’s elaborate cake. In the background, Vernon was schmoozing with the Masons.

From the hallway, James’s eyes widened. “Oh shit!”

Severus followed at a calmer pace, adjusting baby Harry. From the doorway, he peered in, listening to the chaos below.

“Harry,” he whispered, “Why is your life so messed up?”

The toddler peeked up at him with a crooked little smile.

“Dobby, get back here!” the older Harry hissed.

Still grinning mischievously, Dobby shook his head and snapped his fingers—the cake began to levitate.

“Dobby... Please... no.”

“Harry Potter must say he’s not going back to school.”

“I can’t, Hogwarts is my home.”

Dobby’s ears twitched. “Then Dobby must do it, sir. For Harry Potter’s own good.”

With a smug little smirk, Dobby snapped his fingers again. The cake floated up silently, gliding into the living room like a sugary missile of doom.

Vernon, mid-joke and puffed with pride, barked, “And the second plumber says, ‘Yes, and that’s just the top of it!’” He chuckled before noticing movement from the corner of his eye, his smile faltered.

Harry dove forward in a panic, arms stretched out toward the levitating dessert. “No, no, no, no…”

“M-Mr. Mason... Vernon tells me you’re a wonderful golfer!” Petunia winced sharply, her nervous laugh sounding like a squeak.

Mr. Mason blinked. “I play... occasionally.”

Petunia whipped her head to Mrs. Mason, voice climbing in desperation. “Mrs. Mason, where do you get your beautiful suits?”

“All tailor-made,” Mrs. Mason said, tilting her head, her tone chilly.

James, unseen by all, snorted from the corner. “Oh, this is gold,” he muttered gleefully, leaning on an invisible wall. “Just wait... any second now...”

Vernon turned to Dudley, desperate for a distraction. “Dudley, was there something you wanted to say?”

“Pudding.” Dudley beamed obliviously.

Vernon paled. “Pudding? What pudding?”

Behind the couch, Dobby narrowed his eyes with purpose, and snapped his fingers again.The cake plummeted from the air, landing with an unceremonious splat right on Vernon’s enormous head. Frosting oozed down his face in thick globs, and a raspberry rosette dangled from one ear.

James cackled, practically doubled over. “Oh Merlin’s socks! It landed on him instead! Worth every minute!”

Petunia gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she watched in horror. Mrs. Mason sat stiffly, slow-dripping icing onto her blazer, looking as though she'd just witnessed a crime. Mr. Mason blinked, speechless.

Vernon stood frozen, lips twitching with a suppressed roar, his face flushed scarlet beneath the layers of cream.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he stammered, eyes wild. “It’s my nephew. He’s... disturbed.”

“Oi!” James growled. “Don’t call my kid disturbed!”

Harry, breathing heavily, glared toward the hallway where Dobby peeked out, clearly proud of himself.

“He doesn’t... doesn’t do well with strangers,” Vernon added, now sweating beneath the frosting. “That’s why I keep him upstairs!”

Severus finally stepped into view, trailing behind and awkwardly stopping behind Dobby. He stood there stiffly; baby Harry tucked securely in his arms. The toddler looked up at the mess above with wide eyes, face lit with innocent awe.

“Oooh,” the baby breathed, pointing up at the cake ruins still sliding off Vernon’s hair.

Severus sighed through his nose. “This is... horrifying.”

Dobby met Harry’s glare, gave a sheepish wave, and with a quick pop, vanished from sight.

Petunia, still trembling and trying to salvage the evening, offered weakly, “Well... we have... ice cream?”

Mrs. Mason, dabbing at her soaked lap with a napkin, looked up with pure disdain. She was, without question, not in the mood for dessert.

From the corner, James was still wheezing. “I don’t even like cake, but that was the best thing I’ve seen since Sirius tried to ride a broom backwards.”

“Don’t laugh,” Severus huffed. “Our son is about to be punished for something he didn’t do!”

James beamed even brighter then before.

“What?” Severus frowned, taking a step back. He didn’t like how James was suddenly looking at him.

“Nothing, nothing.”