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Chapter Text

"Up! Get up!" came the shrill voice of Harry's Aunt Petunia along with the rattle of the cupboard door. Harry jolted out of sleep, shooting upright and banging his head into the bottom of the stairs above him. He whimpered and fell back down, raising his hands to his aching head. Dust and spiders rained down from the sloped ceiling.

"Ow." he moaned and blinked bleary eyes. Automatically, he groped for his glasses before pausing. He didn't need glasses anymore. He'd gotten his eyesight repaired a couple of years after the war. Blinking rapidly, he tried to make out his surroundings but saw only smudges of color and shape. He could swear he was in his cupboard. It certainly smelled like his cupboard, musty with the scents of sweat and a bit of mildew. Suddenly, more dust began sifting down as the cupboard rattled. Someone was jumping on the stairs above, shouting about going to the zoo.

Harry remembered Dudley jumping on the stairs and shouting about the zoo on the day the overweight boy had turned eleven. But Dudley was in his 30's now, same as Harry, and had two kids. What in Merlin's name was going on? Rubbing the last of the pain from his head, Harry reached out and found his glasses. His old, taped, round framed glasses that were the wrong prescription but close enough with which to get by. He put them on and looked around. By the morning light coming through the grate on the door, Harry could see that he was, indeed, in his cupboard. What the actual...? Looking down at himself he had to press both hands to his mouth to stop the scream. He still made a rather embarrassing squeaking sound. He was small! Putting his, frankly, tiny hands to his head, he felt the shaggy thickness of his hair that was quite a bit shorter than he remembered. He'd taken to wearing his hair long enough that it could be put into a pony tail. That way, it didn't stick up every which way. His child-like hands trailed down his face, carefully re-familiarizing themselves with wide green eyes, delicately arched brows, thin nose, and stubbornly jutted chin.

As he felt sunken cheeks, his stomach gave a loud rumble and painful spasm. He clutched it and saw stick thin arms and knobby knees. The knees were currently bruised and a hot tightness across his back and shoulders brought a familiar sick dread to his belly. His mind began to work rapidly. Somehow, he was back in his child's body and showing all the signs of having been pushed down and belted by his Uncle Vernon the night before. If this really was Dudley's eleventh birthday, then he was ten years old, though he looked to be about six or seven. Yet, he distinctly remembered being 38 and living in his flat in London where he worked as an Auror. Feeling the edges of panic quicken his breathing and fuzz the edges of his vision, he forced himself to start taking slow, calm breaths, pressing the heel of his hand to his chest, willing his heartbeat to slow. It was a technique he had worked on with his mind healer. It took longer this time than it had for a while but that was probably understandable given...

"Up! Get out of there, now!" He obeyed the voice instinctively, getting to his knees and pushing open the cupboard door.

"Finally! Get out here and cook the breakfast and try not to burn anything! Everything must be perfect for my little Dudder's birthday!" Her voice turned sickly sweet as she rounded on her whale of a son and began kissing his fat cheeks, ignoring his protest of "Muuumm!" Harry grimaced. He'd forgotten just how large Dudley had already been at this age. Free now to make his way to the kitchen and start frying bacon, Harry tried to dredge up his last memory before waking in his cupboard as his younger self. It took a few minutes as he was distracted by his uncle coming into the kitchen complaining about heartburn and Dudley throwing a tantrum about not having enough birthday presents.

"36! But last year, last year I had 37!" Harry shook his head, rolled his eyes, and concentrated. In the back of his memory there was something about a clean up job. An old collector who had died and left a pile of magical artifacts behind. Right! The Beau-Finchley house! The old man had been a recluse and had filled his home with magical items, some of which were extremely dangerous, some of which were funny, and some which did nothing at all despite looking positively evil. Harry remembered his partner, Dean Thomas, had stumbled across a wig that hadn't even needed to be on his head to turn his hair sunshine yellow for a week. Violet Lessette, a junior Auror, had found a bunch of what looked to be cloth flowers but which kicked out so much pollen you nearly sneezed yourself into a fit and Angel Harrington, her partner, had found an entire set of biting cook pans. Several Aurors, including Harry and Dean, had been assigned to go through the old man's mansion to find and lock away those objects which were too dangerous for the public. So far, nothing had been too bad or lethal. They'd all been wearing gloves and using levitation charms to move anything they'd been wary about. Harry had been looking through an old roll top desk.

There had been a coin collection, sheaves of papers and receipts, different magical quills and ink, some empty dried out tea cups, and underneath a pile of invoices, an ancient looking, carved, wooden amulet on a leather thong that he had just brushed with his arm when he picked up the papers. He'd seen the whole thing crumble into dust, had barely thought "Whoops..." and sneezed...

The smell of burning bacon brought Harry back to the present. Except it wasn't the present. I'm in the past! He quickly turned down the heat on the skillet but it was too late. A clout to the side of his head sent him flying into the counter on his right and he could swear he felt a couple of ribs crack. He tumbled to the floor with a cry that he couldn't quite hold back. Tamping down on any further whimpering, knowing it would only set his uncle off further, he carefully got to his feet when it was apparent no more blows were coming, at least for now. He'd lost count over the years of how many broken bones his uncle had given him. He was never taken to hospital for them. At the time, he hadn't realized how much his magic was doing to heal him, especially before he even knew that magic existed. But now, he could feel the power drain as his body fought to stay functioning, mending cracked bones, bruises, contusions, and welts much faster than a normal human could heal.

He was powerful, even now, as a child with an underdeveloped magical core. If so much of his magic wasn't working to keep him upright, moving, and living, there would have been many more instances of accidental magic while growing up. In a way, his uncle had managed to beat the "freakishness" out of him, or at least, kept it busy. Gritting his teeth against the white-hot fury in his throat, Harry supported himself upon the counter he'd been thrown against, reminding himself that he was much smaller than the red-faced, pig-eyed man before him.

"Your Aunt will cook the bacon! I suppose you can make toast without burning that as well? And you can forget about eating breakfast! Only freaks who don't burn the food get to eat it!" With that, Uncle Vernon tipped the burned meat into the trash bin and drizzled dish soap over it so that his nephew couldn't pull it from the garbage and eat it later. Harry scowled at his retreating back before turning to the toaster oven and the loaf of bread beside it. Yes, he could make toast without burning it. He could cook quite well, actually, thanks to Aunt Petunia's laziness. As for no breakfast, Harry was used to it. His stomach continued to cramp and ache but he ignored it. He'd just sneak some food when the Dursley's went upstairs to change for their Dudley's birthday outing.

Harry froze. That's right! They were going to the zoo today! The London Zoo! London, where was located Diagon Alley, and, more especially, Gringott's Bank. Beginning to butter a stack of toast, Harry thought about the logistics. If he accepted that he had time traveled into his ten-year old self, though Merlin only knew how that amulet had done it, then improving his circumstances needed to be his priority. I'll be damned if I stick around for the next seven years to be Uncle Vernon's punching bag! he thought vicously Gringott's could change everything. After the war, several things about Harry and his parents had come to light, not that it had mattered much at the time since everyone involved had been dead but now, oh, it very much mattered now!

He served the buttered toast to his relatives and retreated to his cupboard to change, not that another set of Dudley's ratty, over large hand-me-downs were much better than the equally worn and baggy pajamas he currently wore. It took a while for the Dursley's to eat so Harry sat in his cupboard and planned. He could use a charm that would cause the Dursley's to forget about him, at least for a little while. It was a similar spell to the notice-me-not and disillusionment charms but more targeted to specific persons rather than everyone around him. He wasn't sure he had enough power to, not only cast it, but do it wandlessly, in his battered ten year old body that was also busily trying to heal itself. As for the trace, that would be applied to his wand when he got it. Underage witches and wizards had that trace on their homes and schools just in case the ministry needed to hand out a few Obliviates in the case of accidental magic. Magic that wasn't accidental and didn't occur within the confines of his home or school wouldn't be attributed to him so there was that, at least.

Harry had no intention of alerting the ministry to his situation until he, himself, had control over it. The same went for Dumbledore, the manipulative bastard. Sitting cross legged and grinning at being able to do so without twinges in his knees or ankles (getting old wasn't for the faint of heart), Harry closed his eyes and considered his options. He would probably use up what magic he had with that charm so he'd need to rely on his acting skills to get past any adults that felt like causing complications while he made his way to Diagon Alley. His original ten year old self would never have made it. But this ten year old Harry had been trained as an Auror. Not only that, but, living and working in London had familiarized him with the city so he felt confident he could get to Gringott's and the goblins if he was smart. With his plan in place, he left the cupboard as he heard the Dursley's chivvy Dudley up the stairs. He went into the kitchen to do the breakfast dishes and snatch a bit of bread and cheese. His hunger wasn't sated. He'd be discovered if he ate enough to actually fill his belly, but the small amount he did manage helped to calm the cramps.

Piers Polkiss arrived as Dudley and Aunt Petunia were coming down the stairs, Dudley complaining loudly that he didn't want the freak coming with them, but, since Mrs. Figg was unavailable, Uncle Vernon put his foot down and Aunt Petunia promised extra sweeties, and they all piled into the car where Harry had to endure being pinched viciously by Dudley and mocked by Piers. Arriving at the London Zoo, Dudley and Piers spilled loudly out of the car and immediately began making demands. They wanted to see the monkeys and the elephants and Dudley wanted a snack.

Harry waited until they had all been admitted to the zoo, Uncle Vernon scowling nastily at him when he was forced to pay for a ticket for him as well. As Dudley and Piers ran ahead, Petunia and Vernon fell into conversation and Harry slowly began to lag behind. Allowing the family to relax, and see a few exhibits, Harry made himself as unobtrusive as possible. As the birthday boy and his friend hung on the rails of the alligator exhibit, trying to see the enormous lizards amongst the swampy growth, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon moved to keep the boys from falling into the exhibit, Harry gathered as much power as he could and wandlessly cast the charm. There was no outward change. If the spell had worked, the Dursley's wouldn't think of Harry for the next several hours. Likely they wouldn't remember him until some time before they retired to their beds, at which point, they would wonder if they had left him at the zoo and should they even bother to go get him or just shrug, say "good riddance", and act relieved if someone brought him home? Harry didn't wait to find out.

He carefully drifted away and then ran, unhurriedly, towards the exit. He knew, from Auror training, that if he moved with purpose, people were less likely to interfere. Hence why he wasn't rushing unduly. As he approached the ticket barriers, he exited with a call of "Dad! There's Penguins!" as if he were meeting a late-arriving parent that had just parked the car. He wished he could take the underground or a taxi but neither were an option without muggle money, so he walked, acting like he was on an errand. Sometimes he followed on the heels of an adult, as if he were lagging a bit behind his parent. Sometimes he kicked a rock, then ran forward to kick it again, the picture of a child from this neighborhood, out playing in the warm weather. It seemed to take hours, and actually did take nearly two, before he reached the Leaky Cauldron. There he waited until he saw his opportunity. A harried mother chivvying four brown-haired children towards the entrance. He entered with them, and then simply followed on their heels into the courtyard behind the pub. Staying just out of sight of the harassed mother, he waited while she tapped the bricks with her wand and then snuck through when her back was turned. Her children had looked at him curiously, but he'd not made eye contact with any of them nor gotten close enough to speak with them, so they merely looked and were quickly distracted by all the colors and movement within the alley.

Harry joined the flow of the crowd that would take him towards the bank, somewhat nervously flattening his bangs over his lightening shaped scar. Being recognized as Harry Potter now would be disastrous! Fortunately, no one expected young Harry Potter to be dressed poorly and on his own in Diagon Alley, so he made his purposeful way to Gringott's without any complications. The cool, marble interior of the bank felt good after his long walk on a warm summer's day. He passed the various tellers, walking down the long columned row, until he reached the desk of the floor manager at the back. Approaching the counter top that was higher than his head (and wasn't that annoying) and the goblin seated behind it, he first bowed deeply and then stood with his right hand shaped in a circle over his heart.

"I'd like to see Master Sharpener, please." he said, not looking the goblin directly in his eyes. To say FeralEye was startled was an understatement. Here stood a tiny, black haired boy, asking for the bank president himself and giving the goblin sign for help needed. Only humans designated as Goblin Friend were taught the Goblin signs and this was a rare honor bestowed only on those who had done a singular service on behalf of goblin-kind. Perhaps this small child's parent was the Goblin Friend and had taught their child the signs? In shock, FeralEye came down from his counter and stood before the little boy.

"Come this way, Friend." he said with a bow of his own. Turning, he led the small messy-haired child to a set of regularly sized wooden doors that opened onto a marble staircase. They went up, the child with some difficulty, and emerged into a sun lit corridor, carpeted in scarlet. The door of the bank president's office was the last one on the left and looked no different than any of the other doors along the corridor. Harry followed his goblin guide into the office, smirking at the grandness of it. Master Sharpener's office door was plain, but the interior was anything but. It was spacious and opulent, filled with sun light from large windows that looked out over both the Alley and London, with more of the crimson carpet on the floor. An ornate marble fireplace was framed with luscious potted plants and priceless artwork hung above the mantel. A large, intricately carved and ancient desk that Harry was certain was made of some extinct wood, was against the back wall. Behind it, silk tapestries depicted goblin warriors of old. Before the desk, two carved and cushioned chairs of the same wood invited guests to sit. A small sitting area in the corner with a creamy leather couch and matching chairs surrounding a carved coffee table of the same extinct wood beckoned one for afternoon tea. Weapons of untold value, and clearly of goblin make, hung on the other three walls along with colorful tribal banners. Altogether, it was a fitting office for the goblin that managed the monetary fortunes of the entire British wizarding world.

Harry was led to one of the chairs before the desk. Before he sat he asked "May one of humble origin partake at thy hearth?" Ragnok Sharpener stared in surprise at what appeared to be a six year old human speaking the ancient words of hospitality in a clear, firm, if rather high-pitched, voice. He answered ritually,

"Indeed thou mayest, and welcome." Harry climbed into one of the chairs and sat up on his heels in order to see over top of the desk. Master Ragnok Sharpener gazed at his young visitor with narrowed eyes, not annoyed, but intrigued. What he saw disquieted him. Goblins had little care for humans, though some were accorded respect as long as they returned it, but beings of any race felt a need to protect little ones and this little one was very thin and favoring his right side as if in pain. He had a shock of unruly black hair, vivid green eyes under sooty lashes, and pale skin that had not seen enough sun.

"It is rare for a human to be accorded the singular honor of Goblin Friend. Which of your parents has been granted this title and may I know their name?"

Instead of answering Harry glanced sideways at FeralEye and then back at the bank manager. Ragnok took his meaning.

"I assure you, anything you say within these walls will not travel beyond them." The Master gestured to FeralEye to come and stand beside his chair. Harry bowed his head and smiled without showing his teeth.

"Master Sharpener, my name is Harry Potter. In exactly twelve years this November, I will be in the blessed position to save the Princess Anglewort from a rather deranged American wizard by the name of John Anderson, though I doubt that is his real name. I earned, er, earn the title of Goblin Friend because of this act. Unfortunately, her highness was, er, will be his captive for over six years. I am, now, happily, in a position to prevent this crime altogether. The Princess will be taken the eleventh of April, 1997. You should be able to save her if you remove her from Hearth Travertine prior to this date. You may, of course, lie in wait for the wizard. He will attempt to scale the south wall." Master Sharpener blinked and then blinked again. Goblin royalty and Royal Hearths were a closely guarded secret. The Goblin race would not risk their rulers in a world of witches, wizards, and other creatures. Most humans were unaware that goblin royalty existed at all and this child not only knew but had named the Princess Anglewort who was currently but twenty years old and just learning her spear. Master Sharpener knew not what to think.

The child spoke of the future. Was he a seer? Yet he spoke of past heroics. What, in the great god Markane's name, was happening here? The child continued speaking.

"I am come for aid. This morning I awoke in the body of my younger self, only ten years old. I do not know how, but I assure you, my real age is thirty-eight years. I...I..." Harry trailed off. He felt the edges of the panic he had experienced that morning threatening to overwhelm him again. They didn't believe him. Why should they? This whole thing was an impossibility! Gods, he was a tiny child! No one was going to listen to him! He'd be sent back to the Dursley's and never find a way back to his real age! Uncle Vernon would...! Harry began to breathe hard and fast, his vision tunneling. He pressed his hand to his chest and tried to count his breaths but it wasn't working this time. Then, suddenly, strong arms were around him, holding tight, and a calm, low voice was speaking slowly and clearly.

"Breathe, child. On the count of three. In, one...two...three and out, one...two...three..., in, one...two...three..., and out, one...two...three..." Harry tried to follow the instructions and slowly, too slowly, his heartbeat eased and his breathing calmed. Gradually, as those strong arms gently rocked him, he realized there were tears flowing down his cheeks. He gave in to those tears and cried hard, releasing the stress of the past few hours. His life had never been easy, but this, this was all too much. Ten years old, alone, and at the mercy of his relatives once again, so small, and with no idea how this had all happened in the first place. Was it reversible? Did he have to be a child again? Was he going to have to live through the war again? Through Voldemort again? Harry sobbed out his fear and uncertainty for several minutes and, all the while, a firm shoulder propped him up and hands rubbed gentle circles into his back. Finally, exhausted, the tears stopped and he was left with the hiccups. Merlin, how he despised hiccups. He sat up, scrunched his abdomen, took a deep breath, and held it. If he breathed deeply enough, he could stop the spasming of his diaphragm. The arms holding him seemed alarmed, however.

"Breathe, child! Breathe!"

"Trying to get rid of hiccups!" Harry answered, taking another deep breath and holding it.

"Ah. Here then, little one." A brief surge of magic washed over his midsection and the hiccups stopped. It was then that Harry sat up with red, swollen eyes, and looked around himself. He was in Master Sharpener's lap! He was too big for the goblin's lap and yet, he was not only being held securely, but comfortably. Unsure of what to do, he simply sat there. Eventually he said,

"Erm. I..."

"It is quite alright, child. We goblins might like to pretend we are never distressed, but that would be false. Our young are especially susceptible to such things so we know how to handle it. Are you feeling well enough to discuss what you came here for and to, perhaps, answer some questions?"

"I...yes, Master Sharpener."

"Good." With that, the bank manager deposited Harry into his original seat and went back to his overstuffed chair behind his desk, all business again.

"It appears, young Goblin Friend, that you have traveled through time." Harry stared.

"I...I...don't..."

"Not to fret. While time travel is so rare as to be considered impossible by humans outside of a few hours, it has happened before, according to Goblin lore. At some point during the ninth century, a Goblin whose name is unpronounceable nowadays but roughly means 'he who stepped ages', was said to have lived his life again from his ninetieth year. Accounts are rather garbled but, it is said, he fashioned an item that would allow him to travel back a third time, except he died before he could use it. What that item might have been and where it is now is anyone's guess. Chances are it has long been lost to the ravages of time. I know not how you have traveled into your past, but you clearly believe you have and with information that no human should have about our royal family. I am inclined to assist you, even if what you claim is impossible after all. You are, in any event, a child in need and one who knows our ways as a Goblin Friend. So speak your desires. I will listen."

Harry goggled. He wasn't sure of just what part of that speech he should latch onto. In the end, whether they believed him or not didn't matter, just that they were willing to help him. So he focused on his immediate requirements.

"I wish to be read my parents' will." Harry sat up on his heels again and straightened his shoulders.

"Naturally. You would not recall its first reading."

"Pardon me, Master Sharpener, but I think you'll find it has never been read."

This time is was the bank manager's turn to goggle.

"Every will in Britain is read and adhered to!" he exclaimed.

"While that may be true, I think you shall find that James and Lilly's wishes have not been heard nor fulfilled." Harry said with both sadness and resignation. Ragnok narrowed his eyes.

"FeralEye, fetch the Potters' will, please." He said something else in Gobbledegook that Harry couldn't follow but what he guessed to be "and check for a reading." The floor manager left.

"Shall we have some tea, Mr. Potter?"

"I thank you, sir." Harry could do with some tea. Between walking through London on a warm day and then crying his eyes out, he was both parched and hungry. Master Sharpener called his secretary and asked for tea, and as the young goblin bustled out of the office, Harry took slow, measured breaths. He knew what was coming. He'd been twenty-three when he had heard his parent's will for the first time and it had filled him with bitterness and regret. His life needn't have been so hard, after all, but Dumbledore... Harry began counting as he breathed. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Calm. Calm. He pictured his safe place. Waves on a rocky shore. Flowers in the meadow. Homemade wind chimes made of shells. Freshly baked bread. The smell of salt, brine, and heather. A warm breeze. He swayed a little on his heels and realized he had his eyes closed. He opened them to see a knowing look on the bank manager's face.

The secretary returned with the tea and Harry was shown to the sitting area. He asked for his tea black and sat back with his cup and a plateful of little pastries, cakes, and biscuits. If he ate rather more and faster than was polite, Master Sharpener made no comment. Instead, he refilled Harry's cup and motioned for him to take more of the pastries. By the time Harry was beginning to feel pleasantly full, FeralEye returned with the required document.

"I apologize for the wait, Master, but it took some time tracking down both the document and its history. It appears it was filed wrongly." Harry had expected this and so he didn't react. Master Sharpener was another story.

"Filed wrongly? Exactly how did such a thing occur, FeralEye."

"As to that, sir, no one is entirely sure. If I had to guess, I would say the filing was tampered with, and, as for the mandatory reading of the document, it appears to have never happened, sir." FeralEye was visibly disturbed and Master Sharpener even more so.

"That is impossible!"

"And yet, that is the case, sir."

"But...Nevermind. FeralEye, I want a full investigation into this matter immediately! Send for witnesses. We need to have this will read right away!"

"But, sir, we must have all participants so named present for..."

"I don't care! I'll have it read to them again and again, one by one, if needs be, but I'll not delay this will reading another minute"

"Right away, sir!" FeralEye bowed and left the room.

"Mr. Potter, on behalf of Gringott's, I deeply apologize for this oversight." Master Sharpener was actually wringing his hands. Harry held up a hand forestalling further comment.

"Master Sharpener, I assure you, I do not hold Gringott's accountable for this error. I think, in the course of your investigation, you will find you really had no choice in the way things worked out."

"Indeed." Ragnok looked quizzical, his eyebrows drawn together. "Well, in any event, we can rectify this error this day." He nodded decidedly and Harry grinned as well as he could without showing his teeth. FeralEye returned with two other Goblins, one lean and slightly bent with age and the other short and stout and with slightly more feminine attire that made Harry think she might be female. Master Sharpener stood and beckoned the witnesses to stand on either side of Harry's chair.

"Hear ye! I call to order, with legal witnesses, the reading of the will of James and Lilly Potter, this, the 23rd of June, 1991. Proceed, FeralEye."

"The will and testament of James Henry Potter and Lilly Primrose Potter nee Evans. I, James Henry Potter and I Lilly Primrose Potter nee Evans, being of sound mind and body, do leave this last will and testament and declare that any and all previous documents, as such, are null and void. Harry, if you are reading this, then Lord Voldemort has found us despite the measures we took to protect ourselves. We wanted to see you grow up. We wanted to see you become a better person than, even, we are. You are already the best of us and we couldn't be prouder of you and all you have become! Please know, we wanted to stay. We wanted to stay with you. You have all our love forever and we are watching over you!

To our son Harry James Potter, we leave the following:

All of the Potter estates and holdings including: Clayhame Manor, Devonshire, the primary Potter Estate: Bargleby Cottage, Devonshire: Eaves Cottage, Godric's Hollow, West Country: IronGate Townhouse, Gloucester Circle, London.

The Potter House Vault, the Potter Trust Vault, the Potter household vault: The Peverell House Vault, the Peverell Trust Vault, the Peverell household vault.

The title of Lord Potter with all its honors and responsibilities, thereto.

To Sirius Black:

Our Son, Harry James Potter. As his named Godfather, it will fall to you to raise our Harry to the best of your ability. Don't let us down, old friend. Teach him to love and to be himself.

Temporary Management of all estates and holdings until our son's inheritance upon his seventeenth birthday.

Temporary Management of all Vaults until our son's inheritance upon his seventeenth birthday.

Temporary Regency of House Potter and House Potter's Seat on the Wizengamot until our son's inheritance upon his seventeenth birthday.

10,000 galleons in trust for Sirius Orion Black

To Remus John Lupin:

10,000 Galleons in trust for Remus John Lupin

You are our dear friend and we would have named you Godfather of our beloved son if we could have. Know that we still consider him your cub.

To Peter Oliver Pettigrew:

10,000 Galleons in trust for Peter Oliver Pettigrew.

Stay strong and do not fear. You have us, Peter and we will always stand by you.

To Rubeus Hagrid:

10,000 Galleons in trust for Rubeus Hagrid.

You have always been a good friend. This money should help you and any critters you acquire to retire in comfort. It is our wish you may befriend our son with as much love as you have done us.

To Alice Longbottom nee Fortescue:

In the event Sirius Orion Black is unable to fulfill his duties, whether by death or other unforeseen circumstances, as Godfather and guardian to our son, Harry James Potter, we name you Godmother and secondary guardian. You will have all the rights previously accorded to Lord Black, namely temporary management of all properties and vaults and regency over House Potter.

To Severus Tobias Snape:

In the event Sirius Orion Black and/or Alice Longbottom nee Fortescue are unable to fulfill their duties, whether by death or other unforeseen circumstances, as Godfather, Godmother and guardian to our son, Harry James Potter, we name you tertiary guardian. You will have all the rights previously accorded to Lord Black and/or Lady Longbottom, namely temporary management of all properties and vaults and regency over House Potter.

To the Glowing Bunny: Home for Misplaced Magical Children:

10,000 Galleons donation

20,000 Galleons for the care and upkeep of our son, Harry James Potter in the unlikely event all three of his named guardians are unable to fulfill their duties whether by death or other unforeseen circumstances. Consider the remainder a donation to further this institution's efforts in providing homeless magical children with a safe and educational environment in which to grow up. This is our orphanage of choice and to it we grant temporary management of the Potter trust vault if, in fact, our son is raised by this estimable institution. To Melinda Erica Leeds, it's founder, we thank you for your efforts on behalf of our community's children.

From Gringott's Bank we request the following:

An inheritance test for our son, Harry James Potter.

A magical cleanse before his first term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to remove the magical block placed upon his core by myself, James Henry Potter, in accordance with tradition, to mitigate accidental magic prior to his tenure at school.

Temporary management of all properties and vaults accorded to our son, Harry James Potter prior to his seventeenth birthday, in the event that none of his three magical guardians, namely Sirius Orion Black, Alice Longbottom nee Fortescue, or Severus Tobias Snape are able to fulfill their duties whether by death or other unforeseen circumstances.

To all whom it may concern:

Under no circumstances is the care and guardianship of our son to go to Petunia Dursley nee Evans.

Under no circumstances is the care and guardianship of our son to go to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

May it be known that Peter Oliver Pettigrew is our secret keeper.

Harry, remember, Vita Intra Umbram. We love you.

James Henry Potter

Lilly Primrose Potter nee Evans

Chapter Text

For just a moment there was silence as the full import of the will settled onto the shoulders of all those present in the room. Then Master Sharpener beckoned to the witnesses to sign the document, certifying that it had been read and witnessed. They did so and then exited, leaving Harry, Master Sharpener, and FeralEye to discuss what should be done next.

"Well. That was not entirely what I expected." said Ragnok, folding his arms across his belly. FeralEye spoke,

"Master Sharpener, if Peter Pettigrew was the Potter's secret keeper..."

"Indeed." Master Sharpener cut him off. He tapped his bottom lip with one sharp fingernail. "Perhaps, you could pen a missive to Madam Amelia Bones when you file this will with the ministry? After you have contacted its other recipients to hear it read, that is?"

"Right away, Master." FeralEye bowed with wide grin and left the room.

"Master Sharpener," Harry began, slightly alarmed, "I'm not sure that my Godfather, after ten years in Azkaban, is stable enough to take me in. I love him, but I..."

"Not to fret, child. I understand entirely. If Mr. Black is indeed innocent of the charges that have put him in your dreadful wizard's prison, the ministry will want to verify his stability before placing you in his charge. The effects of Dementors are well known. Likely, in the end, they will allow him joint custody along with Master Snape." Oh, that was going to go over well, thought Harry sarcastically. Still, Master Sharpener's use of "Master" intrigued him.

"Master?"

"That is the usual title for someone who has obtained a mastery in their field, yes?"

"I... yes. I've just never heard him referred to in that way."

"I see. I suppose Professor means that same thing, ultimately. After all, one must be a Master to be a professor."

"I...I suppose." said Harry, who had never really considered it before and whose thoughts lingered on Professor Trelawney and, bless him, Hagrid. He seriously doubted either of them had achieved a mastery in anything. Hagrid hadn't even finished school. His wand was currently serving as the handle of a pink umbrella. As for Trelawney, two true prophecies, several years apart, amidst an astonishing number of false predictions did not a master make. He shook his thoughts from his head and focused on the present.

"Will you...will you contact Professor Snape, sir?" He asked. He wasn't entirely sold on Snape as a guardian but he had known, since this morning, that, if his plan worked, he would end up with the man. Still, for all the Potions' Master disliked him and possessed one of the sharpest tongues he had ever encountered, anywhere had to be better than the Dursley's. He respected the man. Perhaps that would be enough of a start. Master Sharpener looked at him shrewdly.

"Indeed, young man. As your Godfather is currently incarcerated and your Godmother institutionalized, Professor Snape is the only choice, unless you would rather go to the orphanage?"

"N...no, sir. If...if he doesn't want me though...my parents did pick that orphanage for me..." Gods! He was thirty-eight years old, for Merlin's sake! Why did he still fear rejection so much and from his most hated professor at that? His mind flashed to his ugly break-up with Ginny and subsequent partial estrangement from the Weasley family. Only the twins had backed him when he realized he was gay and could never love Ginny the way she deserved. The rest of the family, except for Charlie (but, since he was out of the country, he didn't really count) had turned their backs on him. Even Ron. Gods, it had hurt so badly! It wasn't like he had let things get too far. He and Ginny had only been engaged when he broke things off, but, then Hermione had taken his side over Ginny's, which had caused a rift between her and Ron, and things had spiraled out of control from there. Ron may have, eventually, forgiven him for breaking his little sister's heart, but pulling Hermione from him, as it were, was something Ron could never forgive and the split that had begun in the Forest of Dean had widened into a chasm that couldn't be crossed. The pain from that still burned fiercely beneath his heart. He wasn't sure, this time around, if befriending Ron was the best idea. His closest adult friends had been Hermione, of course, his partner, Dean Thomas, and, strangely enough, Draco Malfoy. Draco had joined the ministry as a curse breaker, rather than work for Gringott's, and had been sent with Harry and Dean on several missions throughout the years. Harry had to admit, he had developed quite the crush on the white-blond haired man. But Malfoy was married to Astoria Greengrass and appeared to be faithful to her. Not to mention he was probably straight, so, there was that. Altogether, Harry had never made a move on him. He wouldn't break up anyone else's relationship if he could help it. Not since Ron and Hermione...

He missed when, exactly, Master Sharpener had called for his secretary but heard the tail end of his orders.

"...Snape and ask him if it would be quite convenient for him to join us?"

"Right away, Master Sharpener!" The Goblin bowed and hurried from the room. Ragnok turned to his young guest.

"We will, of course, consult with your guardian upon his arrival, but, since your parents' will did not specify an age, do you wish for your inheritance test to be performed today? Unfortunately, we must wait to conduct the magical cleanse until you are ready to attend Hogwarts."

"I will attend Hogwarts this September, sir. I turn eleven on July 31st, this year." Master Sharpener startled at this news, eyeing the tiny child before him.

"I...I see. You are ten years of age?"

"Yes sir. My birthday was the 31st of July, 1980." Harry folded his hands in his lap. He knew he looked much younger. Master Sharpener could check the records if he didn't believe him, however, so he waited calmly. Apparently, the bank manager chose to take him at his word.

"Very well, then. We can conduct the cleanse this afternoon as well, if Professor Snape agrees." As to that, Harry had no idea if the dungeon bat would be amenable or not. Perhaps he would wish the cleanse to be done another day. Harry didn't really care, as long as it occurred before he attended Hogwarts. Last time...last time he hadn't gotten his full power until his seventeenth birthday when he received his inheritance. An utter waste if you asked him. He could have been training...but no. Dumbledore wouldn't have trained him regardless. The old codger said he needed to remain innocent, remain a child. Hypocrite. If he had wanted Harry to have a childhood, he'd have stopped sending him back to the Dursley's. He knew about the abuse. Harry told him his relatives hated him. But the blood wards. That was the excuse every year. Protect Harry from Voldemort but not from Uncle Vernon. Tell Harry that love is the "power he knows not" but send him back to relatives who don't know the meaning of the word any better than the Dark Lord. Honestly, it was a miracle he had come through the war, not only alive, but sane. Mostly. Thank Merlin for mind healers! Harry took a deep breath and settled his harried thoughts. Clacking wind chimes. The sound of the sea. A breeze through a flowery meadow. Breathe, Harry, breathe.

Master Sharpener could see that the child was beginning to feel the stress again so he sent an undersecretary for a mild calming draught. When the little boy's breathing began to quicken once more he held the draught under his nose until it caught his attention.

"A calming draught, young lord." he murmured. Harry didn't hesitate. He took the phial and downed its contents with two large swallows. Sighing, he smiled hesitantly at the bank manager.

"Thank you, Master Sharpener. I'm afraid today has been rather wearing."

"Indeed. I can only imagine." Just then, the office door opened once more and a tall, greasy haired wizard strode in, black robes billowing and black eyes immediately trained on the small boy with large green eyes and wild black hair. Those eyes flicked to the bank manager after an intense scan of the child and he said, in his customary deep baritone,

"I understand I am to hear the reading of a will. Is it really so urgent a matter?"

"Indeed, Professor Severus Snape. I am Ragnok Sharpener, manager of Gringott's Bank." The old Goblin bowed his head slightly. Eyes widening, the potions' master bowed much more deeply.

"I am honored, Master Sharpener. May I inquire as to what sort of will reading requires the bank manager, sir?"

"The reading of the Potters' will, Professor." Those black eyes widened still further and flicked briefly to the child again before settling back onto Ragnok.

"Proceed, Master Sharpener. I find myself intrigued." The bank manager motioned for Professor Snape to take a seat on the sofa, which he did, and then, with a wave of his hand, he indicated that FeralEye should read the document aloud. Severus sat still until his name was mentioned. Upon learning he was Harry Potter's tertiary guardian, he leaned forward, eyes bulging, hanging upon every word. After finishing the document, FeralEye folded it neatly, and, without being prompted, handed it to the professor. Snape read it through again, slowly. Finally, he sat back and ran his hands down his face before looking at Harry. He didn't like what he saw. By his count, the spoiled brat should be nearly eleven years old. Why then was he so small? And dressed so poorly, as well? Those green eyes, Lilly's eyes, stared back at him solemnly.

"You are Potter?" he spat.

"Yes, sir." Harry thinned his lips at his professor's tone. If Snape thought Harry was just going to lie down and take the sharp side of his tongue this time around he had another thing...

"Of course you are. You look just like your father." Before Harry could do more than glare, the potions' master had turned back to the bank manager.

"I suppose this means I'm to take him then. Am I to do this inheritance test first? I imagine the cleansing will need to be done as well."

"We would be happy to perform both services this afternoon, Professor." Ragnok signaled to FeralEye to begin proceedings and the floor manager nodded before leaving the room.

"While the room is prepared for the cleansing, we can do the inheritance test right here." Master Sharpener led the man and boy to the chairs before his desk. Twirling his hand, a blank piece of parchment and a small golden dagger appeared in midair. The bank manager plucked the items up and placed the parchment on the desk. Holding out his hand, he motioned for Harry to extend his right hand. Harry did so with a wince for his cracked ribs that he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide from the shrewd eyed potions' master. Master Sharpener took the child's middle finger and made a tiny cut. A single drop of blood welled out and he pressed the finger to the parchment, murmuring a spell in Gobbledygook. Immediately, lines like cracking earth flew away from the drop of blood, disappearing as they traveled to the top of the parchment where words began flowing as if an invisible quill were writing them down.

Harry James Potter:

Heir to House Potter, previously House Peverell.

Heir to House Gryffindor through Peverell Line.

Heir to House Slytherin through conquest.

Heir to House Black through blood adoption.

Secondary Heir to House Longbottom through adoption.

Core Affiliation: Grey

Harry remained calm but both Ragnok and Snape were rather shocked. After a minute, the bank manager called on his secretary again and requested the lordship rings of House Potter, House Peverell, House Gryffindor, and House Slytherin be brought to him along with the heir rings of House Black and House Longbottom. Snape sat back in his chair with a long sigh. He looked at Harry with slightly widened eyes. Harry just smiled back. Once the lordship rings were delivered, Harry held out his right hand, this time without wincing. Onto his middle finger, Master Ragnok slid the Potter ring first. It sized itself down to fit his tiny finger and lay dormant. It would have burned him badly had it not accepted him. Next came the Peverell ring which fitted itself, merging with the Potter ring in a familiar embrace. Following was the Gryffindor ring which embraced the other two rings, winding itself amongst them like an old friend. The Slytherin ring was rather hesitant, at first, but then slithered smoothly into the others, taking up spaces that had been empty before, forming one very intricate ring of great beauty, adorned with diamond, sapphire, ruby, and emerald, declaring Harry's lordships irrevocably. On his left middle finger the heir rings took a moment to get to know each other and then melded comfortably into a simple silver band carved with runes and gathered around an onyx and opal, the one sparking lights off the other. With the rings accepting him as heir and lord, Harry laid his hands in his lap demurely. Snape was goggling at him. Master Sharpener cleared his throat.

"The cleansing chamber should be ready by now. If you'll follow me, Professor? Young Lord"

Harry didn't wait for Snape. He simply jumped down from his too tall chair and tripped along after the bank manager, trusting that his teacher would follow. The chamber of cleansing was rather intimidating. Harry remembered it being so when he was a twenty-three year old man. It was even more so when he could barely see over the reclined chair in its middle.

"Forgive the starkness of the room, Friend." Ragnok said as he lifted Harry into the chair and began strapping him down. "The undressed stone of the walls, floor, and ceiling are designed to absorb broken magic so that it cannot cause damage elsewhere. These straps are to keep you from hurting yourself if you begin thrashing." Harry, who had undergone a similar explanation back when this had been done in his early twenties, reflected that such reassurances were hardly encouraging. He took the bite gag into his mouth, closed his eyes, and attempted to calm his breathing. A bright light, an unbearable heat, and he knew no more.

Severus Snape watched the small boy being strapped into the reclined chair. He had watched a cleansing or two in his lifetime, mostly students burdened with accidental curses cast during class that couldn't be eradicated by Madam Pomfrey. He had never seen such a small child in the chair before. He worried that the process might be too much before chastising himself for sentimentality. This was Potter. Spoiled, arrogant little Prince Potter of which he was now the apparent legal guardian. How had this come about? In just half an hour, his world had been upended. He had been looking forward to a summer without students darkening his door every few minutes and now he was faced with his hated enemy's son (and Lilly's son) who was too small for his age and hiding an injury. He scowled. If it wasn't for his promise to Lilly...the will had mentioned an orphanage...

Concentrating back on the present, Severus took a step toward the glass barrier when he saw that the boy had actually passed out! What had been on the child's core? Surely just the standard block most parents cast to protect themselves and their households from accidental magic?

"Master Sharpener!" he cried and was silenced with the sweep of an arm. The bank manager was staring intently at the child, his concentration absolute. Lines deepened across an already wrinkled forehead and a clawed hand was held out insistently. Another, darker skinned goblin took the hand and his forehead creased as well. Yet a third and then a fourth joined them. Severus was ready to call a halt to the whole thing when suddenly, the four goblins relaxed before sagging against each other for a few moments. Snape looked wildly between them and the boy on the reclined chair, wondering if there was anything he should do. Master Sharpener gestured to some goblins with a shaking finger as he indicated the young lord. Severus took that as an invitation and he beat the goblins to the boy's side and began undoing the straps. The child lay, limp and white, lines of pain between his eyes. He undid the final strap and gathered Lilly's son up into his arms. Turning, he saw that Master Sharpener and the four goblins who had assisted him were nowhere in sight. Another goblin gestured for him to follow so he did, carrying his burden and marveling at how light the child was in his hold. The goblin led him into what was clearly a recovery room with several beds separated by curtains. He laid his burden onto the bed the goblin indicated, found a stool, and sat beside the boy, waiting for him to wake up. He had a million questions, but, for now, he would wait until the child had come to and he could see for himself that all was well.

Meanwhile, Master Sharpener had retired back to his office, dismissing FeralEye and the two others who had assisted them, to go and recover elsewhere. Baring wickedly sharp teeth, Ragnok seethed. That child had been under several compulsions and a core leech! The bank manager had a pretty good idea who had cast those spells, as well. That evil, manipulative...! Ragnok took a sharp breathe. Goblin friend or no, he would never convince the royals to have anything to do with the wizarding world without a direct attack upon themselves and that was as it should be. The Goblin Wars might be history now, but they were still vivid in the memories of the longer lived goblin elders. Personal feelings aside, goblins did not get personally involved with wizards. To that end, he'd best charge the child for the inheritance test and cleansing. Knowing what he did about the Potter and Peverell vaults, the boy could certainly afford it. He wouldn't charge for the will reading. That was a massive mistake on the part of the bank. His superiors would expect him to forgo any profit that might have been made in that instance and so he let it go. He rang for tea, needing the sustenance after such an expenditure of magic. He hadn't needed to work so hard in years. If young Lord Potter weren't a Goblin Friend, he wouldn't have worked so hard now. The child knew the goblin signs, however, and that was enough for him. For the time being, anyway. Time would tell when the night for the Princess's abduction drew nigh. Time would tell, all right. Straightening his still bulky shoulder, despite his age, he waved his hand for the report of the child's cleansing and prepared to enjoy a quiet moment with some tea, or, perhaps, something stronger.

Harry slowly woke from a pain filled moment and looked around blearily. Raising his hand to his face he could feel his glasses so the fuzziness must be caused by the tears in his eyes. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, feeling the tears slip down his cheeks. He was in a bed that reminded him of the ones in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Half expecting Madam Pomfrey to enter his line of sight at any moment, he looked to his right and saw, instead, the piercing black eyes of his potions' professor. The man rose and helped him to sit up. His hands were surprisingly gentle.

"He...hello again, sir." Harry croaked, wishing for a glass of water. As if by magic, a goblin nurse appeared at his side with a glass of water on a tray. He took it thankfully and drained half of it between breaths. Catching his breath he asked,

"Did I fall asleep?"

"You passed out, Potter."

"Oh." He hadn't passed out last time, but then, he'd been a lot bigger last time.

"My name is Professor Severus Snape." said the black clad man beside him.

"I know." Harry caught himself. "I mean, Master Sharpener said he'd be calling you. Sir." Shite. There was that raised eyebrow. Harry hated that eyebrow.

"Indeed. So you know that I am your guardian?"

"Since my godfather is in prison and my godmother is insane, yes. I suppose you must be." Harry closed his eyes. That had sounded much more disrespectful than he had meant it to.

"You will refer to me as Professor or sir, in future and I expect greater respect for your elders from now on. Is that understood?" The black eyes were snapping at him. Harry set his jaw. The reprimand wasn't entirely unwarranted but, Merlin, it was difficult to play the child right now.

"Yes, sir." he said a trifle sulkily. The potions' master accepted it though his eyes were narrowed.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Said a young goblin in a nurse's uniform. "Master Sharpener has your results and is expecting you in his office. If you'll follow me?" Professor Snape lifted Harry down from the bed, which Harry had to grit his teeth through, and they left Gringotts' infirmary, following their goblin guide through several twisting and turning marble corridors, up stairs and down again, before reaching the familiar office.

"Ah. Gentlemen." Said Master Sharpener, indicating the chairs before his desk. Harry sat down on his heels again in order to see over the desk top. Master Sharpener slid a piece of parchment their way.

"Your results, young Lord." Harry scanned the parchment with a resigned gaze.

Harry James Potter Cleanse:

Removal of core block, 25 %: Cast by James Henry Potter

Removal of core leech, 75%: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of intelligence block, 50%: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of loyalty inclined toward Albus Dumbledore: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of loyalty inclined toward Ronald Weasley: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of loyalty inclined toward Remus Lupin: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of loyalty inclined toward Molly Weasley: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of desire inclined toward Ginevra Weasley: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of loyalty inclined toward light magical cores: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of aversion toward grey magical cores: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of aversion toward black magical cores: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of suggestible compulsion: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Removal of decreased inhibition: Cast by Albus Dumbledore

Silently, Harry handed the parchment to his new guardian. All was quiet for several minutes. Harry watched his Professor get more and more paled and he noticed that the long fingered white hands were trembling. Still silent, the Potions' Master handed the test results back to his new ward. Master Sharpener decided it was time to speak.

"Well. Now that we have gone through everything, Professor Snape, I assume we can transfer payment for today's services from the Potter vault? We will not be charging for the Potter will reading as it is entirely the bank's fault that the will 'slipped through the cracks' as it were. We will not charge for subsequent readings to those so named within the will either. You may rest easy on that account. However, the standard fees for an inheritance test and magical cleansing still apply."

"Yes...yes, of course. I believe the Potter household vault is set up for such things as this. Additionally, I will require a full accounting of all vaults and properties in Heir Potter's name, including all those that he stands to inherit through the lines of Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"Ah. A full portfolio? To be charged to the Potter household vault as well, Professor?"

"Yes. When will the Potter's will be filed with the ministry? I will need to complete a great deal of paperwork in order to officially take Potter as my ward and I'll need proper documentation to prove my claim."

"The will was sent shortly after it's first reading with young Mr. Potter here at around 1 pm this afternoon. All should be in readiness as far as the ministry is concerned, Professor Snape. The portfolio will be gathered and sent to you within the next couple of days."

"Very well. I believe my charge and myself should leave you in peace, then, Master Sharpener. I thank you for your time and expertise." The Professor bowed. Climbing down from his chair, Harry came around the side of the desk and, bringing his hands together in a circle in the middle of his forehead, he bowed low.

"Thank you, Master Sharpener. You have done much for me this day. May your hunts be fruitful and your Hearth burn brightly." Master Sharpener chuckled.

"And may your travels reward you, Goblin Friend." said the bank manager, returning the bow. Snape gaped at the young boy for a moment before snapping out of it and leading his young charge through the marble corridor, down the stairs, past the many tellers, and out into the evening sunshine.

Chapter Text

Snape looked around Diagon Alley in the evening light and took a slow and measured breath. Glancing down to the small, messy head of hair to his left, he wondered at his sudden change in his circumstances. In a little over two hours of time his trust in Albus Dumbledore, his mentor and protector, or so he had thought, was in tatters at his feet and he now had custody over his one-time, most hated, rival's son. For Merlin's sake! He had thought Dumbledore had made arrangements for the child. Wasn't he living with relatives of some sort? How had he ended up at the bank of all places? And when had the boy learned Goblin culture? The notoriously ill-mannered creatures had been treating Potter with something akin to respect and care. Severus had heard about Goblin Friends before, but surely a child of ten could not have earned such a moniker. Pursing his lips in a manner reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall, he took another breath. Right. First things first, he should probably feed the child. And have a talk with him. "This way, Potter. Let's get some dinner." The boy looked up at him with those damnable green eyes and nodded. Severus led the boy to the Leaky Cauldron and took a table in a shadowed corner. Not usually one to drink something as hard as firewhisky on a weekday, he decided, to hell with it, and ordered one along with their meals. For the child, he ordered milk. He could swear the boy smirked at that, but when he looked again, Potter's face was smooth. After their food had been brought, Severus swirled his wand and cast a muffliato charm around the table.

"I think we should start with some questions." Harry was tucking into his chicken and rice with gusto. He looked up, his mouth full, and nodded. Severus took a bite of his own meal and chewed thoughtfully.

"I was under the impression that you were living, prior to this day, with relatives of some kind, yes?" Severus took another bite. Not much could be said for Tom, who owned the Leaky Cauldron, but the man could really cook. And he didn't over charge for drinks. Potter was nodding.

"I lived with my mother's sister and her husband and son." Harry said with a sneer. Severus sat up.

"Not Petunia Evans?" Harry nodded darkly and Severus hissed softly between his teeth. He recalled his conversation with Dumbledore when he had mentioned that the child shouldn't be placed with Lilly's sister. The Headmaster had assured him that the child was with relatives and that he was happy and safe. Snape had been only too happy to let it go and forget that the child even existed for the next nine and half years.

He looked at the boy who was too thin and who had been limping a little on their walk to the pub. Severus narrowed his eyes, a dreadful foreboding in his chest.

"I cannot see 'Tuney Evans taking you to a wizarding bank." He raised his eyebrow. Rather than look abashed, Potter grinned at the nickname given to his aunt. He swung his feet.

"She would rather die. I cast an Oblivisci Tempus on them at the zoo today. They won't miss me for another couple of hours, I expect." Severus choked a little.

"How...when would you have...you don't have a wand?" The boy smirked at him

"No." He said slowly. "I do not." He smiled. Severus looked at him, feeling just a little wary. Harry finished his last bite of chicken and drank the last of his milk. He looked at the Potions' Master.

"I, Harry James Potter, do swear on my life and my magic, that in the next two minutes, namely sixty seconds, I will tell only the truth, as I understand it, to one Severus Tobias Snape. So mote it be." Potter's magic crackled around them and then settled like a light, warm blanket on their shoulders. Severus gaped at the boy with wide eyes. What, in Merlin's name, was the brat thinking?

"I am Harry Potter. I was an auror and I was just about to celebrate my thirty-ninth birthday. I was on a case involving a deceased collector of magical items. I was tasked, with several colleagues, with going through the mess and finding those items that were dangerous to the general public. I came across an old wooden amulet. I didn't mean to touch it. It was buried beneath a pile of receipts. I just brushed it with my arm. It crumbled to dust, I sneezed, and I woke up at my relatives' house looking as I do now. Judging by the fact that today is my cousin's eleventh birthday, despite being thirty-eight the last time I saw him, I can only conclude I have travelled through time to my ten year old body. I was nineteen years old when I first heard my parents' will and was given my inheritance and a cleanse. It didn't much matter then since I was grown. Now, though, It was my best chance to escape my relatives' care. That brings us to now." Harry folded his hands in his lap having just spoken as if he were giving a report to a superior. Severus was staring at the boy, a somewhat wild look in his eyes. He reached out, grabbed his whisky glass, and downed it in one go. Harry began to giggle. He couldn't help it. He had never thought he would see the dour professor so discomfited. He kept on giggling while Severus went to the bar to ask for another drink. The child stopped when he heard himself and realized that his giggle was positively cute. Eugh. Snape came back, sat, took a deep breath, and placed his slightly trembling hands on the table top. This was turning out to be the most surprising and stressful day he could remember in a very long time. He felt like the earth was shifting beneath his feet and, in doing so, changing all his preconceived notions in a matter of hours. Apparently, in addition to Albus being a manipulative bastard, time travel was possible. What could be next? Merlin!

"You traveled through time." Severus said without inflection. The boy nodded.

"Yes."

"You're thirty-eight."

"Actually, I think I really am just ten? Now? But, I used to be thirty-eight. Yes." Harry looked looked slightly confused at his own answer. He cocked his head and looked adorable doing it. Shrugging his tiny shoulders, he said, "My mind is thirty-eight, but my body is ten." He nodded to himself decisively. Severus just shook his head disbelievingly, and yet, he knew the boy wasn't lying. The child had sworn on his life, with his magic, that he was telling the truth. If he had lied, he would be dead now. There was no way the Professor could deny the reality that was in front of him. Merlin and Circe! He downed his second glass of whisky. He thought about getting another but shook his head. He couldn't get drunk with a child in tow. He shouldn't have even had what he did. Taking several slow breaths, he calmed his pounding heart.

"Did...did you defeat the Dark Lord?" He asked, almost afraid of the answer. Potter looked at him for a moment with solemn green eyes and slowly nodded.

"I...I don't want to...so many people...he's...he's still around in this time so I guess I'll have to..." The child licked his lips. When he looked at Severus his expression was devastated. The Potions' Master had the strangest urge to wrap the boy up in his arms and protect him from anything that could hurt or frighten. He pushed the idea away and changed the subject. Standing, he dusted and crumbs from his trousers. He gestured for Harry to stand also.

"Well, today has been one of shock and stress, for the both of us. A restful night would not be amiss. I'll take you to my home in Spinner's End. In the morning, we'll discuss what should happen next." He held out his hand to Harry after canceling the Muffliato that was on their table. Harry hesitated for a moment, emotions flickering across his face so fast, he couldn't read them all. He definitely noticed the fear, however. Not making any sudden moves, he waited. Potter reached out, hesitated, looked searchingly at his professor, and then took the offered hand. With a crack, Severus apparated them away.

OooOooOo

Harry had, for the most part, thoroughly enjoyed turning his once most hated professor's world upside down. He had considered not telling Snape about the time travel, but if there was one thing he was tired of, it was going at it alone. Having an ally who might be able to make this second go at childhood less horrible than his first time through was a very attractive idea. So he took the necessary steps to ensure that the Professor believed him. It was a risk, to be sure. He had never gotten along all that well with Snape and he couldn't help but be aware that he was likely to be treated as a child despite the adult man's best efforts. Still, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be a kid again. He certainly had more energy than he had experienced in long time. During dinner at the pub, he couldn't help but swing his legs the entire time and wriggle in his seat. Broken ribs or no. Speaking of, he wondered if he should tell Snape about his injuries. There was no question the man would have Skelegro. He probably had an entire potions lab at his house. Harry felt the squeeze through a straw sensation that he associated with apparition and braced himself for the landing. He had finally overcome his tendency to face plant after travelling the wizarding way when he trained as an auror. When he landed with his feet planted and didn't sway, even in his tiny ten year old body, he felt a thrill of pride. He also felt nauseated. From experience, he knew that would pass in about five minutes. He just needed to, discreetly, breathe through it.

Snape didn't seem to be fooled. He smirked a little but otherwise ignored it.

"Come. I'll show you to your room." He turned with his trademark billowing robes, and headed up the stairs. Harry followed. The room he was led to was larger than than Dudley's second bedroom. It was painted a calming shade of blue and had two windows on the same wall that looked out over a lush garden. A twin bed with a green and yellow patchwork quilt that looked homemade was against one wall with a worn bedside table next to it. A matching desk and chair were up against the wall opposite the windows. Another door in the wall across from the bed led to a small bathroom. Next to the door were two book shelves, full to bursting with books of all kinds. Three more equally full shelves framed the windows which were curtained in green. A green and yellow rag rug covered the dark floor boards in the middle of the room. Harry looked around appreciatively. A Slytherin banner and some torn front pages from Contemporary Potions: Potions for the Twentieth Century magazine decorated the walls. A picture of a young Severus Snape and a woman of middle years with gray streaked hair was framed on the bedside table. On the desk was another framed photo of a teenage Severus and, Harry's breath caught in his throat, Lilly Evans. Merlin's balls! Harry would bet the contents of his trust vault that he was in the professor's childhood room. Eyes lingering on the photo of his mother, Harry took a cautious seat on the edge of the bed. Noticing where he was looking, Snape snatched up the photos off the desk and bedside table and banished them, presumably, to another location. Harry frowned. He would have liked to keep his mother's photo in the room. In his previous life, he had collected a great many pictures of his parents. Here and now, he had none. Snape had come to stand before him.

"Alright, Potter. Before you retire for bed, I have one question. I've noticed you've been favoring your right side. Why?" He looked at Harry, his gaze indicating that he had his suspicions. Harry flushed.

"I, erm...I fell, this morning. Might have done some damage to my ribs." Gods, that damn eyebrow!

"Mmhmm." Snape said, clearly suspicious. He pointed his wand at Harry's midsection and murmured,

"Ostende Malum." Harry felt a pleasant warmth along the side of his chest. Parchment sprang from Snape's wand and he caught it with a pale, long fingered hand. He read it quickly and then frowned at Harry.

"Three of your ribs are cracked along your right side." Severus looked at Harry expectantly but, if he was hoping Harry would spill the beans, he was left disappointed.

"I did fall pretty hard." Said the child. Severus narrowed his eyes before lifting his wand and summoning a potion.

"Skelegro. As an auror, I imagine you've had it before?" Harry made a face and nodded. Severus' lips thinned.

"I imagine you are aware, then, that you cannot take a pain potion with it?" His gaze was shrewd. Harry nodded again. Snape narrowed his eyes and was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head and said,

"I can give you Dreamless Sleep with it. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, please." Said Harry, thinking about his second year and the extreme incompetence of Gilderoy Lockhart. Madame Pomfrey hadn't offered him Dreamless Sleep then. Perhaps she'd been afraid of it's addictiveness? Regardless, Harry wasn't about to turn it down now. Skelegro was an unpleasant experience that he would rather not remember. As the potion zoomed into his professor's hand he was pinned by narrow black eyes.

"Are there any other injuries I should be aware of?" Harry gulped a little but shook his head. He didn't trust Snape enough, just yet, to tell him everything about the Dursleys. After all, no adult had ever cared before and, despite what his mind healer had told him more than once, he couldn't bring himself to believe that that would change now. His ribs were the worst injury he had at the moment. Healing them was enough. His magic could take care of the rest.

"Besides the ribs, I'm fine, Professor." He could tell Snape didn't believe him. He put an innocent expression on his face and waited. The Potions' Master grunted and Accioed some Dreamless Sleep. He set the potion next to the Skelegro on the night stand. Heading to the wardrobe next to the desk, he rummaged through it for night clothes. With a wave of his wand they were sized to fit Harry who took, them into the bathroom. Coming out, dressed in the pajamas, Harry headed to the bed and climbed in. It was surprisingly comfortable. His teacher handed him the potions and he took them, one after the other, grimacing at the taste. Laying back, he was surprised when Severus tucked the covers around him. Frantically, he fought to keep tears from his eyes. Never, not once in his thirty-eight years, had someone tucked him in to bed. He took a few breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, managing to keep the tears at bay. When he felt like he had control of his emotions, he looked at Snape.

"Well then," said the man rather awkwardly, "sleep well." Harry returned the sentiment and Severus left the room, leaving the door open a crack. Harry looked at the moonlight coming through the filmy curtains and smiled. At the very least, with all that had happened to him in just one day, he was safe. Safe from his relatives, from Dumbledore, from Voldemort, from the world. As the potions began to work in his system, he closed his eyes, and, with the smile still on his lips, he fell asleep.

oOooOooOo

Severus waited an hour and then crept back into the boy's room. He was no healer, but even he could cast a diagnostic charm.

"Revelare Omnibus Injuriis." He murmured and slowly moved his wand down the boy's body from his forehead to his toes. Parchment began scrolling from his wand and kept on for far too long. When it finally stopped, he snatched it carefully up before it could flutter to the floor. Reading it, he sank slowly to the rug his mother had made with her own two hands. Gods above, this was bad. Heart sinking lower and lower, he kept reading. Oh, Merlin! Oh, Circe! Oh, bloody Salazar Slytherin, himself! Looking at the peaceful face with its sunken cheeks and cupid's bow mouth, Severus wanted to hit something or someone. He had been wrong. Very wrong about the Boy Who Lived. He had promised Lilly, had promised Albus, that he would protect Harry Potter. Albus, that manipulative...! How was he supposed to keep this child safe? Whether he was ten or thirty-eight, he was in Severus' care now. Voldemort on one side and Dumbledore on the other, both with designs on the boy. And now Severus was between them. Oh, Gods! He looked at the cherubic-like face that was lying in his old bed. Too thin, too small! How could the burden of destroying the Dark Lord be on such slim shoulders? Gazing at the small form of Harry Potter, Severus Snape felt his resolve harden. This boy would not be hurt again! Not on his watch! It would be difficult to protect him from the Dark Lord, nearly impossible to protect him from Dumbledore, but he would give it his best effort. He would honor his promise to the best and only friend of his childhood! Standing, he nodded his head once, before leaving the room to seek out his own bed. He wouldn't take a sleeping potion, not with the whisky had had earlier. Besides, he wanted to be near by in case the pain of the Skelegro woke the boy, regardless of the the Dreamless Sleep. Changing into pajamas, he crawled into bed. He expected a restless night, but fell asleep quickly none-the-less. Quiet settled over Spinner's End, and whether by the mercy of Magic herself, or, perhaps, fate, the two mismatched people in a small house in Cokeworth found rest despite the uncertainties that lay ahead.

oOooOooOo

The sun was shining brightly through filmy curtains when Severus awoke. This was unusual enough to make him sit up rather suddenly. Normally he woke well before the sun, his body used to rising early in order to be up and ready before most of his students were stumbling from their beds. Slowly, he began to remember the afternoon before. He was Harry Potter's guardian and the boy was just down the hall! Rubbing his hands over his face and sleep rumpled hair, he looked with pinched lips at the long rolled parchment on the small table beside his bed. The results of the full diagnostic scan he had done on Potter last night. A small part of him that was leftover from his childhood wanted to bury himself back into his covers until it all just went away, but he knew he couldn't. It wouldn't be good for him and it definitely wouldn't be good for the little boy sleeping in his old room at the end of the corridor. If the child was even still sleeping, that is. At that thought, he swung his legs out of his bed. Donning slippers and a dressing gown, he went quietly down the narrow corridor and peaked into the blue painted room. A small shock of messy black curls on a pillow was all he could see under a mound of blankets. He sighed with relief. The dreamless sleep was still doing its work. Moving silently as only he could, he entered the room and performed a quick diagnostic charm on the child. He caught the parchment that fluttered from his wand and nodded his head. The ribs were whole again and the boy should wake soon. He would need a breakfast with both fruit and meat to begin replacing the energy his body had used to heal itself. Nodding to himself, the professor left the room to grab a quick shower and dress himself before heading downstairs to the kitchen. He set to frying up ham slices and cutting up some apples. He also set a pot of water to boil for porridge and the kettle to boil for tea. He was just finishing the porridge when a young bespectacled face peered through the doorway. He didn't even turn around.

"Come in, Potter and have a seat. Your breakfast is nearly ready." He heard the shuffle of feet and the scrape of a chair. Turning, he began spooning porridge with honey, nuts, and apples into a bowl. Beside it, some fried ham was already plated. The tea kettle was ready beneath its cozy. Sitting, he gave himself a generous helping of the porridge. It was not something he ate often but the boy needed it. He indicated that Potter should prepare his own tea the way he liked it. He took note, watching the child add a single sugar cube and some milk. Good, the boy wasn't one for trying to drink more sugar than tea. He had deplorable manners, though. He made no attempt at conversation and he kept one arm on the table between his plate and the professor. Severus almost told the child to keep his elbows off the table when he recognized the gesture for what it was. The boy was unconsciously guarding his plate. He grimaced to himself. One of the results he had seen on the boy's diagnostic scan from last night was malnutrition. Those relatives of his likely took his food from him often enough that he subconsciously tried to create barriers between his food and whatever adult happened to be in the room.

Severus felt his stomach clench. He stared down at his own food, his mouth twisted, as if he had suddenly tasted something bitter. His father had been a bastard, but he, at least, had never been starved. Feeling his heartbeat quicken, he briefly closed his eyes and tucked all thoughts of his father behind his occlumency shields. Now was not the time for a trip down memory lane. He deliberately took up a spoonful of porridge though it tasted like ash in his mouth. He would need his strength for this day and he would not turn down food in front of a boy who routinely had his food taken from him. He watched the child eat and had to remind himself, when the boy only consumed about half of it, that malnutrition wouldn't be solved in a day. The child couldn't eat as much in one sitting as he should be able to. Severus would need to provide the boy with several small meals throughout the day. Too much too soon would just make the boy sick. Besides, teaching the boy to stuff himself and ignore his own body's signals would just lead to the child struggling with obesity in adulthood, something that happened to a lot of people who didn't get enough to eat as children. Severus thought again about that rolled up parchment with the results of the boy's scan up in his bedroom. He would need to go over it with the child and take the boy, and the results, to a healer, today, if possible. Before that, they needed to go to the ministry to make Potter his ward officially. Severus hated the ministry. He hated the paperwork, the legalese, the maneuvering of petty, selfish men thinking only of themselves. He much preferred the solitude and simplicity of a potion's lab with its simmering cauldron and sharp, herbal scents in the air. He looked at the child. The boy was still in the pajamas that had been resized to fit him. Getting up from the table, he beckoned Potter to follow him. Leading the boy upstairs again, he looked at the sad, over-sized clothing the child had worn yesterday. He sent a cleaning charm and a mending charm at them but there wasn't much either could do to make them less depressing.

"The bathroom is down the hall. Take a shower, I placed a towel for you beside the sink, and get dressed in these again. We're going to have to get you some suitable clothes. I assume we'll also need to stop at your relative's home to gather your things. Have you any better clothes than these?" The boy shook his head and the professor harrumphed.

"A shopping trip is definitely in order then. We also need to go to the ministry. I have paperwork to fill out in order to become your guardian. I also want you to see a healer today, if possible." He turned to point the way toward the bathroom and saw the boy shaking his head. He smirked.

"Oh, yes, you will be seeing a healer. In fact, once you are clean and dressed, come downstairs to the sitting room. We have something to discuss." He smirked again at the look on the boy's face but was pleased that the child offered no argument. He watched the boy go into the bathroom and close the door. Striding into his own room, he snatched up the boy's diagnostic results, flicked his wand at his bed to make it, and then headed downstairs. He could use some more tea.

oOooOooOo

Harry enjoyed the shower. The water was hot and felt good on muscles tight with tension. His ribs felt great, better than before, stronger. He'd been enormously hungry when he'd woken and was pleasantly surprised to find that his professor knew how to cook. He was good at it too if the creamy porridge was any indication. Of course, as a potion's master, cooking wouldn't be all that difficult, would it? He'd filled his stomach and looked longingly at what was still before him, but he knew better than to overeat. In his first year at Hogwarts, he had made that mistake often in the first month, and been noisily sick in the nearest loo. He'd learned to pace himself after that. Pleased that his professor apparently had no intention of trying to make him clear his plate, he followed the man upstairs and was grateful when the professor cleaned and mended the holes in his clothes. A hot shower on top of it all was an excellent morning in his opinion. He carefully scrubbed his bruised and welted back, most of the welts had gone down and were now just thin pink lines, and the bruises on his knees, and was happy to get any dust and greasiness out of his hair. The professor's shampoo smelled lightly of sandalwood. He snickered, thinking what a wonder it was that Snape even had shampoo, what with how greasy his hair always was. Though, come to think of it, the man's hair hadn't been greasy at breakfast, just a little damp from his own shower. Harry wasn't in a hurry. He didn't know what Snape wanted to talk about downstairs, but, if it had anything to do with that healer business, it couldn't be anything good. Still, he wasn't sure how much hot water there would be so he eventually finished up. He dried himself, dressed, scrubbed his hair with his towel one more time, and then tossed it into the hamper beside the bathroom door. Then he headed downstairs, dragging his feet a little.

The Potions' Professor was seated in a wing back chair before a fireplace that wasn't lit in the warm summer weather. Harry took a seat on a stiff backed couch to one side and looked around. The room was small and positively crammed with books. The shelves that lined every wall, even obscuring the windows a little, were obviously full. More books lined the mantlepiece above the fireplace. Still more were piled on the sofa in stacks next to him. In fact, it looked like Snape had moved a few stacks to make room for him. Still more were beside the wing backed chair and on one half of the low coffee table in front of him. The other side of the coffee table had a pot of tea and two cups. Even more books were on the floor in front of the book shelves and several more were piled on the window sills. Harry looked at it all with wide eyes. The man had basically turned his sitting room into a library. A badly organized one though Harry suspected his teacher could lay his hand on any book he wanted in just a moment's time, knowing exactly where it was. He shook his head a little. Gladly taking a second cup of tea, the boy looked at his professor expectantly.

Snape cleared his throat and unrolled a long piece of parchment. "Head trauma: 6, Concussion: 3, Broken Clavicle: 2, Dislocated shoulder, right: 2, Dislocated shoulder, left: 1, Dislocated elbow, left: 1, Broken ribs, both sides: 4, Broken ribs, right side only: 3, Broken ribs, left side only: 1, Broken arm, right: 2, Broken wrist, right: 1, Broken wrist, left: 1, Broken fingers on right hand: 2, Broken fingers on left hand: 4, Sprained wrist, right: 1, Sprained shoulder, left: 1, Sprained knee, left: 1, Sprained back: 1, Burns: Numerous, Contusions: Numerous, Welts: Numerous, Bruises..."

"Please stop." Harry couldn't look Snape in the eye. Instead, he stared off to his left, out a partially obscured window. The sunshine had a hazy quality to it. The room smelled like musty books and the peppermint tea. As an adult, he had found it somehow easier to talk to his mind healer about the war than he had about his childhood abuse. Maybe because he had a little more control over himself while fighting in the war? Not much more, but enough to make him feel like he was making his own choices, despite the manipulations that had led him. He had been powerless at the Dursleys, helpless. It was hard to talk about a time when he was that weak, unable to help himself. One of his worst nightmares was waking up in his cupboard again and yesterday morning... He swallowed hard and was glad, that, at least, it wasn't raining right now. That would just be the icing on the depressing cake.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. I genuinely am." Snape did indeed sound regretful, and Harry looked up at this. "I won't read any more of it. I just need you to know that I know. And that this is why we're going to see a healer. I'm especially concerned about the malnutrition. Your muscle mass is far below where it should be, and your bones are more brittle than they ought to be. Your growth is stunted as well." Harry only nodded curtly. He was aware. Seven years at Hogwarts had done quite a bit to reverse the damage done to him but he had still needed to take nutrient potions throughout his twenties before the problem had been as rectified as it could be. He knew he would never be as tall as he should have been. It was probably a good thing if he were to start taking those nutrient potions much earlier this time around. It could only help in the long run. Still, Snape was a potions' prodigy and would certainly insist on making his nutrient potions himself so what good was a healer?

"I still don't see the need for a healer." Harry was annoyed when he heard how sulky his voice sounded. He tried to brighten it up. "You've done the diagnostic just as well and will want to make the potions I need yourself, yes? A healer is just an inconvenient extra step." Snape was shaking his head. Harry scowled.

"Without a healer, there are no official records, and, while I can certainly make any potions you may require, a healer will be able to tell me, in greater detail, just what I ought to make for your unique situation. Setting aside the possibility, as well, that I could face legal repercussions in giving you potions outside of a healer's direction, without that official record, I cannot bring charges against your relatives for their appalling treatment of you." Harry's head shot up at that.

"What if I don't want to bring charges against them? What if I don't want an official record? I can just imagine what the press would say if word got out that the wizarding world's "Boy Who Lived" was abused!" Harry had stood and his fists were clenched. Snape looked back at him calmly. Harry glared, paced a little, and looked back at his Professor furiously. Snape sighed and asked,

"What is the worst thing people would think about you if they knew of your home life?" Harry clenched his teeth.

"It's private! It's..." He sighed and suddenly sat down, defeated, remembering sessions with his mind healer. He and, her name was Miranda, had discussed this. "I don't want pity. I don't want anyone thinking I'm weak." His voice was a trifle monotone as if he was reciting something he'd said before. He had said it before. He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I know being abused doesn't mean you're weak. I know that, but I don't think I've ever really believed it." The Professor tilted his head to one side.

"You've been to a mind healer? Before? In the...in the future?" He looked a trifle confused at his word choices. Harry smiled wryly.

"I started going to a mind healer a couple of years after the war. I wasn't sleeping. Jumping at loud noises. Having flashbacks. Not quite losing myself to them but still... Miranda called it PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"I see. Did you speak of your childhood with this Miranda?"

"I did, though not as much as I talked about the war. It was in the past and the war had just happened, but now..."

"Now you ran away from your relatives just yesterday." Harry nodded glumly.

"I had forgotten things. The way the house smelled like curry and Uncle Vernon's hair oil. The sound of my Aunt's voice. How the grout on the counters in the kitchen was stained yellow around the sink. It all came back yesterday. All the little things." He slumped a bit in his seat. Snape raised his eyebrows.

"You've only been with your relatives for a day then? When exactly did you...I suppose "travel" is the correct term, into your past self?"

"I woke up in my cupboard yesterday morning." Snape somehow sat up straighter.

"Your cupboard?" Harry blushed.

"I slept, er...sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. Before I "travelled", after I got my Hogwarts Letter...it was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs and I think that spooked my Aunt and Uncle. They moved me into my cousin's second bedroom after that." Harry was jiggling his knee. Snape leaned back a little.

"Second bedroom? How many bedrooms were in that house?"

"Four. My Aunt and Uncle's room, a guest room that Uncle Vernon's sister would stay in when she visited, and two rooms for Dudley."

"Your Aunt and Uncle own a four bedroom house and they kept you in a cupboard?" Snape's voice was icy. The adult in Harry understood. He would be furious to find a child living in a cupboard, especially if that child was now in his care. The ten year old body he currently inhabited, however, shrunk back in fear from an angry adult. It was instinctual and Harry found, logic be damned, that his heart rate had sped up and his palms were beginning to sweat. It was weird. One minute he could converse with his Potions' Professor as an adult, and the next, he felt every inch the child he now was. He trembled a little and peeked at his professor through his eyelashes. The man sighed, and relaxed the frown on his face.

"My apologies, Potter. I am not angry at you." There was a long pause. "While I can understand not wanting all the wizarding world to know about your relatives' treatment of you, might I suggest a compromise?" Harry narrowed his eyes. He nodded. Snape continued, "Perhaps prosecuting them in the muggle world would be sufficient? If we are careful, we should be able to keep it from the magical world." Harry thought about this for a few minutes. There was still that tired part of himself that just wanted to let it all be in the past except that was the problem, wasn't it. He was in the past, so it was his present, his now, and he had to deal with it, however much he might not want to. Slowly, he nodded. Then he thought of something.

"Does that mean I need to be seen by a muggle Doctor? Instead of a Healer?" Snape pursed his lips in thought. He nodded, then he shook his head, then nodded again.

"Actually, that is not a bad idea. It would involve the Department for Education, though. Which will mean a social worker. I'm sure we could find a witch or wizard that works in that field. We'll need an attorney that is a witch or wizard as well, that works in the muggle world and understands their laws. Also, I still want you to see a healer. No doctor can cure your eyesight and strengthen your teeth in just one visit. And my bruise balm, not to mention my nutrient potions, will have you healthier far more quickly than muggle medicine could do. Once we have your current health thoroughly documented, I see no reason for you to have to heal the muggle way. You need muggle vaccinations anyway, as well as wizarding ones. I see that your Aunt and Uncle have failed in that area as they have in all others." Snape pulled a piece of parchment from the small table next to him, as well as a quill and pot of ink, and began making a list. Harry leaned against the cushions behind him, half closing his eyes. It all sounded like so much. No doubt they would want to take pictures and wasn't that just a horrible thought? Would they be able to find a magical social worker that lived and worked in the muggle world? He knew that more than half of all muggleborns within the wizarding world returned to the muggle world after school, preferring to live with muggle technology and find more varied fields to work in, all while keeping just a toe in the magical world. Maybe they received the Daily Prophet and kept an account or two at Gringotts? Maybe that had a potions' or charms lab in their basement? Maybe they visited Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade during the holidays? But, otherwise, they wanted to keep their tellies and phones, and send their kids to muggle primary school just like their neighbors. How did one find magical people working as professionals in the muggle world, anyway? He was distracted from his thoughts by his teacher getting up and leaving the room. For a few more minutes there was silence, and then he could hear his Professor's voice drifting down the corridor.

Standing, he left the room and headed to his left. A couple of doors down, he peered around an open door into what appeared to be a sort of study. Predictably, it too was filled to the rafters with books. A large desk at the back of the room in front of a couple of book shelves and a window was clear of books however. Instead, a couple of neat stacks of parchment and several quills with one or two ink bottles were spaced evenly along its top. And there, on the right, was an old fashioned looking telephone. Harry gaped. He knew that Snape was a half-blood, his father being a muggle, and that he had grown up in the muggle world, but he still, somehow, never suspected that the dour potions' Master would have a telephone.

"That's right. Yes. In two and a half hours then. Yes. Thank you." He hung up the receiver and looked at Harry. "This room is not barred to you but please ask for permission to enter it, in future. These," he gestured to the stacks of parchment, one of which appeared suddenly higher than the other, "are where your summer Potion's essays are sent during the holidays. I spend many evenings here, grading. I would not want you, once you attend Hogwarts, to think you can use any of the other students essays from which to copy your own work." He glared but Harry could tell it was half hearted at best. He hid a smile.

"Yes, Professor."

"I've just made an appointment for you with a muggle doctor in London. It is in two hours which should give us enough time to get you some decent clothes. I assume you need an entire wardrobe?"

"Yes, Professor. Muggle clothes, as well?"

"Of course. Diagon alley first, however." Harry nodded. Snape held out his hand and Harry forced himself to take it. They apparated. Landing at the apparition point in the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, they went, first, to Madame Malkin's Robes for all Occasions. The Alley was positively teeming with people. Summer was always busy with parents and children both wanting to get out for some fresh air and fun in the warm weather. At one point, a large group of rowdy teenage boys came bursting out of Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke shop and Harry feared he might be trampled when, suddenly, he'd been swung up and onto his professor's hip, safely out of the way. He froze, even as the potions' Master continued to weave his way through the crowd, scowling fiercely at the group of loudly laughing boys.

"Oh! Hello, Professor Snape!" Said one of them, when he nearly ran into the man. The boy was tall, only an inch or two shorter than the dark-haired teacher. He had brown hair, grey eyes, and pale skin. He nose was on a the large side and he had that gangly quality boys got when they grew too fast in too short a time. His friends continued on down the street, yelling at him that they were headed to Quality Quidditch Supplies. He waved them off.

"Mr. Hampstead, a little decorum would not be amiss." Snape drawled. "You and your friends nearly trampled my ward into the ground." Harry, still somewhat frozen in shock at having been picked up so effortlessly by his teacher, hid his face against the man's shoulder. The professor wasn't having it, however. He bounced Harry a little, causing him to look up at him. "Harry, this is Lyle Hampstead, a sixth year Slytherin. He will be in his final year at Hogwarts when you start this fall. Mr. Hampstead, my ward, Harry Potter." The tall boy looked at the two of them in shock. Harry noticed his eyes flick up towards his forehead and he had to stop himself from trying to flatten his bangs over his scar.

"N...Nice to meet you, Mr. Potter. You can call me Lyle." He held out his hand and Harry shook it rather tentatively. He had no memories of Lyle Hampstead. Well, as a Gryffindor first year, why would he have known a Slytherin seventh year? At best they might have noticed each other in the Great Hall during meal times, but that would have been the only place their paths could have crossed. Still, the boy seemed friendly enough. He didn't appear to be much intimidated by the bat of the dungeons at any rate. Lyle looked at the Professor in astonishment. "I didn't know you had a ward, Professor! And Harry Potter..." Snape cut him off before he could begin loudly exclaiming his surprise to all passersby.

"I'm afraid there was an oversight regarding Mr. Potter's parents' will. It seems he should have been with me since...well. He has been living with relatives, but, now that the will has been found and read, I have custody of him. It is quite new for the both of us, however, so..."

"Say no more, Professor. I'll not spread it around." The boy actually had the audacity to grin. Harry decided he rather liked this Slytherin.

"See that you do not. I imagine I can count on you to help keep an eye on my charge at Hogwarts this coming year?"

"Of course, Professor. Especially if you get sorted into Slytherin, Harry! Er... Can I call you Harry?" Harry nodded. It was just weird being called Mr. Potter by a fellow student, even a really tall seventh year. "Great! Well, then, I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts, Harry, Professor." Waving, the gangly boy headed off into the crowd. Snape shook his head.

"How Mr. Hampstead made his way into Slytherin, I'll never know. He is endlessly cheerful." Harry had been thinking the same thing and he giggled a little, wiggling to be put down. Snape kept holding him, however, though the crowd had thinned a little. He strode purposefully to Madam Malkin's and didn't set him on his feet until they had entered the shop, dim after the bright summer sunshine. Harry straightened his shirt, his cheeks pink. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been carried around on someone's hip. If he ever had. Shaking his head to clear his eyes of tears, he straightened his shoulders. Right. New clothes at the age of ten! What a novel idea!

Chapter Text

With Harry leaving his Aunt and Uncle with only the clothes on his back, he needed every kind of attire there was. Under things, pajamas, trousers, shirts, robes, socks, shoes, jumpers, jackets, a good winter cloak, a lighter summer one, and so on. After watching the measuring tape caper around himself, going cross-eyed when it even tried to measure between his nostrils, he could only gape as he heard his new guardian read from his list, to the attendant, of what all they needed. Madam Malkin, herself, came out of the back when she overheard how large their order was going to be. Rolling up her sleeves, she gathered up fabric swatches and led the two men into choosing the textures and colors that would do best for each item. Harry was a little surprised when Snape encouraged him to choose as many colors as he fancied considering he only ever saw the man dressed in black. When the measurements were done, the fabrics and cuts chosen, and the items catalogued, the Madam was pleased to inform them that the new wardrobe would be sent to Spinner's End, Snape's home in Cokeworth, within a fortnight. Harry attempted to have the bill sent to Gringotts' Bank to be taken from the Potter Household Vault, but Snape refused.

"I haven't yet discovered the state of that vault, nor any of the others, and, until I do, it is safer to use my own vault. Besides, as your guardian, it is my duty to provide for you, whether your parents have made provision for you or not." And he refused to listen to any arguments. They left Madam Malkin's for the Leaky Cauldron where they ate at the same table they had sat at the evening before. This time Harry chose a chicken sandwich and mixed vegetables while Snape had the day's soup, split pea with ham. Afterwards, they had just enough time to make it to the clinic where a Dr. Avery was expecting them. Harry felt odd, sitting in the waiting room. Before leaving the Leaky Cauldron, Snape had transfigured his robes into a pair of dark jeans and a casual button up shirt, black, of course. He even tied his hair back into a low pony tail. Harry kept sneaking covert glances at him in the muggle taxi they had caught. He wouldn't be caught dead saying it aloud, but he had to admit, the professor was almost handsome in this casual attire. The Dr. office was noisy. There were several other children of varying ages there, with their parents, playing with the toys that had been set out in the waiting room. Harry just sat by his new guardian, trying to go unnoticed. He realized Snape must have brought him to a children only doctor.  A Pedia-something. He couldn't remember what they were called.

When his name was announced by a chipper young nurse with blond curls, he stood and was discomfited when Snape took his hand to lead him toward the nurse holding open a door for them. They went through and the nurse had him stand on a scale to get his weight and used a tape measure to determine his height. He noticed that some of her cheer seemed to be leaving her, especially when he had to take off his shirt and trousers and was left sitting on a paper covered exam bed in just his ratty shorts. His face burned with embarrassment. He could have gone his entire existence without Snape seeing him in any state of undress and here he was, practically naked, and with all his bruises and scars on display. The poor nurse looked a little sick as she took him in, and, in a very subdued voice, announced that the doctor would be in shortly. Harry took the opportunity to glare at his Professor. That poor woman had been so pleased with her day thus far and the two of them had just ruined it for her with a hefty dose of stark reality.

"Don't give me that look, Mr. Potter. I imagine you are rather uncomfortable and, perhaps, insecure, but I assure you this is a necessary step in getting you healthy again, as well as finding justice for what has been done to you." Harry just continued to glower. And shiver a bit. The room was a little chilly for someone wearing nothing but his shorts. The doctor came in then, a professional smile on his face. He stopped at the sight of Harry's back, but then, gamely, moved forward again. He introduced himself to the professor first.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Avery." He held out his hand and Snape shook it. The Dr. was a trifle past middle age, with a neatly trimmed brown beard heading towards grey, a head of salt and pepper hair, and brown eyes surrounded by laugh lines. He shook the potions' Master's hand firmly and turned to Harry who shook his hand also.

"My name is Professor Severus Snape and this is my new ward, Harry Potter. I'm afraid, upon receiving his guardianship just yesterday, it has come to my attention that his previous placement was not a good one. He has told me a little. Other than the injuries you can clearly see, he has also been denied food on a regular basis. I want a full health check for him with all the necessary documentation so that I might turn over his previous guardians to the law. He is also in need of several vaccinations as he has never received any." Snape, as ever, was succinct. The Doctor blinked a couple of times before squaring his shoulders and turning to the battered boy on his exam table.

"May I call you Harry?" Harry nodded after a beat. "Can you tell me about where you used to live?" The doctor was trying to sound gentle and encouraging but Harry thought he sounded condescending. Of course, the medical professional thought Harry was just a child, not a displaced adult in a child's body. A sharp look from the professor had him answering anyway, if somewhat mechanically.

"I lived at my Aunt and Uncle's house in Surrey. Aunt Petunia is my mother's sister and I was sent to live with them after my parents were...died." The doctor didn't indicate he had noticed Harry's slip so he continued. "They didn't like me much. They kept me in the cupboard under the stairs. Sometimes they would lock me in for days at a time. I got to eat, at least once, most days. They made me do most of the housework. That's the only time I got to go outside. To work on the garden or paint the fence or trim the hedges. Sometimes, Uncle Vernon would lose his temper and he'd hit me with his fists. Aunt Petunia would hit me with her frying pan or slap me. Or put my hands on the stove when it was hot. They told their son to hit me too. He hit the most." Harry stopped. That was enough information for the doctor to be getting on with and it was beginning to be difficult to talk around the heavy lump in his throat. He felt tears on his cheeks and wondered when he'd started crying. His ten-year-old self was always wanting to cry, it seemed. He glanced at his professor and wished he hadn't. The man's face was white with fury, his eyes open wide, and his mouth pinched. Harry looked away quickly.

"Alright." The doctor said, trying and failing to sound matter of fact, but keeping his voice soft, none-the-less. "Do you mind if I examine you?" Harry shook his head. The doctor took his stethoscope, put it in his ears, warned Harry that it was probably cold, and placed in on his chest. He moved it around several times, had Harry take several deep breaths, and then took it off. "Your heart and lungs sound strong." He said happily. Taking up a small flash light contraption, he looked at the back of Harry's throat and in his ears and eyes. He seemed a trifle troubled by what he saw in the large green eyes. "Did you ever get hit in the head, Harry?" The boy nodded. "Often?" The child nodded again. The doctor's mouth thinned for a moment before returning to his pleasant mask. "Alright, go ahead and lie down. I'm just going to palpate your tummy." He did so and Harry giggled a little. He was ticklish. The doctor smiled at this and then had him sit up and turn to the side so he could look at his back. "Harry, did your uncle ever hit you with his belt?" "Yes." "With the buckle part?" "Yes." Harry heard Snape grinding his teeth. "I see. Yes, you have a lot of scarring on your back from where it cut you. Fortunately, you haven't any cuts right now, so it's just a matter of time before all the bruises heal right up, but I'm afraid you're going to be a very sore little boy until then. I can give you some child safe anti-inflammatories to help with the pain and any swelling." This last he said to the professor who nodded. The doctor took up a small hammer, and, avoiding the bruises on his knees, tested Harry's reflexes.

The doctor took off his gloves and turned to the two of them. "Well, we need to do a few more things. With your permission," he nodded at Snape again, "I'd like to take some x-ray pictures to assess any damage to his skeleton. We'll need to take blood as well to test his vitamin and nutrient levels along with the function of his major organs. I noticed some of his teeth are a little loose in the back. That'll be due to malnutrition. During the x-rays, I want to examine his growth plates and the blood test will show me his hormone levels as well. Both of these will give me a better idea of how much his growth might have been affected by all of this. As for his weight and continuing nutrition, I'll print out some guides that will help you plan a menu designed to help him slowly gain the right amount of weight. He'll need vitamin and mineral supplements as well. As for the vaccinations, we'll start at the beginning. I'll just step out and order those tests. A couple of nurses will be in shortly. Mr. Snape, a word please?" The doctor left with the professor on his heels. A couple of nurses came in and got Harry's permission to take some pictures. They took some with him standing on a scale and with a tape measure to one side to show his height. They took several close up pictures of his bruises and scars. They even took a few photos of the lightening scar on his forehead which made Harry snicker internally. As they were leaving, one of the nurses told him the doctor would be in to see him again soon and that a social worker had been called in for him as well. When the potions' master came back, he looked perturbed and the boy was immediately filled with foreboding.

"Professor?"

"Harry, the doctor needs to do an exam of your private areas. He says it is up to you whether or not I am in the room. If you choose to have me stay, I will not look, I promise you." Harry gaped at him.

"What...why...?" "Harry, it's because...in case your uncle ever...touched you..."

"He didn't!" Harry immediately shouted. His heart was racing. It wasn't as if he hadn't ever been seen by a healer in this most private of ways. There had been that incident shortly into his partnership with Dean; a swelling hex aimed poorly, or perhaps not, by an angry witch refusing arrest. But that had mostly been funny on top of being incredibly embarrassing. Dean and Malfoy had laughed about it for days. Then, of course, he was a gay man who took his health down there, very seriously. He had enjoyed a lively and varied sex life, after all. But something about this seemed so invasive. He felt tears on his cheeks again. In the end, he'd chosen, much to his own surprise afterwards, to keep Snape in the room with him. Indeed, the man had stood next to him, facing him, and holding his hands while the doctor looked between his legs. A couple of pictures were taken of his backside to show that the scars and bruises continued down to about mid thigh, but, Harry knew, there was no sign of sexual assault. He had been spared that nightmare, at least. Still, once he was allowed to pull his shorts back on and don a hospital gown, he cried hard in Snape's arms in reaction to all of it. It was all so humiliating! When he had cried himself out and washed his face, he was taken to another room, put into some kind of heavy vest, and x-rays were taken of, Harry was certain, just about every part of his body. He stood, he sat, he laid on his back and his stomach; he held his hands under the camera, then was asked to put them over his head or rest them at his sides, or cross them over his chest. It took far too long. By the time he had been relieved of what, he was sure, were a couple of pints of blood and been given juice and crackers, he hardly cared about the shots he still needed. They weren't even all vaccinations. To Snape's utter fascination, he was given a couple of vitamin shots as well.

"Just like potions but injected instead of swallowed." He murmured to Harry but mostly to himself. By the time the social worker was allowed to sit down with Harry, the child was nearly asleep and she wasn't able to get much out of him. Snape spoke with her, mostly to ask if they could request a certain social worker for their case, which she frowned at but allowed, that, if they jumped through the right hoops, they probably could. She still took their information and gave hers in exchange. She informed him about the process they were facing and gave him several pamphlets that contained resources they could use in future. Later, Harry would wonder what information and, more importantly, identification Snape had been using for their visit. He appeared to have given their real names but did Snape have muggle I.D.? What about Harry? They hadn't even registered with the ministry yet. What paperwork had Snape had that proved they were who they said they were and that he was Harry's legal guardian? For now, though, he was too tired. And beginning to feel feverish, thanks, no doubt, to the inoculations he'd been given. He made no protest when Snape picked him up and carried him from the clinic. He fell asleep in the taxi, moaned through apparition, and fell asleep again in a soft bed, with warm blankets tucked around him, unaware that he wasn't at Spinner's End, but at a little cottage called Wide Glen, the home of one Poppy Pomfrey.

oOooOooOo

"The things those people, those monsters, did!" Snape was fuming. He had been ranting to Poppy for nearly half and hour. "Death is too good for them! I want to..."

"Severus, enough! That's enough. It's time to calm down now." Madame Pomfrey leaned back in her chair, motioning for Severus to take the seat opposite hers. He sat, breathing heavily. "Do you need a calming draught, Severus?" He shook his head, thought about it, and then shook his head again.

"I'm not panicking. I'm just angrier than I think I've ever been."

"Entirely understandable. Now, you've told me a great deal but it's all been rather disjointed. Please, will you start at the beginning? And have some tea. Your throat is beginning to sound hoarse." The Madame sipped her earl grey. It was her favorite. Snape took a long swallow from his cup and caught his breath, trying to organize his thoughts. His occlumency helped him here. Deliberately, he packed his anger away, to be examined later, and, when he looked up from his cup, he had gained his usual cold and calculating demeaner. Much as he might like to think of himself as passionless, he knew better. He had never been able to hide his emotions from Lilly. She had always brought them out of him, pulled them out of him like pulling of a bandage to expose a wound. It seemed her son had the same talent. Merlin curse the both of them. He looked at the Mediwitch. Poppy Pomfrey had been, perhaps, the only unbiased adult in all of Hogwarts throughout his time there as a student and still to this day. She had no favorites, cared not al all which house a student might come from, had no opinion of who their parents were, whether or not they did well in their studies, what talents they displayed, and so on. She cared only about their health and, with their health, she was unbending. Not even Dumbledore held sway within her infirmary. That was her domain and hers alone, and she made the decisions within its hallowed walls. As such, Severus was certain that, for the good of Harry's health and happiness, he could convince her not to go running to Dumbledore immediately with what he was about to tell her. So he finished his tea and began, as she had requested, at the beginning with his being called to Gringotts' Bank to hear the reading of the Potter's will.

He held nothing back except for the fact that his new charge had time traveled. He told her of the boy's inheritance test, of his cleansing and the magics they had discovered on his person, and he detailed, as much as possible, the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his relatives. He gave her the parchment from the diagnostic test he had run and promised to give her the medical file that the muggle doctor they had just seen intended to put together. Somewhat to his surprise, and, then again, not, she did not sneer at the efforts made by the muggle doctor but seemed, instead, to respect him as one medical professional to another. She did not entirely support his decision to keep the prosecution of the Dursleys entirely in the muggle world, but, when he explained that it had been the only way to talk Harry into taking action against his relatives, she relented. She left at one point to enter the sleeping child's room, her own spare bedroom, to perform her own diagnostic charm. She found herself feeling pride in Snape's abilities when her scan matched his exactly and she told him so. She ordered him to make several, very specific nutrient potions, bone strengthening potions, bruise balm, a dental foam that would strengthen and firm up his teeth, and recommended a very good eye healer that had an office in Diagon Alley to see about correcting the boys vision.

"Fortunately, it's the eyes themselves that have been damaged rather than the area in the boy's brain that controls vision. A much easier repair. Some of this is genetic as well. After all, James Potter also needed glasses. I wonder why his parents never took him to an eye healer? I suppose it is a rather new branch of healing. Some of the spells they use are less than thirty years old. Regardless, there is much we can do here to improve the child's health. I suppose you have some of the potions I want for him already?"

"Indeed," Severus answered, "they are part of those I make every summer for your infirmary, Madame." He quirked the corner of his mouth a little. "I shall have to brew the more specific nutrient potions, of course, and the foam for his teeth." Madame Pomfrey smiled gently at him and handed him two metal dishes, swooped in the shape of the lower and upper sets of teeth for him to put the foam into.

"Put this one along his upper teeth and this one on his lower ones and have him bite down gently for a full minute. That should do the trick. Also, at least six small meals a day, gradually increasing to more normal portions. It will take some time to stretch his stomach out a bit. At this point, there really aren't any foods he should avoid unless he comes across something that upsets his stomach. Oh, and he'll need stomach soother every day for a while. Some of those nutrient potions will come right back up without it. I want to see him again in a week."

"Thank you, Poppy. I'll take him home now." He stood. Madame Pomfrey stood also. She laid a hand on his arm.

"I was pleased to see no lasting damage from all of those spells and compulsions that were on the boy. The core leach frightened me especially. His core is recovering, however you may find he sleeps a lot over the next few days. Not only is his body healing, but it is trying to restore his magical levels to where they should be. Feed him, let him sleep, and get him out into fresh air and sunshine at least once a day if you can. That will do you some good as well, Severus." He sneered and she smiled before assuming her customary stoic expression once more. "I don't know what Albus was playing at, putting all of those spells on the boy. But, mind your feet, Severus. I don't want to see you falling. And watch the boy closely. If he begins acting strangely, another cleanse at Gringotts' may be in order." She nodded decisively. The potions' master looked speculative. Going into the other room, he gathered the boy up in his arms, shushing him when he began to stir, and apparated to Spinner's End. The child stirred a little more before quieting. Severus sat on his sitting room couch, strangely reluctant to put the sleeping boy down. He had never been one for touch other than his mother's and sometimes, Lilly's. Yet, when he had pulled Harry from under the feet of that group of boys, he had found himself enjoying the weight of the child propped on his hip. A warm sensation had filled his chest and surge of protectiveness had gripped him. He hadn't wanted to put Harry down so he had carried the boy to the shop, despite his wiggling. That same protectiveness kept the child in his arms now. He rocked the boy, the motion instinctual. He didn't even notice he was doing it.

Really, he should be getting dinner ready for them, but he sat, and rocked, and looked down at flushed cheeks, too thin, black unruly curls, a narrow chest, and tiny hands. He lifted one, looking at the bitten nails, and marveled at how small each finger was. Swaying, he thought over the last two days. So much had happened and it was only beginning. The little boy in his arms wasn't even that little, at least not mentally. But he had noticed that Harry's emotions were not adult ones. He cried much too easily, became angry or frustrated and then calm again in the blink of an eye. He was frightened one moment and then giggling the next. Certainly he seemed to have his memories from his past life. Time travel that spanned years, and not just a few hours, was...confusing...impossible...yet the child had sworn on his life and magic. The boy, at least, believed it with everything he had and he certainly acted like someone who had years of life experience to draw on. Altogether, it was giving Severus a headache. He wasn't sure what to think. Then there was Dumbledore. He couldn't claim to have completely trusted the man but that was more to do with the fact that he didn't trust anyone entirely. The old wizard's betrayal, his, frankly extreme, manipulation of a mere boy, hurt Severus. It hurt more than he thought it should. And if the old man was willing to put a core leach on a young child, perhaps even an infant since there was no way to know how long the leach had been there or when it had been applied, what would he do to someone like Severus who had joined the Dark Lord and become a Death Eater. It occurred to him that he should probably look into a cleansing for himself. And he still needed to fill out that paperwork at the Ministry. Plus, the boy needed muggle clothes. It looked like they were going to go out again tomorrow.

He sighed a little. If that was the case, he was going to have to stay up late brewing those potions. He should prepare the child a meal and get started right away if he wanted any sleep at all. But he looked down at the little face and kept rocking.

Chapter Text

When Harry came to he was warm, comfortable, and disinclined to move. He didn't know where he was, or what time it was, but he didn't much care. He blinked bleary eyes. Without his glasses he couldn't make out much, but the quality of the light suggested it was morning. He closed his eyes again and sleepily snuggled further into his warm mattress only to realize that his mattress was breathing. Startled he reared back, heard a groan, and was abruptly tipped to the side before falling suddenly to the cold, thinly carpeted floor. He yelped. A startled cry above him answered him. 

"Mr. Potter?" Harry looked up and saw a dark smudge looming over him. He blinked. As memories rushed over him he put the pieces together rapidly. He had been asleep on top of his Professor! What the actual, living...? Glasses were placed on his nose and the world came into focus. Before him sat the Professor, rubbing both hands over his face as if to clear the last dregs of sleep from his eyes. The man held out a hand to help Harry up. Harry took it and stood there awkwardly. 

"My apologies for dumping you to the floor just now, but I'm afraid you dug your elbow into my stomach and I reacted accordingly." Snape stood and stretched before heading upstairs and, presumably, to the loo. Harry sat on the edge of the couch, looking at it rather numbly. It was a ugly green brocade, faded and worn in some places. He had slept on his professor while his professor slept on the sofa. Right. The last thing he could remember was being apparated home from the Leaky. He'd been nearly asleep on his feet but why hadn't the professor just put him to bed? Surely he wasn't so heavy he couldn't be taken upstairs. The idea that the professor had fallen asleep while holding him was ludicrous. The man could barely stand him. To Snape, he was the spoiled celebrity that got away with everything. Harry stopped himself. He hadn't gotten away with school shenanigans in this time. Not yet, anyway. He hadn't met the professor for the first time in potions class, both of them burdened with erroneous ideas about one another. No. In this time, he had met the Potions Professor at Gringott's where they had immediately discovered Dumbledore's duplicity and, not long after that, the circumstances of Harry's home life up to this point. Snape's preconceptions about Harry had been turned upside down. As for Harry, himself, his opinion of the Professor was forever altered by the memories the man had shared with him shortly before his death. Time, and greater knowledge of the man and his history, had softened Harry's feelings towards his once most hated professor and he had long since forgiven him for his behavior while at Hogwarts. Behavior that was likely to be very different this time around. Harry put his head in his hands. It was too early for a headache and he needed to pee. Getting up, he headed to the downstairs loo to take care of that and to have a shower.

The adult sized towel was practically a blanket when wrapped around his body. He headed upstairs and was pleased to see that the few pieces of clothing that they had been able to take with them from Madam Malkin's yesterday had been placed in his room. He dressed and went back downstairs to find the Professor in the kitchen, freshly showered also, and making breakfast. The Potions Master indicated that Harry should start setting the table and showed him the cupboard where the plates were kept. After they had eaten, porridge for Harry again, but the boy noticed his teacher had poached eggs, Snape told him what they were going to do today.

"First I have some potions you need to take and a balm for your bruises. Then, you and I are going to start going through some of your finances. The portfolio I requested was delivered by owl while you were showering. I could handle it all for you but I suspect..." Harry looked up quickly and the man smirked knowingly, "Yes. Quite. I assume you'd like to manage as much of it yourself as you are able?" Harry nodded.

"I know I can't do much legally but I still want to know what is going on." He said.

"Mr. Potter, I will be pleased to do as you direct with your accounts, as long as I feel that what you are doing is both responsible and well thought out." He added a raised brow to his smirk. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I expected as much." He sighed. "I could have done without having to do this all again. You'll find that some of my accounts are in need of a few significant changes." He frowned. Last time he had gone through this, he'd had to rebuild most of the Potter fortune thanks to the "Manipulative Bastard" and his need to fund the Order of the Phoenix. "Before I came back in time, Dumbledore had practically drained my vaults to fund the war effort. Ironic. I pay with my life and my fortune also." The smirk on Harry's face was ugly. "At least this time, the depredations should not be quite so bad. The old man has the keys to my vaults, however." He looked at Snape his own eyebrow raised. The Potions Master frowned heavily. 

"The Goblins will issue new keys. In fact, they may have done so already. I expect we'll find them within the package they sent. Here." The dark haired man held out a small potions vial. "This is a stomach soother. You'll need this before you take the rest of your potions. Often, nutrient potions are rather hard on the stomach." Harry remembered. He took the potion. Then he took three more. A bone strengthener solution, a general nutrient potion, and a mineral solution. They were all familiar to him. He grimaced. Hopefully, he would not have to be on them for so long this time. Then Snape had him take off his shirt so he could apply the bruise balm. Once that had been absorbed into his skin, he took the tub into the bathroom so he cold apply it himself to his bum and legs. Coming back into the kitchen, Snape looked up from where he was directing the dishes in the sink in washing themselves. 

"I will be able to do quite a lot with the scars you have, but I'm afraid some of them won't fade completely." Harry shrugged and said,

"They didn't last time, either. Some of them were just too old. We'll probably be able to do better this time around." He smiled. The Professor beckoned him forward and he sat beside the man on the sofa. Snape took up the heavy portfolio and spread it across the low coffee table before them. With a sigh, Harry took up the papers for the three Potter vaults first. The primary Potter House Vault contained not only monetary assets but also artifacts collected by various Potter generations throughout the years. Harry could see that several of these, largely books, including the Potter Grimoire, were missing, as was nearly half the gold. The Potter Household Vault, a vault designed to fund Potter property maintenance, showed that the regular monthly withdrawals to see to the needs of each household had been stopped. A single, enormous withdrawal had nearly emptied it in 1983 and it had only begun to recover. The Trust Vault was largely untouched. Unsurprising, since Harry would be expected to access that vault when he turned eleven and any depredations would be immediately discovered. As he finished looking at each account, Harry handed the parchment rolls to Severus. The Professor frowned heavily as he read them over. The Peverell Vaults were largely untouched. The vaults were much older and warded so that only someone with Potter blood could enter them. However, though James and Lilly had looked them over once upon a time, they remained stagnant. No new investments, no large withdrawals, no circulation. A waste of resources. It was from these vaults that Harry had rescued the Potter accounts and it looked like he would need to do the same again. Still, things were in better shape now than they had been when he'd gotten to them last time. As Heir Black he could only access the Black Family Trust Vault, which was largely empty since Sirius and Regulus had used it during their Hogwarts years. It would have been their task to fill it again for their heirs but Regulus had died when he was only eighteen and Sirius, though he had named Harry his heir, hadn't gotten around to it before he was incarcerated. Gringott's hadn't existed during the Founders' Era so there were no vaults specifically for them. He supposed he could try to claim the Gaunt Family vaults as Lord Slytherin, but they were likely empty so why go through all the legal trouble? Sighing again, Harry scrubbed his face with his hands. His teacher was still scowling as he looked through everything.

"Its not as bad as I thought it might be." Said Harry. "We should stop by Gringott's so I can hire a new account manager." Snape looked at him with raised eyebrows and Harry grimaced. "The current manager is in Dumbledore's pocket. His name is Griphook. At least, that was the case before I travelled back. He died last time. During the war. I guess I'll need to fire him this time." Snape leaned back and looked thoughtful.

"In the future, who did you hire?"

"Her name was Hasplance. She was very good. Shrewd. And loyal."

"The Goblins are already aware that Griphook takes bribes?" Snape got to his feet and stretched. Harry laughed. 

"Oh course! Taking bribes is a time honored tradition for Goblins. I'll be bribing Hasplance to not take bribes from anyone else."

"Naturally." The Potions Professor smirked and held out his hand. Harry took it and they were off. Now that it was no longer a weekend, Diagon Alley wasn't so busy and Harry didn't need to ride his new guardian's hip in order to keep from getting run over. Gringott's was quiet. FeralEye was the floor manager again and he greeted them warmly before ushering them into a conference type room with a long table in the center surrounded with padded chairs. Harry and Snape took two chairs and spread out their portfolio upon the table while FeralEye went to fetch the Potter account manager. Griphook was...oily. That was the best way Harry could describe him. His past with the creature was complicated. The Goblin had betrayed him, not that Harry was completely clean in that encounter either. Of course, that future may not even happen in this time. Still, the Goblin was being paid by Dumbledore, so they really should part ways. After greeting him ritually, Harry informed him that his position as the Potter account manager was terminated. 

"I thank you for your service for these past years and you will receive the traditional 500 galleon severance gift." Harry bowed. Griphook, looking a little stunned and angry, could do nothing more than bow in return. He would not lose face by demanding an explanation.

"May your coffers be ever overflowing." He grumbled.

"And your Hearth ever bright." Harry responded and watched as the short Goblin stumped out of the conference room in high dudgeon. FeralEye turned to Harry with a smirk. He had never liked the little worm. Smarmy, that one. 

"Would you like to see a list of possible replacements, Lord Potter? Professor?" It was Snape who responded.

"Actually, we have a Goblin in mind, already. Her name, I believe, is Hasplance." FeralEye raised his brows in surprise.

"I must warn you. Hasplance is a young goblin. She has only just finished training, under Thickwrist, to manage an account. Usually, our recent graduates begin with smaller accounts. A nice Muggleborns' vault, for example. Though she has done wonderfully well in her training. Set to be one of our best, I expect."

"Exactly!" Harry smiled without showing his teeth. "She's talented and eager to prove herself. If needed, I would be amenable to oversight by her mentor, Thickwrist, did you say, for the first year or two." FeralEye narrowed his eyes in thought.

"I shall have to make enquires. Master Sharpener will need to approve, as well."

"That is acceptable." Said Snape. "When may we expect to hear from you?"

"Tomorrow, at the latest."

"Very well, we shall await your owl. In the meantime, we'd like to visit the Potter House Vault, please." So saying, the potions master pulled one of the brand new keys, that had been sent with the portfolio, out of his pocket. Nodding briskly, FeralEye led them down to the lobby floor and through the heavy door at the back that led to the carts. Strapped in, Harry whooped with glee during the ride, making his new guardian roll his eyes. 

"I never get tired of that!" Harry cried, as they arrived at the vault. Severus shook his head. Feraleye led them forward, took the key, and unlocked the vault. He handed the key back to the Professor and informed them that he would wait. Entering the vault, Harry ran his hand through his ever messy hair.

"I once had this all organized." He told the Professor, looking at the heaps of items all around. The walls were lined with shelves that mostly held books and small artifacts, many of which were missing. On tables and on the floor were larger items. A great many trunks that generations of Potters had taken to school now held various items from their lives, some valuable, most sentimental. Portraits were stacked around, leaning drunkenly against each other and inactive since they weren't hung against a wall in a magical location. Of course there were chests full of galleons with smaller bags of sickles and knuts stacked around them. Several more chests held jewelry, though much of that was also missing. A few magical artifacts were scattered around, though nothing really powerful. Mostly just family wands and a few mirrors enchanted to speak to whoever stood in front of them. The most valuable Potter artifact, the invisibility cloak, was in Dumbledore's office along with the Potter Grimoire. Harry wanted both, sooner rather than later. Stepping forward, the small boy headed to the left where, he knew, was a wand holster that had once belonged to a Timothy Potter made of fire crab hide. Supple and with a thin strip of the extremely valuable jeweled shell embedded along one side, the holster was enchanted with 'notice me not' charms and fit snugly against his inner arm. It was his favorite. He'd never found another that was so comfortable to wear. Further along that same shelf were several family wands. None of them were a great match for himself. He'd tried them all. Yet, he was feeling a strange pull this time around.

Coming to stand before the shelf, he noticed a wand that hadn't been there last time. It must have been removed before he came of age. Or will be removed at some point in this time, he reminded himself. Reaching out, he picked it up. It was longer than his holly wand. Maybe thirteen inches? The wood was smooth, a warm brown color, and there were geometric carvings around the handle. The wand felt good. Really good. Better even than his first wand from Ollivander's. It fit his palm like it was made for him alone. His fingers tingled around it, sparking with magic. Giving it a good swish, gold light burst forth, filling the already brightly lit vault with a warm radiance that reminded him of coming home. Professor Snape, who had been sorting through a pile of books, looked up, startled and a little awed. As the gold light faded away, he came to where Harry stood, staring at the wand in wonder.

"I see one of the Potter wands approves of you." Harry merely nodded, speechless. "Well," said the potions master, "That's one less thing we need to buy for you, then."

"This wasn't here, before." Harry murmured.

"Then we are fortunate it hasn't been taken yet." Snape headed back to the books as Harry nodded. Several minutes later, and after the Professor had set aside some books he wished to take out, as well as some funds, they left the vault, talking of what they needed to do to retrieve the items that had been, essentially, stolen.

"Many of the items won't be retrievable, of course. Some of the books, maybe, but if any of the jewelry pieces were too distinctive, they'll have been taken apart and their components sold separately." Snape said during the cart ride back. Harry only nodded. He didn't much care about that. He wanted the cloak and the grimoire. The money would be nice, also. He hadn't been able to sue Dumbledore for the funds before, since the man had been deceased, but he could do so now. The question was, should he? While it would be only natural for his new guardian to begin setting the Potter accounts to rights, as he saw fit, now that he had guardianship of Harry, it was perhaps unwise to declare their opposition of the old man just yet. They could, reasonably, request any items that Dumbledore had "borrowed" from the vaults be returned. Whether or not the old manipulator would actually part with the cloak and the grimoire would be telling, indeed. Arriving back at the entrance, the man and boy left the bank and headed to the Leaky Cauldron for some lunch.

OooOooOoo

Harry ran his fingers along a set of very soft cotton pajamas. He chose some in his size and looked around for the Professor. After lunch, the two of them had headed into Muggle London to supplement Harry's new wardrobe with several pairs of jeans, t-shirts, jumpers, and a pair of new trainers. Heading around a tall display of sunglasses, Harry could see his new guardian looking at winter coats. Right, he would probably need one of those on top of the winter cloak that had been purchased yesterday. Heading the Potions Master's way, Harry blew out a breath. He wasn't feeling panicky today, so, that was an improvement. He felt strange, though. He found himself surprised again and again by his reactions to things. Mostly, his thirty-eight year old mind seemed to be in charge, but, occasionally, his ten year old self caught him off guard. Take the pajamas, for instance. They had Transformers on them and he would never have considered them as an adult but now he found himself wondering if Snape had a tv and would he be allowed to catch a few episodes? He'd gotten to see a show every now and then at the Dursleys, mostly when they were out of the house. He liked Transformers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Spiderman best. All in all, his warring emotions and the hormones of a child had him feeling wrong-footed and unsure. Snape barely glanced at the pajamas before nodding his agreement and wrapping Harry into a coat to check its fit. It was too big and definitely too hot to wear indoors and in the summer. Harry didn't complain however, even as Snape helped him into a blue coat made of wool and covered by a water resistant outer layer, polyester maybe? It fit and was comfortable, at any rate, so it joined the pile of clothes waiting to be purchased. Once again, the Professor insisted on paying for it all, despite Harry's offer to use his trust vault.

After they had gotten back to Spinner's end, they enjoyed an afternoon tea. Harry found himself nodding off over his chocolate biscuit. The Professor announced his intention to spend the rest of the afternoon brewing, so Harry headed upstairs to put away the rest of his new wardrobe. He ended up sprawled, fully clothed, atop the covers of his bed, fast asleep.

OooOooOoo

Severus always enjoyed brewing. Whether it was a new and challenging potion, an experiment, or even a common concoction that he had made a thousand times, he always found value in it. The teeth strengthening foam he was making now was not unknown to him. There were always a few students per year that ended up with loosened teeth. Whether through a bludger to the face, a fist fight gotten out of hand, or a charm gone wrong, he'd been called on for the tooth foam many times before. This familiarity allowed him time to think. He was feeling overwhelmed and not a little afraid.  How in the world had he ended up with a child to raise? An abused, famous child, with a target on his back, who had traveled through time and was actually an adult. People said there was no manual when it came to raising children, but Potter was in a world of his own. Nothing about the boy was at all usual, or simple, or easy. He had come bursting into Severus', admittedly, rather unhappy life, upended what he had thought was real and true, i.e. time travel through years is impossible, Dumbledore is all that is good and trustworthy, and Potter is a spoiled brat just like his father, and made him, the Dungeon Bat, family, of a sort, all in a matter of hours. Feeling his hands begin to shake, Severus quickly put the potion into stasis, set down his paring knife, and took a second to just breathe.  Right, he needed a moment to panic a little. If he didn't, if he bottled it all up, then he would panic a great deal later on without being able to control it.

So he leaned back on his stool, shaking, feeling tears roll down his cheeks, and let his thoughts race while he screamed and panted through his fingers. When he felt himself begin to tire, he thanked his rune studies professor for the silencing runes he had on his basement laboratory, dried his cheeks, and drank some water. There. That was better. Normally, he'd prefer to blast several dueling dummies to bits with his wand until he was sweaty and spent, but he didn't have warded dueling chambers in his childhood home, so yelling and crying was his final recourse. With his mind feeling a bit clearer and his hands steady, he went back to work.  Later, after a simple dinner of soup and bread, he had Potter brush his teeth before he spread the foam into the little metal dishes Madame Pomfrey had given him. The boy looked amusing as he tried to keep his lips and tongue away from the goop on his teeth, failing miserably, of course, for the full minute the potion needed to do its job. When Severus told him he could rinse it off, the child bolted for the kitchen sink so fast he toppled his chair over. Chuckling, the Professor righted the chair and went to pour a glass of juice for Potter who was desperately gargling water. From his own experience with the potion during his school days, he knew it tasted vile, and the juice would help to rinse the taste out. Panting, after finishing his juice, Potter said,

"That stuff is disgusting! Please tell me I don't have to do that again!"

"Unless you manage to take a Bludger to the mouth while at school, you shouldn't need to. Now, come, sit, let's discuss tomorrow's schedule." Harry joined his Professor on the ugly brocade couch wondering if he dared to suggest to Snape that they replace it. He didn't.

"In the morning, I'd like us to head to the ministry," the Potions Professor began, " to see to your change of guardianship paperwork. I'm sure the entire ordeal will take longer than expected, so, if we're not already exhausted and wanting to come home, we can look for a good attorney in the afternoon. Speaking of exhaustion, I took you to see Madame Pomfrey last night. You slept through the entire visit." Harry's eyes widened comically.

"She is the one that gave me those little metal dishes for your teeth." Severus said, gesturing towards the sink where Harry had spat the things out onto the porcelain before turning on the water. The boy glared at them, his nose wrinkled.

"She mostly agreed with what the muggle doctor told us, though we will, of course, be using magical means to heal you much more quickly and completely. She wants to see you again next week to check on your progress. She'd like you to see an eye healer about your vision problems. There is a shop dealing in eye wear at Diagon Alley that should either have a healer on call or know where to refer us." The child nodded at this.

"While I was training to become an Auror, I was told to do the same thing. That shop has two healers that work with it. Healer Coates was the one I saw. I liked her. She should be there, even though I've come back so far. She told me she'd been an eye healer for over thirty years."

"Then we can go to see her. Tomorrow, if we have time. Poppy wanted me to tell you that you shouldn't be surprised if you need to sleep a great deal for the next several weeks. Not only is your body trying to heal from long term injury, but your core is recovering after the removal of the core leach. Let me know, while we are out, if you need to rest. It is no great matter to come home and do the rest of what we need to accomplish the following day. Do you have any questions about your health?"

"Did Madame Pomfrey say how long I'd need to be on the nutrition supplements? I was on those potions for years before."

"She did not, but you may ask when we see her next. I imagine you will be taking those potions for a long time again, however." He reached over to pat the boy's hand in sympathy, ignoring the child's automatic flinch at a hand coming his way. From his own experience growing up with his abusive father, he knew that, though he shied away from touches again and again while at school, he also desperately needed that contact. He believed the muggles called it being "touch starved". As an adult without a family of his own, he assumed he was still in need of positive touch, just like the boy. Perhaps, as they learned to trust each other, he and this child could learn to live like a real family, hugs and all. Shaking himself, he flicked his wand, summoning the tubs of bruise balm and scar cream from the bathroom where Potter had left them this morning. Handing them to the boy, he said,

"These should be applied again before you head to bed." Sighing, the child once more took off his shirt and turned so that Severus could rub the creams into his back and arms. He'd continue to allow the child to apply the ointments to his chest, belly, legs, and backside himself. After the boy had gone upstairs to bed, Severus indulged himself with a single finger of Fire Whiskey. Leaning back in his favorite arm chair, he once more took up Potter's financial portfolio and began to go through it. The Potters had amassed a great deal of wealth at one point. Not only did they have a lot investments, several of which were still viable, but Fleamont Potter's invention of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion had provided royalties throughout the rest of his life and those would continue until, let's see, the man had died in...1979, so...until 2079 according to Wizarding patent law! However, now, with the monthly amounts that were being paid out of the accounts, coupled with large withdrawals here and there throughout the years, fully half, if not more, of Potter's wealth, that had been available at his parent's death, was gone. Severus wondered how much could be recovered. Pulling up several monthly account statements, the potions master began to take notes, his eyes narrowed. For a long time, the sitting room was quiet, the soft ticking of the clock and the scratching of a quill the only sounds. When the clock on his mantlepiece startled him by chiming out that it was midnight, he realized that he had been hunched over for too long. Carefully, he was not as young as he once was, he stretched out his back.  He had several pages of notes, to-do lists, and questions that he'd written down, scattered around at his feet. Waving his wand, he gathered the pages into a neat stack and left them on his side table. His whiskey, he noted, was still there, untouched. Feeling the weight of all that he had discovered, and how much he still didn't know or understand, he knocked the whole thing back in one swallow before heading up to bed.