Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Look, Lupin," Harry said, sweeping one hand through ragged hair and giving Remus a wide-eyed pleading look. Through Remus' haze of grief and drugs he was painfully reminded of every time James had charmed him into taking part in some horrible scheme. "Can I talk to you?" He jerked his head back towards the far end of the Great Hall with an impatient twist to his mouth.

"You may," Remus said. He wanted to be perversely thick and pretend he didn't understand Harry's meaning, but he'd been in the chair by the cot where Dora was laid out for -- oh -- it must be hours, now. When he stood his bones crackled like wood in a fire. The Cruciatus Curse that had knocked him out had tensed every muscle and sent blinding agony along every nerve. He still felt like he'd been through the worst five Changes of his life all at once.

He made it out of his chair and managed to walk mostly upright, albeit shuffling like an old man, and Harry followed at his heels. He went through the doors and Harry moved silently around him to take the lead, going past the stairs and into the second classroom on the right. Harry ushered Remus inside and shut the door, casting a quick Lumos. The familiar smell of ink and dust overwhelming.

"I've a favour to ask of you," Harry said. He walked over to an empty table and twitched something aside. Where there had been nothing Remus now saw a small lump of a child, curled sleeping on one side. Harry looked down and grimaced. "I bewitched him," he said, his voice curling up uncertainly at the end, as if he wasn't entirely sure. "He should have died," Harry went on, looking around with a stubborn expression that was both defiant and guilty. "What the snake did to him, it was poison I think, I don't know. . . ."

"Who?" Remus asked, and Harry lowered the light. The child's long tangle of black hair was painfully familiar, as was the line between his eyes as he scowled in his sleep. "Oh. Dear."

"The Dark Mark's gone," Harry said, crossing his arms. "He lost his memories. That means -- he's gone back to being just a child, right? I can't very well turn him in, and -- " he stared at Remus -- "people aren't that good at taking care of orphans."

"No," Remus agreed. He took a few steps forward. "An Unbirthing Venom, I imagine. Very expensive, because the law's unclear on whether reversed aging is murder or not. The only case I ever saw was complete, all we had left was an egg and a sperm and an empty set of robes."

Harry looked deeply embarrassed by the word sperm. "It wasn't enough poison, I guess." He waved his hand, making the light dance wildly off the walls. "I was going to -- I didn't know, not until I got here, about Tonks. I wanted to ask her, because she's kind, you know, and there's Teddy, but," he stopped the swirl of words by twisting his mouth shut and shoving one hand in his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Remus hunched his shoulders up. He wanted to be able to accept condolences gracefully, but all the words stuck in his throat like a fistful of rusted nails. Finally he managed to get out, "So am I."

"Do you, do you know anyone who might -- " Harry ventured, and pointed at the child who was all that remained of Severus Snape. "Despite everything, he's just titchy and I can't -- " Harry broke off again, grimaced, and drew a finger across his throat with a roll of his eyes.

"No," Remus said faintly.

"And not Azkaban either, and not Hogwarts, and the Weasleys must hate him. I even thought about asking my aunt, she could move the winter woollens out of the understairs cupboard."

"I'd be happy to take him," Remus cut in. Harry let out his breath loudly and looked desperately weary and childlike himself. "Two children can't be that much harder than one to look after, now can they?"

*

Remus had been wrong before, he would certainly be wrong again, but when he recalled telling Harry that two children would be no trouble he had to laugh at himself for the incredibly arrogant and ignorant wrongness that had been.

It wasn't like he knew even the first thing about children. Even the most liberal wizards and witches still put their children's safety ahead of all their ideals and talk of being unbiased towards werewolves. Teddy had been the first newborn infant Remus had ever held; Severus was the first child he'd had the pleasure of dragging from a shop in a hysterical rage due to missing a nap and the temptation of a display of ice lollies. He bought both Wizarding and Muggle child-care books, which he was generally too tired to consult. When he did, comparing the one to the other, he found that all the advice contradicted.

When in doubt, he did what the Muggles did. Wizards had a rather brutal sink-or-swim approach to childhood survival.

Immediately after Dora's funeral, Remus had moved the three of them down to the little house his parents had left him. Andromeda had managed the arrangements with formidable efficiency. She'd hired a house-elf to come every other afternoon, stopping his protests with mentions of dirty nappies and laundry. Remus had some money in his vault; Andromeda had given him what had been Dora's. He'd tried to refuse that as well, but Andromeda had raised her perfect eyebrows and stared him down.

"As if she wouldn't have wanted her family provided for," Andromeda had said, bitterly brittle. "I'll be travelling on the Continent with Cissy -- we need to get away and mend our bridges." Andromeda's voice wavered only a little. She slanted her head to the side. "Whatever were you thinking, taking on a war orphan?"

"That every child needs a loving home," Remus had said. He believed that down in his bones; he'd been through his crisis of faith in his ability to father, and emerged more confident, he thought.

His biggest problem was that he didn't believe Severus was entirely gone. He thought about this the first night in his house, after the children were asleep. Even though by trial and error (many, many errors) he had learned that Severus liked chocolate biscuits and despised wool against his skin and needed to nap straight after lunch, he never had the sense that the man he'd known was vanished. Remus had sat with Alice and Frank Longbottom in hospital after their torture. They had been blank, erased. Severus was not like that. He acted, Remus thought with a twist to his heart, the way Severus Snape must have done when he was three years old.

Teddy woke him throughout the night, at twelve and two and five and seven. Remus did not feel very refreshed in the morning when he crawled out of bed and waved all the curtains open with his wand, despite the syrupy sunlight that fell in warm pools across the stone floor. He set Teddy in the rather ghastly cradle that Andromeda said Dora had used and set the mobile over it moving in an eddy of magical breeze. He whipped together drop scones, adding in small pieces of dried apricot to appeal to Severus' sweet tooth. Severus appeared in the doorway just as the first golden brown towers were cooked, and stood there, in the shadow of the corridor, watching.

"I set your place there at the end," Remus said, pointing. The chair was low, but Severus usually knelt on the seat. "Do you want milk? Juice? Tea?"

Severus shook his head. He was wearing green pyjamas with a bear on the front, because Remus had insisted on buying all their clothes at Muggle stores. He'd felt a bit horrified at putting Severus Snape in anything colourful and childish, but the pyjamas had been the softest and with a loose fit that Severus could tolerate without fussing or itching.

"Well, go on then," Remus said. He put three drop scones on Severus' plate. "Shall I cut them for you?" Severus' lower lip stuck out. "Come here," Remus said, and before he could second-guess himself he scooped Severus up in one arm and landed him on his chair with a swing. Severus was wiry -- thin and too light for his probable age. Usually he flinched from being touched. Remus tried to respect that, but there were things no three-year-old could be expected to do, he thought, cutting the drop scones into bite-sized pieces. Remus sat down at his own place and started demonstrating how tasty his breakfast was through over-exaggerated enthusiasm. Sleeplessness made him punch-drunk.

After they ate (Severus only after Remus made a show of turning his back as he did the washing up), Remus put Teddy into a one-piece thing that the salesclerk had assured him wasn't a dress and helped Severus manage a t-shirt and a pair of track bottoms. Severus had blue trainers with Thomas the Tank Engine over the toes and Velcro fasteners. Remus talked the whole time they were getting ready to go out: he worried that Severus didn't know what was going on.

"We're going up to the shops," he said, checking the contents of the changing bag against the list Andromeda had pinned to the inside lining. "There's a park on the way, with a bit of a pond. Maybe ducks. It's not a long walk, ten minutes or so. The town's small. We have a castle, though. Kind of ruinous. And a pound shop. You might enjoy that," he added, and tied a bonnet on Teddy to cover his changeable hair. "Shall we go?"

Severus didn't say anything, but ghosted after Remus as he went out of the front door and collected the pushchair from around the side of the house. He set Teddy in, doing up all the straps and unlocking the wheels with a nudge of his toes.

It turned out that a ten-minute walk for an adult could take upwards of an hour with children. Severus rescued three snails from the pavement, picking them up and setting them carefully in the nearest garden. Remus supposed out loud that the snails would be happier there, but kept to himself the certainty that the gardens' owners would rather be snail-less. The pushchair was awkward to wheel around trees and other obstacles; Remus had to be creative. Just when they crested the winding hill road and could see the high street below, Severus started dragging his feet. Remus took his hand and steered one-handed; by the time they got to the foot of the hill, his shoulder muscles were cramping in protest.

Remus stopped first at the pound shop, where Severus found a package of small metal cars and fell in love. Remus wasn't above bribery; with the carrier bag holding his cars clutched tightly, Severus was remarkably co-operative through the ordeal of grocery shopping.

The walk home took longer, as everyone was tired. Remus' feet hurt, Teddy was awake and fussing, and Severus kept to a snail's pace. Remus was relieved when they reached the lane, though there was no pavement and he was wary of cars. They passed the big empty field, and then the sheep pasture, and then the Patels' house, with the caravan under tarps in the front garden. Mrs Patel was taking in her laundry, and Remus called hello. She looked up, raised her hands in an exaggerated gesture of surprise, and bustled over to coo at the baby.

Remus took a breath to brace himself and introduced Teddy and Sev. Mrs Patel produced two sweets from her apron, and then looked at Teddy and shook her head.

"You'll have to eat this for your brother," she told Severus, handing him both. Severus pulled one hand away from his bag, took both sweets with a solemn expression, and then ducked behind Remus instead of saying thank you.

Remus said it for him, and said that Severus was shy. "My wife just died," he added, and had to swallow hard twice to push the grief down. "I wanted to get away from the city. I thought a change might be good for the children," he added, even though he'd been the one needing change.

"Well, you poor dear," Mrs Patel said, wide-eyed, and Remus had no doubts that by nightfall the whole village would know. "If you ever need -- "

"That's very kind," Remus said firmly, and made his escape.

The southern pasture fell away broad and green and empty, tipping down to a thin line of trees and the distant railway line. That meant that the cows must have been moved across the road, behind Remus' house. He had a sturdy stone fence that had worked so far to keep the cows out, but he also had a lot of temptingly overgrown grass and an apple tree. He wondered if Severus liked cows.

There was a curl of smoke rising from his chimney, so Remus assumed that Victoria the house-elf had arrived and was preparing lunch. He sent Severus in to wash his hands, parked the pushchair and picked Teddy up, and went through the house looking for Victoria. He found her in the back garden, pegging up the washing.

"Hello," Remus said. She just glared at him, jaw set, and then told him there were bacon and tomato sandwiches on the table and borscht in a pot on the fire. Remus said thank you; Victoria fixed him with a narrow, bitter look.

This time Remus had no trouble getting Severus to eat. He gave Teddy his milk and put him down in the cot, and then lay down just for a minute to get Severus settled for his nap.

He woke three hours later to the sound of the door chime, and was opening the door before he was properly awake. It was Mrs Patel, carrying a large paper sack full of toys her grandchildren no longer played with on their visits.

"These are the best years," she told Remus, waving off his sleep-befuddled invitation in for tea. He ducked inside to set the toys down and grabbed a tin of biscuits that Victoria held out with more exasperation than he'd ever seen in a house-elf. "Before you know it, they'll be sucked into Nintendos and Wiis. Thank you," she said, taking the tin that Remus was offering awkwardly, and patted his arm. "You'll let me know if you need anything."

"I certainly will," Remus said. He heard Teddy start to wail. Mrs Patel waved goodbye and pulled his front door firmly shut.

Remus hurried to the kitchen, but found that Victoria already had the wet nappy taken care of and was trying to feed Teddy with a bottle as big as her arm. Remus felt a prickle between his shoulder blades as if he were being watched, and turned to see Severus staring at the sack of toys with an intensity of interest that made Remus grin.

"Those are yours," he said. "Why don't you tip them out and see what's in there?"

Severus didn't need to be told twice. He tipped the whole lot out on the floor, cars and blocks and balls, dolls with tangled hair and the pieces for a small model railway.

"I'm not tidying that up," Victoria said, levitating Teddy around so that she could wash his face with a bit of gauze. Teddy sneezed in protest.

"Of course not," Remus agreed. "It's not in your contract."

"Don't even like kids," she went on, fluffing Teddy's blanket and tucking him in firmly. "I always wanted to be a singer on the telly. Top of the Pops."

Remus couldn't imagine a world where that was possible; he'd never heard a house-elf speak on Wizarding wireless, much less seen one put on a frilly dress and sing in front of Muggles. He felt ashamed for that. Changes were coming, but not fast enough. Not enough. He knew that if not for Dora's money he'd have trouble supporting his family, as the employment restrictions for werewolves still in force.

"You should try out," Remus said, trying to keep his voice light and his eyes on Severus rooting about blissfully in the clutter.

Victoria conjured up an apron and tied it on. "I can't carry a tune," she said. "Breaks my heart, but what can you do?" She busied herself with turnips, obviously done with the conversation.

Severus took up one train car in each hand and walked over to Remus' father's old television set, disused for ages and home to vigorous nests of spiders. "Ivor," he said, gesturing at the television and then at Remus. He looked more animated and hopeful than he had so far.

Remus did not say that Ivor the Engine had likely been off the air for over thirty years; not when this was the first thing Severus had said to him since he'd turned into a child. Remus dropped to the floor instead and started linking together the curved wooden pieces of train track to make an oval. "We'll need to get a video box," he said, and started making a station. "It's not on today. Maybe Saturday." Remus wondered who he could owl who knew where to buy video cassettes. Perhaps Hermione Granger. Surely she was familiar with the technology.

It took several more minutes and the building of a listing castle to lure Severus away from the television. Remus wondered more about what Severus' childhood had been like. Whether he had been raised Muggle, and how old he'd been when he'd learned that magic was real. How many times he'd been told to keep quiet or else; how he'd learned over time to use words like elegantly precise weapons and to mistrust any suggestion of friendship or kindness. Remus saw the roots of those traits already taking hold in Severus the child. It made him ache, and feel angry.

He was, at the very least, he thought, the sort of person who would not try to kill a child's spirit.

The first full moon came their second week after moving in, which was too soon. If Remus could have put the change off he would have waited until Severus was properly settled in and not still creeping about, mouselike. Of course, if the change could be put off, Remus would hold it off forever.

He paid Victoria extra to stay the night with the children and to serve Severus' favourite foods for supper, butter bean soup and hot cheese scones. Hermione had sent him a parcel with more videotapes for his growing library, another one of Ivor the Engine and one about Postman Pat (and his black and white cat). Severus could choose one for the night and one for the morning, Remus had said. He told Victoria he'd be home as soon as he could.

The change was every bit as ghastly as Remus had anticipated. Hermione had also sent him sachets of the preparation the Ministry required werewolves to take, claiming it was better than Wolfsbane. When the powder was mixed with hot water, it bubbled and steamed the way it ought, but when Remus screwed up his courage and gulped it down it tasted strongly of lemons and chalk. He doubted its efficacy at preventing anything other than the common cold, and so he'd made preparations.

He Apparated into the old icehouse that he used when he was in the area. His father had charmed it to be unfindable and unmappable, as well as inescapable and also always a pleasantly warm twenty-eight degrees inside. Remus always found it comforting to be surrounded by the spells that had survived his father even after death. He was, inarguably, a monster, but he had been loved.

In the morning, when the confusion bled away from his mind and his emotions were his again and not the wolf's crimson rage, he lay curled on the floor and remembered the times he'd changed when Dora had been there for him in the morning. He hadn't wanted her to ever see him as the wolf, but she'd told him not to be a stubborn ass and brought him warm blankets and clean clothes, and bandaged up any cuts matter-of-factly.

He missed her.

He sat up and told himself firmly that self-pity was unattractive in a man his age. He forced himself to his feet, twisted and stretched to get the worst of the pulled muscles pliable, took down his wand, summoned his clothes down from the high shelf, and got dressed. When he thought he was presentable, he Apparated straight into his bedroom.

He could hear Severus screaming, high-pitched rage compounded by tears and snot and accompanied by the sound of things being thrown.

Remus swallowed down two spoonfuls of a generic Vigourising solution and enchanted a spot on the wall into a mirror. He looked like he was coming off a bad drunk, he decided, with his hair matted and dirty and scratches all down the side of his face and neck. He carefully vanished the worst of the dried blood, took a deep breath, and followed the shrieks out to the living room.

Severus was standing in the centre of the room. His face was blotchy and red. When he turned to see Remus his mouth fell into a slack circle; then he screamed again and turned to whip a block at Victoria, who was sitting on the sofa feeding Teddy his milk with the deft use of a hover charm. She was also flipping through the pages of Hex!uality (the magazine for Wytch Wymmyn), but despite the distractions she averted the block with a quick flick of her finger.

Remus tried asking Severus what he was upset about, but finally gave up and dropped to the floor to sit tailor-style. He put an arm around Severus' waist and pulled him backwards until he tipped into Remus' lap, and then Remus held him tightly, rocking. Severus struggled until finally he sagged limp, hiccupping the last of his rage.

"I told you I'd be back in the morning," Remus said into Severus' hair. Severus punched him half-heartedly in the shoulder. "I will always keep my promises to you and to Teddy. Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes," Victoria said, rolling her eyes. "At least, he had a bite or two before it all hit the window."

"I owe you so much," Remus told her. She rolled her eyes.

Remus struggled to push to his feet and keep his hold on Severus. His body just wanted to pitch into the nearest bed and never get out again, and he stumbled over his own feet twice on the way to the kitchen.

He tried to sit Severus down in his own chair, but Severus' thin little arms were surprisingly hard to pry away, so Remus just pulled his own chair out further and settled Severus on one knee. Hot buttered toast and pots of jam and kippers and eggs sunny-side-up and a small mountain of crisp bacon appeared on the table, like magic.

"You are an absolute wonder," Remus called to Victoria. "I can't afford to give you pay rises, but any paid time off you want, it's yours." A copper coffee pot appeared to his right, and a chipped mug with a red heart on the front.

Remus piled his plate high, shovelling everything down one-handed, his other arm still around Severus, who had mashed bacon between two pieces of toast and was gnawing on that crunchy monstrosity with great concentration.

Victoria left at nine, looking grumpy and sleepless, and Remus charmed the living room rug warm and brought in all the pillows so he could lie down with Teddy while Severus played in front of the television, with Ivor gently puffing around Wales as background noise.

Severus took a good week to get back to his usual equilibrium, and Remus hated to have to go again at the end of the next month. He coloured the days of the change in red on the kitchen calendar and tried to explain, as best he could. He told Severus he could call him Moony; that was the name his friends gave him, because he was always gone when the moon was full.

The morning after the fourth change, Severus started talking, words dropped here and there. Remus had to piece together the narrative, but he was clever with puzzles, and patient. Severus said he'd been told, by his parents Remus was sure, that if he were bad he'd be put out for the bin men to haul away.

Severus was fairly sure that he'd done something terrible, and that was why Remus had taken him away and Severus couldn't go home anymore. Only Remus wasn't so bad for a bin man. He didn't get angry or yell or hit or make Severus eat rubbish for tea. So Severus worried that maybe Remus was something else entirely, and still held the power to throw Severus away.

Remus assured him that he never would, that no one could throw away a child, that Severus and Teddy were stuck with him until they were old. That was just how things were.

Severus never asked after his parents. Not once.

*

For Severus' birthday, Remus baked him a pumpkin spice cake and gave him a red London bus and a Royal Mail truck like the one Postman Pat drove.

Severus stayed up past his bedtime to shoot off fireworks in the back garden. Remus had owl-ordered a selection from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Severus was red-cheeked and mostly asleep as Remus pulled off his boots and coat and got him into his pyjamas. Remus charmed Severus' sheets warm and was just tip-toeing out when Severus sat straight up and said, in a voice that sounded like the front edge of a tantrum, "My bus."

"It's just right here," Remus said, summoning it surreptitiously from the other room and handing it over.

Severus didn't say anything, but he curled down under the covers with the bus clenched tight in his fist, and when Remus looked he was already asleep. Remus ran a hand over Severus' hair, feeling love and an odd deep ache in his chest. He knew that of course today was Severus' thirty-ninth birthday, not his fourth, and he was far less certain than he'd been eight months ago that Severus was happier -- better off -- as a child.

Remus missed being able to talk to Severus the man. He'd never meant to forgive him for his deceptions and his actions in the war, but somehow he had along the way, just as his grief for Dora had been worn smooth of its sharp edges, leaving him with more pleasant memories than regrets. Remus kept abreast of the ongoing investigations and trials; even the press these days seemed to recognize Severus as -- perhaps not a hero, but loyal. In his own way. Brave, certainly. Harry Potter had been quoted recently as saying he planned on naming one of his children after Severus, if he had a boy, and maybe even if it were a girl.

Remus checked that Teddy was asleep, replacing the blanket that was invariably kicked off, and wandered into the kitchen to fix himself some hot honeyed tea, fortified with firewhiskey. He sipped it, scalding his tongue and warming right down to his toes, as he stoked the fire. He wanted to call Andromeda, and he had to get his thoughts in order; though the more he drank, the more he was certain she would understand. He finished his tea in a decisive gulp and fire-called Andromeda.

"There are two problems," he concluded, after having woven rather drunkenly through the whole issue of Severus. "First, I don't know how make a boy back into a man. Second, he's lost his memories."

"Well," Andromeda said, her head rotating thoughtfully in the flames, "were his memories Obliviated, or does someone have them?"

"You are clever," Remus said, with perhaps too enthusiastic admiration in his tone. He sounded either dull-witted or sarcastic. Andromeda gave him a quelling raise of her eyebrows. "Potter would know. I should call him."

"In the morning," Andromeda said, more of an order than a suggestion. "You should eat a banana before you go to bed."

"Should I?" Remus asked, dubious. Andromeda disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a large bunch of bananas, which she lobbed at him. He nearly fell in the fire while fumbling to catch them.

"One of Nymphadora's favourite tricks," Andromeda said, with a fleeting nervous smile. She didn't talk about Dora often. "The main advantage of the banana over an Over-imbiber's Potion is that it doesn't give you warts for days afterwards."

"You should come by," Remus said, peeling a banana and stripping off the strings idly. He flicked them into the fire; one caught on the shoulder of Andromeda's robe, and she removed it with pointed care. "Sorry. Teddy can almost say Grandmother, you know."

Andromeda snorted. "Teddy can say ba. Your other one calls me Grammeda, which is fathoms worse."

"He'll be forty next year," Remus said. He took a bite of banana and waved the rest idly while trying to think of the right words. "I don't think -- he won't be a harm to anyone, now. Not even himself."

"He'll hate you," Andromeda said plainly. "You know that when he says Moony, which is a ridiculous appellation, he means Dad."

"Probably," Remus agreed. His head was starting to hurt. "But every time I say Severus, I mean the big one. I can't believe that he really is a child, not deep down. It's unfair to not give him a chance."

"You should drink some water as well," Andromeda advised. "I always feel like I should resent him for having a second chance when Nymphadora didn't. I can't resent a little boy, though."

"Could you forgive the man?" Remus asked, stopping just short of saying, as I seem to have done, but he thought Andromeda knew.

"If I do," Andromeda said, and she straightened until her head was nearly at the flue, "that will be quite the coup for you, won't it?" She whiffed out of the fire in a flash of lavender sparks.

"Well, hell," Remus told the fire. It was unsympathetic.

*

Remus slept straight through to five o'clock, and felt wonderfully refreshed as he rolled out of bed to go grab Teddy before his angry demands for food woke Severus.

He gave Teddy a banana to play with after his bottle, which was perhaps not his brightest idea ever. Teddy treated his banana more like modelling clay or paint, and both of them wound up with sticky bits of fruit in their hair and all over their pyjamas.

"That's it, then," Remus said, grabbing Teddy under his armpits and swinging him up towards the ceiling in a careful arc. Teddy kicked him in the jaw on the way up and bonked him in the head with the last bit of the banana on the way down. "Time to blow up the baby," Remus threatened, but Teddy just looked fat and pleased with himself and utterly unconcerned, right until the moment Remus put his mouth on his stomach and blew. Teddy grabbed Remus' hair in both fists, cackling in his odd baby way, and his hair turned bright blue.

Remus conjured up a bath and put in bubbles and the squeaky dragon bath toys that swam up and down and spat water when grabbed. He stayed in the tub with Teddy until his fingers started to wrinkle. He dried them both off with a spell as they got out, and he summoned clothes to the bathroom because his feet were too pleasantly warm to subject to cold floors. He was wrestling Teddy into a little knitted waistcoat when Severus appeared, and he said, "The water's still hot," without even thinking. "But you can't take the bus in, it'll rust," he added, as Severus tugged off his pyjamas and awkwardly juggled his bus between his hands.

"Don't touch it," Severus said, setting the bus carefully on the back of the sink, next to the plastic Thomas the Tank Engine cup and toothbrush. "I want dragons in my bath."

"They're already in," Remus said, letting Teddy creep off while he pulled on his underwear. He felt incredibly awkward being naked around Severus.

"I want new ones," Severus said, standing still on the mat and glaring at the water as if the very idea of used dragons was an affront and an insult.

"Fine," Remus said, waving the dragons out with a flick of his wand. They crawled sullenly back into the net bag, and Remus pulled two new ones out. "Will red do?"

"Green was better," Severus said, climbing into the water. "But you gave Teddy green." Remus dropped the dragons in, rather than argue.

He would have bet good Galleons that if Teddy had had red, then Severus would have wanted red. Everyone assured Remus that this was a phase that all children passed through. The Wizarding childcare books recommended firm discipline, in the spirit of children needing to learn their place. The Muggles went on about love and acceptance and self-esteem.

A year ago, Remus would never have dreamed of suspecting Severus Snape of a deficit in self-esteem, but he wondered now. Severus always seemed so surprised to get what he wanted.

"I'm going to go get breakfast started," Remus said, tidying all the pyjamas off the floor. "Give me a shout when you want to get out."

"I want the fishes in a tin," Severus said. "Only warmed up, they're nasty cold."

"With toast or porridge?" Remus asked, even though he knew that Severus despised porridge.

"Toast," Severus said, as if Remus were thick. Remus shrugged it off; if he didn't give Severus the chance to make the decision, then Severus tended to fly into a rage. The Muggles wrote that these kinds of things were good, a sign of maturity, of wanting to be accepted -- validated -- as an independent person, albeit trapped in a tiny little body. Remus thought the whole song and dance was a pain in the arse, but he didn't think he was being asked to be overindulgent.

Severus never made unreasonable demands. A metal bus for his birthday, clothes that didn't irritate his skin, warmth in the cold, tinned fish. One of the picture books they'd borrowed from the village library had been a story about a girl who'd demanded her father bring her the moon. Severus had gone very wide-eyed at her temerity, as if he couldn't comprehend anyone daring to ask such a thing.

Whatever memories Severus retained from his former life included an unhealthy amount of terror. Even now, Remus spent a fair amount of time trying to convince Severus that there was nothing to fear, not from him or Victoria or Teddy, not from Andromeda or Mrs Patel or any of the shopkeepers who'd taken to calling him shy Sev.

Remus kept their daily lives to a strict routine, predictable and comforting. His schedule consisted of long walks and hours spent in the park and books read in bed and nutritious meals and snacks at sensible times. But even with that net of safety around him, Severus had to keep pressing out, trying to find the limit, the unreasonable demand that would make Remus throw him away. Remus had the sinking feeling that Dumbledore had spent years trying to do the same thing, and Severus had still been a prickly, defiant, suspicious bastard.

After their morning walk but before lunch, Remus made himself sit at the writing desk with parchment and quill and write to Harry. Severus had an entire town set up in blocks and toy cars to keep him busy, and Teddy had the xylophone Andromeda had given him for Christmas. He wasn't quiet, but banging away at the keys with his little mallet kept him reasonably happy.

Remus was fidgety and distracted, but it wasn't the fault of the children. He wanted to lie, to think up a very clever excuse to ask for what he wanted. He knew Harry was settling well into his work with the Aurors. Harry had earned respect in the war, and even though he stayed out of politics, he had some strong allies. If Severus were wanted for questioning, or if someone wanted him in Azkaban, Remus was not entirely sure what Harry would do.

But after half an hour and a hundred false starts at confabulation, Remus realized that no lie he could tell would work; and being caught out would. . . ruin things, probably beyond repair.

He dipped his quill in the ink and started again.

Dear Harry: I hope this finds you well. We are all well here.

I recall you mentioning at Hogwarts that Severus had lost his memories. I think he needs them back now. [Remus paused, bit his lip, and frowned at the parchment.] It's not a question of protecting other people from him, as he's not a criminal (also, I doubt he'd be going back to teaching). Nor does he need to be protected, seeing as you and the others are doing such a good job of restoring law and order.

I know I said before that he might be better off this way. I was wrong. A man has the right to live with the decisions he's made and the memories he's hoarded, and try and live with them and all that. If you'd asked me back at Hogwarts if I'd have wanted to forget the worst times of my life, I might have considered it: I would have wanted to forget that Dora had died. God knows I still regret that I never had a chance to say goodbye. But now I think more and more of the good times we had. How happy she was when Teddy was born. Severus had been waiting for years to see the end of the war and to be his own man. How can we take that away from him and say it's for his own good?

I don't write a lot of letters. I'm bad at it. I wanted to write words that persuaded with eloquence and wit, but apparently I'm going to have to rely on an appeal to your sense of justice and fairness.

I remain, yours sincerely,

Remus Lupin

He sealed the parchment before he could go back and fiddle with the wording more, and bundled Teddy and Severus up for a ramble through the woods in search of Raphus, his owl.

The snow was thick across the field. Severus stomped along in his oversized boots, delighting in creating tracks that looked monstrous. Teddy, round and awkward as a pillow in the snowsuit Andromeda insisted he wear, was heavy and kicking on Remus' hip. Once they were in the trees the ground was mostly clear, and Remus handed Severus the owl treats and let him call Raphus down.

Victoria said Remus spoiled the bird terribly, but she didn't think he was firm enough with his discipline of the children, either. But Raphus came immediately when she was needed; it was only for petty correspondence and goods ordered through the mail that they needed to track her down.

"Come here now, you daft bird," Severus shouted, jamming his hands onto his hips. Remus bit back a grin. He was afraid that he did rather encourage Severus to be cheeky and impatient. It suited Severus better than fearful silence, he felt.

Raphus finally swooped down, making Remus duck quickly, before snatching an owl treat from Severus' outstretched hand.

"You have to go to London," Severus said, still over-loud and officious. "You have to go right now. There's a letter." Remus handed it to him, and watched as Severus slid it carefully into the tube that Raphus carried. Remus reminded him to be polite. "Go now please," Severus said, and there was no hiding Remus' amusement when the last word came out like a threat. Raphus ruffled her feathers, nipped at Severus' boots until he dropped another treat, and then flapped upwards with ungainly haste.

"Thank you," Remus said, reaching down to straighten Severus' bobble hat, hand knit by Mrs Patel in an alarming rainbow pattern which would, she'd said, ensure that Severus never got lost (except, Remus had added mentally, at a Pride rally). "You ready for some lunch?"

"Starving," Severus said. "Aunty Vicky?"

"Not today," Remus said, trying to sound confident that he'd manage the meals this time without burning anything. "She has a holiday."

Severus latched onto that concept, stomping and scowling and pulling his eyebrows together fiercely. When they reached the edge of the woods and the deeper snow, Remus reached down for his hand. Severus held back.

"I want a holiday," Severus announced.

Remus nearly said all right but bit the words back at the last moment. Severus hated being condescended to, and he was capable of holding a grudge for the rest of the day. "Hm," he said, scrunching up his face as if he were thinking. "I suppose when we get home we can check the calendar and see if there's a day you can take off. Anywhere in particular you want to go?" he asked idly, and then realized that was a tactical mistake and hoped that Severus didn't want to visit Kenya or the funfair or the top left-hand corner of Wales.

"Remember the big park?" Severus said, finally deigning to grab Remus' hand. "Remember the boats and you said next time."

Remus really had to keep in mind that any and all idle promises he made he would eventually be held accountable for.

"That's fine," he said now. "I mean, we'll have to check the calendar first, of course."

Severus just shrugged, unperturbed, and swung their joined hands in swooping arcs.

That was how Remus found himself renting a rowboat on a Wednesday in the middle of January, and drifting about while Severus snapped out orders to approach this or that overfed waterfowl so he could lob even more food at it. He'd hoped the thrill would wear off after the first hour, because there was a bite to the wind and Harry Potter was going to drop in sometime late afternoon, for tea and an inspection of the situation. Victoria had agreed to babysit Teddy, who was now capable of pulling himself up to haul things down from tables and sofas and shelves.

Thirty seven minutes into the second hour and Severus finally slouched down and looked bored, so Remus dared to ask if he were ready to head over to the pub for a warm lunch. Severus turned out to be easily manipulated by the promise of hot greasy chips. Remus rowed them to shore, paid the fee for the extra time, and took Severus' hand to steer him along the path that ran widdershins around the pond. Severus had new red mittens made especially for the occasion of going to the big park. His cheeks were just as red, wind-chapped, and the long ends of his black hair danced around his cap, crackling with static electricity. Remus wished, not for the first time but never quite so strongly, that this child really was his own.

That was the one guilty fear he'd kept out of his correspondence with Harry: that Remus would eventually forget that Severus was a man; or worse, come to prefer the child to the man. He didn't want to betray Severus like that. He was far too familiar with the need to swallow down bitterness when his friends and colleagues forgot who he was and chose instead to see the wolf, bloodthirsty, an instrument for murder or betrayal. But Remus was not the wolf, and Severus was not a child.

So he kept reminding himself as he wiped grease off Severus' chin and cut his fish into manageable pieces and let him order a fizzy drink that came in a bottle with a marble in the neck that could be charmed out once the bottle was empty. Remus gave Severus a handkerchief to tie his marble in so it didn't get lost, had him pick out a selection of tarts from the glass-fronted cabinet as souvenirs, one box to Victoria and one for tea, and brought them home by Floo.

"Don't you go dropping ash on that floor I just polished," Victoria said. Remus tidied away the ash (and mud, and grease) with a quick apologetic spell. He handed one bag of pastries to Severus to give to her, and she patted Severus awkwardly on the shoulder. "Teaching him to give bribes, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Remus Lupin."

"Sweets to the sweet," Remus said, and picked Severus up. "Nap time."

"Not sleepy," Severus said, and twisted around. "Ivor book."

"I'll read you the Ivor book, and then you take a nap," Remus bargained -- bribery was such an ugly word.

Severus was still sleeping when Harry stepped out of the fire at three forty-seven -- not that Remus had been watching the clock nervously. They exchanged pleasantries and gossip, and Harry played with Teddy, marvelling at all the things he could do now. Harry very carefully did not say anything about Severus, although he did peek in on him as he slept, grinning as he took in the book about trains at the foot of the bed and the London bus half-hidden under the pillow.

"No one would ever know," Harry said, speaking quick and low even though he must have known that Victoria was listening. "If you let him just grow up like this."

"I'm sure Dumbledore told your aunt the same," Remus snapped, and a large teapot appeared in the centre of the kitchen table with a reproving pop and a whistle of steam. "Oh, look, tea."

Plates laden with pastry appeared, and then a large bowl of artistically cut fruit.

"You have a house-elf," Harry said, and looked around the kitchen.

"Andromeda hired Victoria before she went off with her sister," Remus said. "She's an absolute angel. A brilliant cook. Ever so good with the children."

"Oh, you," Victoria said, walking out from around the dresser with scowl lines between her eyes. She was wearing her good blue frock, the one that made her look like a very severe coach guide. "You've got no sense of propriety," she went on, but she let Harry introduce himself, and then she introduced herself and shook his hand in two hearty pumps. "Tell him to pay me more."

Harry blinked. "There actually are minimum wage proposals being discussed in the Ministry," he said apologetically to Remus.

"Anyone repeal the laws for lycanthropes yet?" Remus countered. "Do let me know when that happens."

Victoria pulled his hair right over his ear, and Remus didn't even know how, as the farthest up her hands could reach was his elbow. Remus considered himself chastised and gave her an apologetic look.

"Might as well start eating," Victoria said, and climbed up on her chair as she floated Teddy into his seat. He got mushy carrot pudding and oat biscuits; Remus took a bite of his own flaky pastry and tried not to feel guilty.

"So what do you think?" Harry asked though a bite of strawberry jam tart, sending a little cloud of fine sugar and crumbs across the table. "I realise you didn't know Snape before, but you know him now."

Victoria hovered his napkin up in front of Harry's face until he grabbed it and wiped his mouth and chin and robes.

"I thought it was a punishment," she said, sitting with her back pointedly straight. Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Before I was given clothes, I worked for people who had children. I knew Professor Snape's reputation. And I read the papers, of course."

"It's not meant as a punishment," Harry said, speaking quickly and making a wide gesture with his pastry-free hand. "I don't believe in arbitrary justice, I think everyone's entitled to due process of law and fair treatment under a transparent system." He blinked and fiddled with his glasses, looking confused. Remus suspected that he'd been parroting someone else's words -- Hermione, perhaps -- and wasn't entirely sure what he'd just said. Harry cleared his throat. "I'm not -- I don't ever want that kind of power."

Victoria pulled her pointy shoulders nearly up to her pointy ears in a shrug. "Does Severus want this kind of life? It's not easy, not being tall enough to reach the taps on the sink or old enough to stay up late watching the telly. Of course, he'll be starting school soon."

Harry winced. "Most of his memories are -- will be -- painful. He'll remember hurting people. He'll remember being hurt. He never was friends with Remus, here." Harry shifted to look Remus in the eyes. "You know he's never liked you."

"I did nearly kill him twice," Remus said, as mildly as he could. "And I never did stop your father and Sirius from being bullies."

"I wanted the strawberry," Severus said from the doorway, looking very much like an owl that had flown through a windstorm: rumpled and annoyed. He was wearing two different socks, one red and one green with stripes, and his jumper was on backwards.

Remus pulled out his chair, and Victoria conjured up two plates.

"I saved you one strawberry and one chocolate cream," she said. "Which do you want? And wash your hands first."

"Chocolate," Severus said. Victoria gave Remus an eyeroll and wrapped the strawberry up in a napkin (for breakfast she said as an aside).

"So, Victoria," Harry said, with the game sort of heartiness that showed he was trying very hard to change the subject, as well as not call attention to the way Severus climbed up on his chair and immediately got chocolate from ear to ear. "You seem really young, don't you want to do more than this? I mean," he said, squirming under two glares, "you can now."

Victoria poured him another cup of tea. As she did so, his cup transfigured from the everyday plain white to something thin and fanciful in a delicate bone china. "Well," she said, lowering the pot to the table, "I've pretty much given up on my dream of being a pop idol. But I do think I can dance."

"Oh, sure," Harry said; seriously, as far as Remus could tell. "Muggles have lots of anti-discrimination stuff. They'd be thrilled to have you."

The conversation turned to ballroom dancing, which Harry admitted to being rotten at. Victoria told them about her dancing school, and Remus was chagrined to find out that she'd taken the job because of the short hours and the proximity to Blackpool.

Harry didn't really talk to Severus. He seemed terribly afraid of causing offence; imagining, probably, how Professor Snape would react to having his grubby hands wiped off, or Harry talking about trains with him.

Right before Harry left, he asked to use the bathroom, and asked Remus to show him where it was, and then pulled Remus in with him and locked the door.

"Smooth," Remus said. "I'm sure nobody caught on to that." He leaned back against the great white-painted wardrobe where he kept the towels and bog rolls and (on the back topmost shelf) his emergency supply of strong black liquorice.

"I can't make the decision," Harry said, pulling a squashy cloth bag out of his back trouser pocket and loosening the drawstrings. "I just can't. I didn't think he'd be so," Harry flailed his hands for a moment, "adorable."

"It's the haircut," Remus said. "And the fact that his nose hasn't really formed properly yet."

"It's the way he makes little block towers for Teddy to knock down, and the way he pretends to read books aloud."

"He actually does read some words," Remus snapped, pride stung and defensive, and then flushed.

"You know him best," Harry said, sounding almost pleading. He opened the bag fully, turned it upside down, and shook it until several large blocks of stone fell out. The top one was the largest. Harry rapped it with his wand until it suddenly puffed out into the bowl of a Pensieve. Harry dug in his front pocket, and pulled out a large canning jar full of Pensieve solution and lots of grey strands. There were so many that at first Remus thought there was a long-haired cat in the jar, and recoiled, but then he realized that the strands were all thoughts and memories.

"All his memories save the first three years or so," Harry said grimly. "Some of them are a bit the worse for wear, and others I might have lost -- I was scooping them up in the middle of battle, and there was the boy to take care of, not to mention Voldemort." He undid the jar lid and tipped the whole mess into the Pensieve. "I checked some of them," he added, shooting Remus an apologetic glance. "Not really so much as I wanted to make sure I hadn't screwed things up as. . . it was Snape," he said in exculpation, and grimaced. "I wanted to know who he was. Why he did what he did. Why he hated me so much."

"Did you find out?" Remus asked. He thought he had some idea. Lily had mentioned once, when James was out, that she'd been friends with Snape before Hogwarts. Before they'd been sorted into different houses and set upon different paths.

"Yeah," Harry said, and left it at that. "You can send this back in the post, it's the lightweight collapsible model. We have a surplus at the Ministry, now that there aren't Inquisitors anymore."

"Thank you," Remus said.

Harry clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically before shooing him out, "because actually I really do need to take a piss, sorry."

Harry took the Floo home, and Victoria said she deserved to leave an hour early, to which Remus said Of course. He walked around pulling the curtains shut in all the windows, working up his nerve. He served buttered cinnamon toast for supper because he was afraid that he'd burn anything else, and then he couldn't put it off any more.

He put Teddy down for bed and then called Severus into the bathroom. Severus was scared of the Pensieve, and he gave Remus beseeching looks that told Remus that the trust built over long months was unravelling.

"It's okay," Remus said, sitting down and pulling Severus into his lap. "This is something that's yours, you just lost it for a bit." Severus' back against Remus' arm was stiff and his arms were drawn in tightly. Remus really couldn't bear it any longer, and he said the words that poured all those swirling memories back into Severus' head.

Severus was so still that Remus worried he'd done something horribly wrong; and then Severus sat up, brushing at his clothes and looking around with sharp little jerks of his head.

"Well," Severus said. "This is a revolting circumstance."

Remus hugged him tighter, getting a good whiff of the strawberry-scented shampoo Severus liked, the bottle with the cartoon dog on the label. "You're you, aren't you?"

Severus twisted around far enough that he could pound Remus' shoulder with his little bony fists. "Yes and no," he snapped. "I seem to be small."

"You're only a bit small for your age," Remus said, meaning to sound comforting, but to his own ears he sounded daft. "You've been three for almost a year, you ought to be used to it by now. And even your normal size was never very. . . tall," he said, letting the sentence trickle down to nothing under the force of a Snapelike glare.

"You've been giving me baths," Severus said, tucking his arms in and corkscrewing his way down out of Remus' grasp like an eel. He stood, crossed his arms, and after a moment's deliberation kicked Remus in the shin.

"I didn't bring you home just to have you go and crack your skull open in the bathtub," Remus said crossly. He didn't mention how much enjoyment the bubbles and the dragons had caused.

"Why wasn't I completely Unborn?" Severus asked. He went down to the window, pulled himself up tiptoe with his hands on the windowsill, and stared out, probably not seeing much beyond the wall and the hedgerow and the cows. "I should be dead."

"Something stopped the venom from working, or perhaps it was just weak to begin with." Remus shrugged defensively as Severus turned to give him a scathing glare. "Maybe it was love; I understand that has a way of gumming up fatal curses."

"Love. Or maybe it was the Mad Muggle from the comics, but I highly doubt that." Severus walked back over to the door and reached up to twist at the doorknob until the tongue of the lock drew in. With a click, the door came at him so quickly he nearly got hit in the face. "Appalling," Severus said, shaking his head as he walked out to stare around the rooms. "I'm not spending another night in the nursery with your spawn, Lupin," he went on, staring up at the cot for a moment before moving on to look into Remus' room. "About Tonks," he started, looking back at Remus and away again. "Obviously she's not here, she didn't --?" Remus shook his head, and then spread his hands. "Well. I'm sorry." He sounded more grudging than apologetic.

Remus pulled his shoulders up and dropped them. "You thought we were fools."

Severus ran a finger along the spines of the books on the third shelf of Remus' bookcase; he wasn't tall enough to reach the more valuable and dangerous magical tomes and grimoires. Remus had been thorough with his babyproofing. He decided not to mention that, and resolved to owl-order a stepladder.

"You were fools," Severus said, now rummaging through the drawer of the bedside table, examining Remus' reading glasses, the box of tissues, and the pornographic magazine badly disguised as Country Charms' Guide to Kitchen Gardening. Severus tapped the magazine and shot Remus a look. Remus added a new wand to his owl-order list, and made a mental note to hide the magazine better. "Who gets married and starts a family in wartime?"

"Yes, well." Remus let the corners of his mouth drift up. "Where some see hope, you tend to see the idiocy of self-delusion."

"My." Severus' eyes glinted. In a child, it was disconcerting. "I must have struck a nerve, if you memorized my words."

"They are graven upon my heart," Remus assured him. "You're more than welcome to move into this room, of course."

"I will, now that I know there's no tasteless shrine to your dead wife looming over the bed. Votive candles make me sneeze. I don't suppose I own any trousers without elastic waistbands, or shirts without pictures of trains."

"We can go shopping." Remus hadn't, he realized belatedly, considered all the economic havoc Severus would wreak on his budget.

"We will," Severus countered. "You do realise that I'm trapped here when I'm like this. I can't very well go off on my own."

"If it's intolerable," Remus said in a rush, "if it was better for you to have forgotten, if you liked the Ivor videos and feeding ducks and all that, I can bottle your memories back up and send them to Potter along with the Pensieve. I just want for you to be happy."

Severus snorted. "I'm not likely to be happy with you talking at me all the time, now am I?" He yawned and looked consternated. "I'll see you in the morning, Lupin."

Remus wanted more reassurance than that, but he nodded. "Just let me get your jammies."

The look on Severus' face was worth it, despite the sure knowledge that Vengeance Would Be Had.

*

Remus said a cheery good morning to Severus when he emerged from Remus' former bedroom. Severus said nothing, just continued stomping towards the bathroom. Remus had tidied the Pensieve away before he went to bed; he wondered if Severus would be wanting it, or if he'd just needed to use the facilities. Severus emerged a minute later, hair damp-combed straight back, and headed for the table, demanding coffee.

Teddy, always keen to take his cue from Severus, banged his spoon on the table and demanded ba. Remus chose to interpret that as more raisins, and let Teddy decorate his own porridge.

"Can't," Remus replied to Severus, and set a plate of toast in front of him. "It could stunt your growth. Or make you hyperactive. Maybe both."

"You must have had a plan," Severus said, mouth thick with toast. "Surely you value your own life and sanity enough to have realized that I would be most. . . displeased by the appalling circumstance of coming to my senses like this. I loathe children. I despise childhood. Being forced to relive it is quite possibly my worst nightmare."

"Has it been?" Remus asked. "Nightmarish, I mean? I knew you were unhappy. I didn't. . . I always knew you were you. I didn't want to treat you too much like a child, because I imagined some day we would be having this conversation. Someday I'd have to explain myself."

"Please don't," Severus said. "I'd much rather not talk about it. Any of it. By all accounts I was a selfish, snivelling brat as a child the first time around." He paused, and put too much jam on a triangle of toast. "You never hit me."

"No," Remus said. "I did snap at you once or twice, though." He smiled. "You never asked for more than I was willing to give. You were the best comfort I could have wanted after the war, and. . . and all. You kept me from dwelling on things and made me see that there was still good in the world and a silver lining to every cloud."

Severus was giving him a wide-eyed look of incredulous horror. "Please tell me that you're not serious. I don't think I can handle that much sugary optimism."

Remus grinned wider. "You were the wind beneath my wings," he said. "If I weren't worried you'd gut me with the butter knife, I'd hug you right now."

Severus twitched. "You let me crawl into bed with you. Didn't you?"

"Only when you had nightmares." Remus didn't mention the occasional bedwetting. He valued his life, so he changed the subject quickly. "I've read what there is on the Unbirthing Venom, but the literature is quite thin. There've been too many clever researchers who crawled into snake tunnels and never came out. I have yet to find a case where the venom's effect was incomplete." He raised an eyebrow and looked at Severus.

"I've been three for the past year, don't expect me to know that sort of thing off the top of my head," Severus said. He sounded peeved.

"I was thinking that you might know of other approaches we might take to reverse the venom. Some potion that you might have heard of, an anti-venom. The regular Ageing potions mostly create an illusory effect, it seems."

Severus looked at the ceiling, as if patience might be found there. "People spend their lives in pursuit of eternal youth, Lupin. The potential market for a potion that actually renders the user a middle-aged man is, to be blunt, vanishingly small."

"We'll think of something," Remus said, and let Teddy down from his chair with a few quick swipes of the napkin to clean his face off. Teddy squirmed and kicked and crawled off as soon as he could, to go knock over the last of Severus' block towers still standing.

Remus felt a pang as he realized that there would be no more block towers or train tracks or miniature highways for toy cars down the length of the living room.

"If I do reverse the effects, you won't be able to stay here," Severus said, echoing Remus' thoughts eerily. "How would you explain to the neighbours that your older child had vanished?"

Remus started clearing the table. "You needn't worry. I've written to Andromeda, she knows a decent estate agent, though I'm not sure how much an old bungalow like this would be worth. I should probably paint the shutters. Make it look rustic." He looked over at Severus and rolled his eyes.

"Trust me," Severus said, dryly, "no one would have any doubt about your rusticity. Cows can be seen from nearly every window." He sipped at the warm milk that Remus had set out for him, and grimaced. "Didn't you grow up here?"

Remus shrugged. "A very long time ago." He turned all the way around and leaned his hips back against the draining board, hands curling around the edge. "I'm not dense, you know. I thought through all this before I contacted Harry. Before I even moved us into this house. I've made my peace with my decisions, and still," he lowered his voice, to make certain Severus listened, "this is not the limit of what I would do for you."

Severus opened his mouth, shut it again, looked out the window at the cows in the pasture, and then made a face Remus' hadn't seen before, jaw jutting out and mouth mashed together and downturned, nose wrinkled and eyebrows pulled together. It was such an unexpectedly horrible face that Remus nearly laughed, except that Severus seemed frozen like that. Then Severus blinked, shoved himself off his chair, and announced that he was going to help himself to parchment and ink and make a list of things that he needed.

"Sure," Remus said, easy, and Severus shot him that expression again.

Remus had no idea what it meant.

*

Severus spent most of his time in Remus' . . . his room, consuming the books that Raphus brought and writing inch after inch of notes on venoms, and potions, and aging, and who knew what else. He had a wand of his own, owl-ordered from one of the clutter of small shops that had opened up to fill the void left by Ollivander's. He didn't talk about his research with Remus; Remus had too much stubborn pride to ask.

Remus had forgotten what time of the month it was until Severus stalked out of the bedroom and shoved an envelope up at him.

"It's from Granger," Severus said. "I already opened it. If that's a Wolfsbane potion then I'm Salazar Slytherin's maiden aunt Susie." Remus blinked. He'd never encountered that turn of phrase before.

"The Ministry provides it," he said. "Therefore, it must be effective."

"Therefore some dimwit potion-brewing hack won a government contract, you mean. When's the full moon?"

Remus told him, and Severus threw his arms out in a gesture of frustration that lost a lot of its menace by dint of being precious.

"There's no time now for me to make the real thing, you know that."

"I have a safe place," Remus assured him. "The safest possible."

Severus snapped that that wasn't what he meant at all, and stomped back into his room, locking the door after him.

Remus made his usual arrangements: Victoria to stay over, bribery food for dinner, a few new videos, this time it was a programme about monkeys for Teddy and the original Japanese version of Shall We Dance? for Victoria. He had no idea what kind of films Severus enjoyed. Whether he even watched films at all.

Remus arrived back home from the Change in the icehouse with his usual assortment of aches, contusions, and lacerations. Severus banged on the bedroom door and let himself in, and Remus realised he'd forgotten that his room was the nursery, now. He said something apologetic, and Severus glared up at him.

"Shut up. Lie down. There's soup and bandages." Severus drew up a chair -- covered in greenish velvet and with clawed feet -- and floated it over to the side of the bed. "Stop bleeding on the floor."

The whole top of the bed was covered with an Engorged bath towel. Remus scowled at the enormous picture of Thomas the Tank Engine that grinned up at him (cheekily, because Thomas was a cheeky little engine -- and Remus really wished he didn't know that). He flopped down, though, because Severus had a wand in his hand and a dangerous look on his face.

"I've been doing this -- ouch, thank you, leave that alone -- since I was just a bit older than you're supposed to be," Remus muttered, annoyed. "I'll thank you to leave my socks alone."

"I would if you hadn't nearly gnawed your own back foot off last night," Severus said. "They sell squeaky toys for dogs. You should get one. You appear to have an oral fixation."

"The one thing they never tell you about being a wolf," Remus said, crossing his arms over his face and pretending he didn't care about how mortifying this was, "is how boring it all is. Slobber, feel blood-lust, run around in cramped little circles, mark your territory, and then you're back to slobbering again."

"That potion you're taking's rubbish." Severus tied something around Remus' ankle, apparently satisfied that he'd cleaned the bite up well enough. "Although I suppose the wolf's not going to catch as many head-colds with all the added Vitamin C." He picked up Remus' hand and started working on the scratches from where he'd been digging and clawing at the walls. "Victoria's quite a solid potions brewer. Apparently, she did the summer homework I assigned to some of my more brain-dead students."

"Marvellous," Remus said, rousing himself from his slide into sleep enough to contribute a word to the conversation. He hoped it was the right one.

"She and I had several interesting conversations," Severus said, reaching over to tug Remus' other hand into easy reach. "She wants to rent this house. We drew up a very reasonable contract, you'll need to just sign it. And we need to go to Diagon Alley. I need to talk to the Weasley twins."

"Fred died," Remus said through a yawn. "Is it cold in here or just me?"

Something heavy and warm settled over him. "Hmph. I didn't know that."

"One of these days," Remus promised, curling and pulling the blanket over his head, "I'll tell you about the war."

"I'm in no hurry for that," Severus said. "If you wake up starving because you didn't eat your soup, don't go blaming me."

"Okay," Remus agreed, and dropped into sleep like a stone into deep water.

*

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was just as bright and loud as it had been pre-war, and a steady stream of jolly smiling wizards and witches entered and left carrying large paper-wrapped parcels. Remus left the pushchair out on the pavement and settled Teddy on his hip. Severus followed a step behind him; Remus had to push down the reflex to hold his hand. Severus' ears were bright red with cold, but he'd refused to wear his bobble hat.

The displays were overlarge and bounced about disconcertingly, and the lamps seemed to have been designed not to cast shadows. Remus had no idea how he was going to find George Weasley in the midst of the confusion, when he was tapped on the shoulder. Turning, he was caught up in a vigorous hug that lifted him right off the floor for a moment, red hair filling his vision.

"If it isn't Remus Lupin," George bellowed, releasing Remus only to clap him soundly on his back and attempt to pick Teddy up. Teddy, who lately had a fear of strangers, clung to Remus' jacket and hid his face. "Looks just like his mum," George said, as the wisps of hair that escaped Teddy's cap turned from orange to an alarmed shade of red. "Who's your other one, then?" He peered down at Severus. Severus stared at his knees, probably longing to kick.

"One of the Tonks cousins. I'm just minding him," Remus said shortly. "This is Mr Weasley, Bob."

Severus had picked the name because he said it sounded typically Muggle. Bob was also the one name that Teddy had a reasonable hope of saying. That it was also the name of Bob the Builder, neither Remus nor Severus mentioned. Severus stuck out his hand and shook a couple of George's fingers, still without looking up.

George looked at Remus, who mouthed the war at him, and shrugged. George's eyebrows climbed, and he nodded.

"Believe me, I see my fair share of quiet children in here. Takes time for all the worry to drain away, eh? But you're dragging your offspring straight into our Toys for Adults section. Here, this way." He parted a bead curtain and waved his wand; an aisle obligingly redirected itself in front of them. "We must have something here to put smiles on their faces." He waved at the joke wands and miniature flying brooms and bath dragons and bubblegum zeppelins and a blinding assortment of other toys.

"Ted might prefer these," George went on, and opened a door marked Baby Room.

"I was wondering," Remus started, eyeing the wide range of Baby Bafflers, Toddler Traps, and Rugrat Rugs set up on a revolving purple display. Teddy bounced on his hip, trying to grab the Ball-loons that flapped their wings anxiously, just out of his reach. "Whatever happened to the Ageing Potion I heard you invented at Hogwarts?" He waved a hand around. "Is it something that's only available by order?"

George gestured wide and leaned in close, lowering his voice to a mere shout. "It got regulated," he said, and snatched up a package of Losable Lips. He flipped the box over and jabbed a long finger at the Ministry Approved! S for Safe! seal affixed to the top centre of the lid. Beneath that, the box was printed with a large banner that winked R for Repulsive as well! "Every single item in the inventory, all the research and development, blah blah child endangerment, blah blah potentially fatal, and before you could say blunderbuss some of our best stuff was labelled L for Locked Up in some Ministry vault somewhere. Told them they'd have to lock up my brain as well, threats were made, harsh words spoken, but life's just not fair when your little brother's an Auror. He called in Mum. She hit me with a cooking spoon and then got all misty-eyed."

Severus sidled over from where he'd been examining some kind of goop gun, his hands still shoved in his pockets as if he were afraid to touch anything. Remus put his free arm around Severus' shoulders and hugged him against his hip before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be doing that; but when Severus didn't twitch away, Remus kept his arm there.

George held up a hand and a fat roll of Marvellous Marzipan flew across the room and snapped into his hand.

"Here," George said, stripping off the waxed parchment and ripping off a chunk of marzipan, which he held out to Severus. "You tell it what you want it to be, go on then." Severus just stared. George squatted down to eye level. "You like animals?" The marzipan twitched, looking on the verge of breaking out into four legs. Severus shook his head. "Sports?"

"He likes eating," Remus said, feeling Severus tense with annoyance and perhaps amusement under his hand. "And Muggle automobiles," Remus went on, letting himself grin. Severus stomped on his foot.

George nodded, taking a pair of half-spectacles out of his pocket and poking them onto his nose to peer at the marzipan. "Be a car and a cabbage, then," he told it. There was a pause, and then a whiff of almond scent as the marzipan sprouted black wheels and a round green body with leaves that flapped out instead of doors. "You can take it," he told Severus. "Play a bit and eat it when you're done. It's S for Safe."

"Go on," Remus said, and Severus snaked out a hand to take the car. George straightened, with an exaggerated crack of his back, and gave Severus the rest of the marzipan roll as well. "Thank you," Remus said, looking up to meet George's eyes. "We're not accustomed to strangers."

"And I'm stranger than most, I admit," George said, with a wide smile and a wink. He gave Remus a questioning look over his glasses, eyebrows raised until they disappeared under the fall of his overlong fringe. "So this potion you're wanting, then."

"I have a friend who lost a few years," Remus said. "I'd hoped there was something over the counter."

"The potion only affected physical age, not actual maturity or wisdom. Otherwise I probably wouldn't have spent the best years of my life trying to perfect a line of fake vomits and turds."

Severus glanced up at that, with a bit of a smirk. Remus thought ruefully that there were very good reasons to never introduce a child to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"Well, I tell you," George said, and summoned a quill and a piece of parchment that giggled and writhed as if it were exceedingly ticklish. "This is how we made it, though of course, as I said, it didn't really work. But perhaps you know someone who could figure out where we went so terribly wrong." Severus tugged on George's sleeve, and when he looked down held out a horrible, realistic pile of marzipan dung. "Oh, well done," George said, beaming. "Yes, that looks just like the real thing. Disgusting. Are you going to eat it? Shall I?" Severus went a little wide-eyed but kept his hand stuck out; George gave an amused twitch of his broad shoulders and popped the dung into his mouth. "De wiff us," he announced. Severus snorted with laughter, trying to hold it in, and then gave up, opening his mouth and cackling like that was the funniest thing he'd seen in his life.

Remus watched him laugh with a pleasant burn of pride and accomplishment. He'd managed not only to give Severus Snape a sense of humour, but to give him a terribly rude sense of humour. He remembered the silent child who'd crept about trying not to draw attention to himself; he hoped he'd managed to drive most of those fears away for good. He rather liked the sound of Severus, laughing.

*

Severus set up a potions laboratory in one corner of the bedroom, and owl-ordered ingredients and tools and supplies. He first brewed the Weasleys' original potion, according to George's instructions, and tested it on some hapless rats. Apparently, the results were poor but not dismal; Severus made five more brews, each of slightly different composition, before waking Remus up one morning with a crash of glassware and foul language.

"Trust a Weasley to use Prunella vulgaris instead of Sempervivum tectorum," Severus snapped. "Idiots. Tell me again why I wasted the best years of my life teaching thugs and ingrates and morons."

"The best years are yet to come," Remus said, with as much sunny cheer as he could muster at half past four, and ducked as a pair of forceps whizzed past his head.

Half an hour later, when he had given up on getting back to sleep and was nursing a cup of strong black pepper tea, a parchment dropped from the air to the table with another long list of ingredients to order.

This time will definitely work, Severus had written at the bottom. My own genius amazes me. Do you really believe all that nonsense you keep spouting?

Remus scrawled his reply on the back of a Lidl's receipt. Despite all the things that have happened, I have yet to regret that I'm still alive. Does that make me an irredeemable optimist?

Severus didn't answer, but he did finish his potion by Wednesday, fuelled, Remus liked to think, by an unprecedented surge of his own optimism.

On the day they were going to attempt to reverse the venom's Un-aging effect, Victoria showed up early to take Teddy into town for the morning. Remus wasn't quite sure what glamour Victoria used with when interacting with Muggles (though he assumed she must), but she always dressed smartly and wore pretty shoes when going to the shops. Remus walked with her as far as the Patels', taking Mrs Patel an assortment of biscuits as thanks for her kindness, all the knit goods and the toys and the sweets.

"My paternity leave's over," Remus said, rubbing his hands in the cold. He'd been taught that it was rude to speak to one's elders with one's hands in one's pockets. "We'll be moving back. Victoria will be staying at the house, doing the. . . upkeep, and all. Maybe I'll see you again over the holidays." He smiled awkwardly.

"It'll do you good to get on with your life," Mrs Patel said. "I don't suppose you have the time to rehang my kitchen door before you go?"

"I'll do that now," Remus said, and nearly broke any number of rules about using magic in front of Muggles, flush with emotion and a bittersweet kind of happiness.

By the time he got back to the house, Severus was done with the brewing and was watching the potion distil. When it was done, he measured the potion into his smallest flask with an eye-dropper. Remus counted the drops as well; he'd gone over George's notes and Severus' revisions, and he was fairly sure how many months each drop added. He was fairly certain that Severus was a year short when he finally set the dropper down. He didn't say anything; he thought that after the whole ordeal, Severus had earned the right to that small vanity.

Severus undressed; Remus readied his wand, prepared to Vanish thirty-odd years' worth of toenails and fingernails (the potion, Severus had announced with pride, was remarkably detailed in its effects).

Severus raised the flask, as if making a toast, and then drank it down in three measured swallows. It smelled foul, like rotting ginkgo nuts, and Remus was sure it tasted just as nasty, but Severus just frowned with concentration.

And then the air around him exploded into bright pink smoke, shot through with golden sparkles that danced like fireflies. The room filled with the scent of artificial peach, as if someone had overdone it with cheap hairspray. Remus coughed. He could hear Severus also coughing, and swearing.

Severus' voice was much, much deeper. Remus felt a ridiculous smile spread across his face.

"Now would be good," Severus said. "Toenails, ow."

Having practiced on two children for the better part of a year, Remus prided himself on his ability to trim a nail with the merest flick of his wand from the far side of a room. He did so, waited a moment before he remembered that no, he wasn't likely to get thanks from Severus, and then banished all the smoke up the chimney. The little sparkly things stayed, settling gently to the floor.

Severus wasn't as naked as he might have been. Thirty years' worth of hair and beard made for an impressive covering. With the fingernails gone, Severus was doing a fairly good job of shoving the hair off his face with both hands. He looked ridiculous. He looked, impossibly, happy.

"Come here and stop grinning like a loon," Severus ordered. When Remus was close enough, Severus grabbed him, one hand taking a fistful of Remus' shirtfront and the other cool and large against Remus' shirt as he pulled Remus in and kissed him loudly on the mouth. "Ha," Severus said. "It worked."

"Was that a ha it worked kiss?" Remus asked. "Or some other sort?"

Severus looked at him for a moment, and then let him go. "Do you think you can manage a haircut, Lupin? Without making me look deranged."

"Of course," Remus said. He trimmed Severus' hair straight around his shoulders; it was shorter than Severus had worn it as an adult, but longer than the boy's had been kept, for reasons involving combs and tangles. "Are you keeping the beard? It's distinguished."

"It's five more metres of distinguished than I prefer," Severus said. The charms for a close shave were tricky, but Remus managed not to remove Severus' nose and counted that as success. While he was rolling the hair up and stuffing it in a box (that much hair had to be good for something, he figured; someday, he'd want it), Severus summoned some of Remus' clothes and dressed himself in trousers and shirt and pull-over jumper. Remus conjured up a pair of warm fuzzy slippers like his own. Severus changed them from sky blue to black and stepped into them.

"We have never had time before," Remus said, as Severus tidied away all his equipment. "Since we met, we've always had the most terrible luck. That was the best part of these past few months, having the luxury of being able to sit down and talk with you."

"I was three," Severus said. "I didn't talk that much, and what I said was mostly -- cars and trains."

"So talk to me now," Remus said. "Stay. And talk. Things are possible now."

"Are they," Severus said, his voice laced with incredulity.

Remus walked around him to shove the box of hair into the hallway closet, and on the way back leaned in to return Severus' kiss. "Could be," Remus said, and then the front door banged open.

"Great Merlin's sacred bones, you've covered my house entirely in hair," Victoria said, all in one long loud crescendo. "Men. Can't leave you alone a minute."

Teddy toddled into the room, looked at Remus, and then at Severus. Remus braced for the usual tearful scowl that strangers got, but Teddy just raised his arms at Severus and shouted, "Ba!"

Severus sighed and picked him up. Teddy fisted one hand in Severus' hair and yanked.

"Apparently, I haven't changed that much," Severus said. He sounded almost pleased.

"You're still short," Remus told him. "That must be it."