Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution."

-- The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde

St. Mungo’s days are always the hardest. 

St. Mungo’s days mean Eileen is due for her next treatment which means that the pain is bad, and her skin feels sensitive to the very air around her and she’s so tired that she’s pretty sure she could lay down on the ground and easily fall asleep. In the coming week, she’ll start to feel better, though for the rest of the day after treatment her head will feel fuzzy and her muscles weak. Really, they tell her that she shouldn’t be alone for the rest of today, someone should keep an eye on her, and she lies and says someone will be there. Technically, she could call her son, and she knows he would come. Resentfully, yes, but dutifully. 

Eileen already asks too much of Severus, though. Enough that it stings her pride. The money he contributes to maintain her flat since she can’t work and toward the specialist who the Ministry doesn’t cover as part of their free public health plan. He’ll be by in a few days anyway, with the potions that she needs which he insists on brewing rather than having her pay for the “swill that the hospital peddles.” He would complain about the state of the flat, walking through and casting cleaning charms as he went, and they would argue about whether he should hire a cleaning service for her. She would tell him that the house elves that those agencies owned were treated terribly and often made sick by not being part of one stable magical household. He would scoff at her sentimentality. 

And just as quickly as he arrived, he would disappear back to Spinner’s End, until the following month more often than not. 

She should get home but there’s no food there. Eileen needs to plan better for the week she has to go to the hospital. She always means to but then the symptoms start to come back, and it falls to the wayside. A quick stop at the grocery store and then she would go home and get some sleep. Just picking up the essentials, Eileen eyes the checkout line that is longer than she’d like so she decides to pop into the restroom. She would use the loo really quick and maybe splash some water on her face to wake up more. 

As she pushes the door open, she’s startled by the scene playing out in front of her. There’s a woman, thin and every line of her body taut with anger, leaning over a small boy who had a tear-streaked face but didn’t make a peep. The woman has him by a fistful of black hair and is hissing venomously, “How dare you embarrass us in front of Marge! Do you want her to know what a freak you are? Do you think she’ll be as tolerant of it as we are? Do you think anyone else would put up with it?” 

The scene gives Eileen an unpleasant jolt and the urge to turn around and walk back out. But she recognizes this woman, she’s sure of it, so she steps further into the restroom. The woman still hasn’t noticed her, hasn’t even turned around, but she’s so sure she’s seen her before . . . “Petunia? Petunia Evans? What do you think you’re doing?” 

The woman jumps at the sound of her name, spins around with a look of horror that is mildly satisfying, though she hasn’t let go of the boy’s hair who gets dragged along. He winces but still doesn’t make a noise of protest. Eileen can tell that Petunia is trying to place her, and she can tell when she does. The woman’s face relaxes slightly, lip curling into a sneer, and she recognizes that look well. It’s a look she’s received all of her life from middle class women, usually when she was serving them their meals or cleaning their houses. It was a look that said, ‘You don’t matter, your opinion doesn’t matter, your existence is irrelevant.’ Eileen feels like telling her that her face will freeze like that if she wasn’t careful as she had once done when she was a teen. 

“What are you doing here? I wouldn’t think one of your kind would be in a place like this.” 

Eileen raises a terribly unimpressed eyebrow at this. As if she hadn’t shopped at the same stores as the girl’s parents in Cokeworth since before she was born. “By ‘my kind’, I assume you’re also referring to your sister’s kind.” 

Because the picture is growing a little clearer for Eileen now. It’s one she’s painfully familiar with, and she takes a closer look at the boy. He’s looking at her curiously now, big green eyes still glassy from tears but keen, and for the first time since she entered the restroom, he looks like he wants to say something. He doesn’t, though, and her eyes trail over his appearance. He’s too thin, with clothes that don’t fit and a bit of dirt on his face, and she thinks she glimpses a bruise when his too large sleeve slips up his arm.

Petunia has finally let go of the child’s hair but immediately grabs his arm instead. She snaps, “For all the good it did her.” 

Eileen ignores her, eyeing the child speculatively, “Is that Harry Potter?” 

It seems impossible but here he is being manhandled by his Muggle aunt in the restroom of a grocery store. She sees the famous scar and there’s no mistaking those green eyes. Poor Lily. She remembers reading about what happened to her - in a salaciously detailed description of the aftermath featured in The Daily Prophet, complete with a photo of the destroyed house - and remembered thinking her death encompassed everything that war had been. Senseless violence and wasted potential. 

The woman bristles and starts to respond when a voice calls from outside of the bathroom, “Petunia, what are you doing in there? We’ve got to get going if we want to get back in time for me to feed the dogs their supper. They don’t like to be kept waiting.” 

At the sudden booming sound of the woman’s voice, a look of fear overcame the child’s face and to Eileen’s surprise a patch of wet appeared on his pants. Her heart seized with pity, and she took a hesitant step forward, her instincts making her want to comfort him. Petunia reacted first, however, jerking his arm and saying shrilly, “Disgusting boy! Let’s go! Now!” 

The boy looks mortified in a way that Eileen thinks no child should for having an accident when they’re afraid. As Petunia tries to pass her, Eileen goes to grab her arm, “Wait, you can’t just treat him –” 

But Petunia pulls away, hissing furiously, “I will not have you lecture me about parenting. Especially from someone whose son grew up to be one of them. He was, wasn’t he? With the people who killed her? You don’t know what it’s like for me and you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” 

Eileen can’t help it, she flinches at the words, and Petunia takes the opportunity to push past her. She does so roughly enough that she bumps into Eileen who stumbles a bit in her weakened state. By time she steadies herself and pushes open the restroom door, she sees Petunia already rushing out the front door with her family. The boy cranes his head around to catch one last glimpse of her before they disappear into the car park. 

Eileen pays for her groceries, hands shaking so bad that she drops her coins, much to the annoyance of the cashier. By the time she gets home, she is feeling breathless and flushed, sure signs of a panic attack. She hasn’t had one in a long time and barely remembers that she can’t take a calming draught so soon after treatment. Instead, she sinks into the kitchen chair, abandoning her groceries on the counter, and tries to do the breathing exercises that the therapist she saw for all of one month recommended. In for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. At first, her breath hitches on each attempt but eventually smooths out and the panic very slowly recedes, leaving her more exhausted than ever. 

Then the guilt comes. She should have done more, should have . . . what? Called the Muggle authorities? She had a deep distaste for the incompetence and insensitivity she had witnessed among police officers and care workers throughout her life. Personal experience told her that nothing good usually came from their involvement. It wasn’t like the ministry even had an equivalent to Muggle family services and while she hadn’t kept up on ministry policies, in her day the department of magical law enforcement had always been deeply reluctant to get involved in family matters. 

Still, as she slowly puts away the groceries and even as she crawls into bed, the events of that afternoon play through her mind and when she closes her eyes, she sees those bright green eyes, miserable and curious all at once.

Chapter Text

On Saturday morning, Eileen wakes up to the sound of someone moving around her flat and groans as she pushes herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. She gets dressed, runs a brush through her hair, and walks into the kitchen to see her son unpacking bags into the cupboards. There’s a caddy full of potions on the counter as well as a stack of small pots containing various salves and balms. The one in the blue container particularly helps make her skin feel less sensitive and calms the inflamed red splotches she sometimes develops. She doesn’t even know what it’s called - and in fact when she asked, Severus had told her it didn’t have a name - but she trusts him. The healers didn’t particularly like that she used her son’s ‘unregulated, experimental potions’ but then again Severus didn’t like the healers, full stop. 

When he sees her enter the room, he turns on the kettle, saying with slight disapproval, “It’s almost noon.” 

“I was tired,” Eileen answers simply. 

“Did the treatment not help? Are they still letting that idiot Fairway supervise them?” 

“Healer Fairway is the head of the department of infectious diseases, Severus.” 

“That doesn’t mean he’s not an idiot. You act like incompetent people don’t get promoted to positions of power and prestige all the time. Are you eating? Real food, something with protein?” He opens the fridge and frowns at the contents, seeing that most of what she had bought at the grocer a few days previously is gone. 

“Yes, I just need to go shopping again, that's all.” Without answering, he pulls some ingredients out of the fridge; eggs, cheese, bacon, butter. “Severus, you don’t have to make me breakfast.” 

“The effectiveness of the treatments requires proper balanced nutrition. Do you want to get sicker? Do you remember last winter?” 

Eileen tries not to roll her eyes. She wasn’t sure when Severus had become so fussy. God knew he didn’t come by it naturally. Diplomatically, she says, “I appreciate your help.” 

He makes a noncommittal noise as he pulls the kettle from the heat to make her tea and starts cracking eggs, cooking the Muggle way, she supposed because she had never taught him any differently. Couldn’t have if she wanted to, not with Tobias around. So much had gotten neglected back then which was how she had ended up in this situation. 

When she was a child, Eileen had developed a bad case of Dragon Pox which had nearly killed her. The healers had told her parents to brace themselves for the likely outcome. She had survived but such a severe case had required follow up treatment throughout her adolescence. Treatment that had fallen by the wayside after she left the magical world behind to marry Tobias and give birth to Severus. It had nearly killed her and now she was paying the price and Severus had never forgiven her. For not taking care of herself, for never telling him about her illness, for finding her unconscious in the kitchen at Spinner’s End. 

Eileen stood up and walked over to open the kitchen window, allowing some fresh air to enter the flat, grateful that it wasn’t as hot today as it had been recently. As she passes Severus on her way back to her seat, she sees some white hairs on the back of his long-sleeved black shirt. She reaches up instinctively to brush them away but quickly withdraws her hand with an apologetic look when the unexpected touch makes him startle. He doesn’t say anything, but she sees his jaw tighten slightly, embarrassed. 

“Did you get a cat?” she asked incredulously instead of commenting on his reaction. It seemed unlikely. Severus wasn’t a big animal person, at least not since he was a little boy, not since . . . well, it didn’t matter now, she supposed. 

“No, I did not get a cat,” he says irritably. “I am watching someone’s cat. Until Monday and not a day more.” 

“You’re cat sitting?” Her lips twitch in amusement, wondering who had managed to talk him into that. “That’s very kind of you.”

He scoffs at her assessment, “She ambushed me and I’m stuck with the thing. What am I supposed to do?” 

“Of course.” 

“It’s a menace.” He pulls a plate out of one of the cupboards and starts plating the food. When finished, he brings it to put in front of Eileen and sits down in the other kitchen chair. “It pissed on the entryway rug and attacks me every morning when I first come out of my room.” 

She can’t help her laugh that time, covering her mouth apologetically. Eileen takes a bite of the eggs; they’re good. 

“And she knows it's a menace,” he continued. “It attacks the house elves. It tries to hunt them and they’re scared of it. That’s why she couldn’t leave the damn thing at home where it belongs in the first place.” 

Eileen tries to think of who her son could know with house elves who could get him to take care of her cat. 

Severus has stood back up, full of anxious energy, and starts washing up. He was still complaining, “Even the peacocks avoid it and they’re vicious. I think it made Draco cry twice the first week she got it.” 

Ah. Eileen’s nose wrinkles ever so slightly. “I didn’t know you were still in contact with the Malfoys.” 

Severus just makes an agitated so-so gesture without turning around. 

At the mention of the Malfoy family’s child, Eileen’s mind turns once again back to the scene in the grocery store a few days prior. She feels herself losing her appetite and pushes away the plate, picking up the cup of tea instead, letting the warmth infuse her fingers as she wonders if she should say anything. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Harry Potter since that day and she doesn’t have anyone else she can discuss it with. 

Finally, unable to resist, she starts, “I ran into someone we both know the other day.” 

“There’s no one we both know who I want an update on.” 

Always so difficult. 

Maybe she should drop it . . . 

“I’m sure you remember Petunia Evans.” 

Severus slams the pan he had finished cleaning on the drying rack with much more force than necessary, then picks it up again to place it more gently like some kind of odd form of self-correction. Quietly, he says, “Eileen, don’t.” 

Eileen. 

It’s what he started calling her when they got back in touch after the war. She hates it, even more than she hated when he came back after his first year at Hogwarts calling her ‘mother’ and affecting other speaking habits of his pretentious classmates. And Lord knows the only person who hated that more than her was Tobias. Eileen shakes her head as though she might cast away thoughts of the past. When she looks at her son properly, the look on his face is not so much angry as wounded and she almost feels bad for bringing it up. 

“I suppose running into her was not so unusual,” she continues anyway, “but I was really surprised to see that she had her nephew with her.” 

For a moment, it’s like he didn’t hear her, but then he’s moving again all at once, removing the potions from the caddy and putting away the ingredients he used for breakfast, clearly getting ready to leave. He says brusquely, “I don’t know why you’re telling me this.” 

Eileen shrugs helplessly, “There’s something not right there.”

“It’s none of our business.” 

She purses her lips, “Petunia was berating the boy. She called him a ‘freak.’ I have to say, she was never a very nice little girl and I know she didn’t like magic but I would have thought her sister’s memory would have softened her.” 

“Yes, well, time heals nothing. Did you need anything else before I go?” 

“Severus, he didn’t look well-cared for. He was dirty with clothes that didn’t fit and was much too thin. Petunia was pulling his hair, and I can’t be sure, but I think I saw bruises on his arms. At one point, he got so badly frightened that he lost control of his bladder. Someone needs to do something.” To her own surprise, her voice had grown increasingly emotional and was shaking a bit by the end. She felt unbidden tears pricking her eyes and she quickly wiped them before the tears could fall. 

Her son, however, wore an icy expression and spoke in an equally cold voice, “As touching as this surprising newfound concern for mistreated children is, I reiterate that this is none of our business. Whatever is going on, I’m sure the brat has plenty of people looking out for his well-being.” 

“Severus!” Eileen cried, dismayed. “So, you’re just happy to be a bystander?” 

“Did you ever think that maybe you misunderstood the situation? Maybe a combination of pushing yourself despite the healer's orders and a guilty conscience made you misinterpret things?” 

“I’m not a fool,” her own voice was chilly now, bristling at his thinly veiled words. “Did you ever think that maybe this isn’t about you? That everything isn’t about what happened in the past?” 

The front door slams so hard that the frame on the wall next to it is askew. Eileen picks up her plate and takes it to the sink, washing and drying it, and dumps out the rest of her tea that has gone cold. She starts to sort through the potions, setting aside the vials she would need to take today and storing the rest appropriately, muttering to herself about grown men throwing tantrums. While she doesn’t regret what she said, exactly, she deeply regrets that their every interaction has this combative undertone. She wished that they could build something new, but it seemed like they always got too fixated on what was already there but couldn’t be fixed to even try.

Chapter Text

It’s midweek by time she hears from Severus again which is much sooner than she had expected. One of the nondescript barn owls that Hogwarts keeps for use by staff and students taps on her kitchen window in the early afternoon. Eileen unrolls the parchment curiously, absent-mindedly giving the owl some of the treats she keeps in a kitchen drawer. School wasn’t in session for a few more weeks so she was quite surprised by the messenger bringing the note from her son. 

Come to Spinner’s End. Immediately. 

She turns over the parchment but that’s all he’s written. Hello to you too, she thinks, exasperated, but grabs her purse to head to Cokeworth anyway. The effects of the treatment have come into full fruition by then and Eileen is feeling relatively healthy with near normal energy levels so apparating is no great burden today. The street that greets her on the other side is familiar - she could find her way around Cokeworth with her eyes closed, even after not living there for several years - and as depressing as ever. From what she can see, she thinks that even more homes in the area have been abandoned. 

Eileen walks up to the front door but before she can knock, the door is wrenched open and Severus is hissing, “Come in, be quiet!” 

Raising her eyebrows, she follows behind him into the living room to stand in front of the couch. A little boy is lying there, deeply asleep from the way his breathing is steady and deep, and she doesn’t need to see his green eyes to recognize him. Slowly, she says, “That’s Harry Potter.” 

Severus gives her a derisive look for stating the obvious and then waves for her to follow him into the kitchen, closing the door behind them. He turns to her, “I hope you’re happy.” 

Eileen is still trying to catch up on the situation. Awkwardly, she says, “Um, the proper authorities know that you have him, right?” 

Her son throws up his hands in an exasperated ‘who knows’ gesture that she finds just a bit concerning in this situation. “That depends on how you define proper, I suppose. Albus knows he’s here, but that man’s idea of appropriate child placement apparently involves leaving babies on doorsteps.” 

“Maybe you should start at the beginning,” Eileen suggests, trying to be soothing considering how agitated the young man sees. “Do you want tea?” 

“No, I don’t.” He snaps but drops into one of the kitchen chairs with a sigh, a piece of a rickety set she had bought when first married to Tobias that was hanging on by a thread. “Well, after speaking with you on Saturday, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. So I decided to let Albus know what you saw. I figured that would be my due diligence, a clear conscience and job done. Well, I don’t know the exact details of what he found out, but whatever it was, apparently it warranted removing the boy immediately.” 

“Poor child,” Eileen says sadly. “So then he gave him to you? That’s an . . . interesting choice.” 

Severus gives her a withering look but agrees, “Oh, it’s insane, no doubt. Considering who the boy is, he has to be kept somewhere safe. Of course, Albus’s first thought for a temporary solution was Hogwarts which would turn out to be the first and last reasonable idea that he had in this situation. It turns out that Petunia hadn’t informed the boy that magic exists which is bad enough but do you know what they found out when they got him to the school? Not only had dear Petunia not told him that magic actually exists but had apparently convinced him that anything to do with magic is bad.” 

Eileen frowns, glancing back toward the living room, “That’s really dangerous, Severus.” 

He waved a hand dismissively, “Poppy checked him over and his magical core is stable and intact, if a bit depleted from constantly trying to make up for the nutritional deficiencies and heal injuries. Even then, she doesn’t think it’ll be permanently inhibited once those problems are fixed. She was only able to check him over, by the way, after being forced to spell him asleep because he was inconsolable. As you can imagine, a child that is afraid of magic and believes magic to be bad was a bit overwhelmed to be at one of the most concentrated places of magical energy in our world.”

Eileen’s heart clenched with pity. What the child must have been through to feel that way about magic! It took a lot to turn a wixen against that which was such an essential building block of who they were. Even growing up with a father who resented and hated magic, Severus had never seemed to feel anything but wonder and enthusiasm toward it as a child. She says, “Okay, but why is he here?” 

“Well, since they can’t throw him into a magical household, they needed somewhere that wouldn’t overwhelm him while they try to . . . ease him into the idea of magic. But because of who he is, they can’t just throw him with a Squib or Muggle family who won’t be able to protect him if necessary. Very few halfbloods or even Muggleborns maintain households that are mostly non-magical in nature. I thought Charity – Charity Burbage, she’s the Muggle Studies teacher now, I don’t think you’ve met her - would be the natural choice but of course she has Bilgebane Fever and the last thing they need is him catching a magical illness.” 

Eileen looks around the kitchen and somewhat understands. She had never bothered to outfit Spinner’s End with magical features after Tobias died. By then, she and Severus weren’t talking, and she was used to living like a Muggle anyway. Severus hadn’t bothered either though she didn’t know if that’s because he didn’t want to get too settled in a house he hated or simply because he spent most of the year away at school. Still, “But Petunia is a Muggle and presumably her whole family.” 

The laugh Severus gives is devoid of any humor, “Oh, I assure you that it keeps getting better. Apparently, Petunia’s home was protected by blood wards which negated the need for someone to be there who could defend him.” 

“I refuse to believe Albus Dumbledore would have anything to do with blood magic.” 

Severus swallowed a bit hard, “Not him. I guess the night that she died . . . the nature of her death . . . well, I won’t pretend to understand all of it. Suffice to say that blood protections were established that night and were tied to the residence of his only living blood relative.” 

The silence in the kitchen is deafening and Eileen wants to say something comforting. But she doesn’t know what to say and doesn’t think it would be welcome even if she could think of something. Despite the divide between mother and son, it pains her that he is so unhappy. She clears her throat, “So, how long do you need to keep him?” 

“Until he doesn’t panic when someone uses magic around him? Or they can find a more suitable arrangement. Albus is trying to figure something out.” 

It’s clear that Severus is unhappy with his boss and Eileen also thinks it’s a questionable call on the headmaster’s part. Not because she thought Severus would harm the child, of course, or even let any harm come to him, but because her son seemed to be barely holding it together most days. She didn’t think that he could handle the added stress or that he was emotionally prepared to care for a traumatized child. Severus had never been the most naturally empathetic or patient person to begin with and tended to get even more waspish when under pressure. 

Suddenly, Eileen remembers when Lily had convinced him to sign up with her to help with the local church day camp looking after the younger children. She could still hear the bickering between the two when Severus mostly wanted to find something for the kids to do that involved them being in one room and sitting still and Lily wanted to coordinate some outdoor activities. Severus had seemed convinced that if they let them run around, they were going to end up breaking a bone or getting lost. Lily had laughed at him when he said that, and though Eileen was sure the girl hadn’t meant to be unkind, it had caused a fight between the two. She had no idea how he managed to teach all those students at Hogwarts without going completely mad. 

He had always been an anxious person, she supposes, even as a child. If she was a better mother, perhaps she would have tried to get him some kind of treatment for it, but then if she was a better mother she would have done a lot of things differently. She had instead assumed that it was part of his personality, or maybe that he would grow out of it, especially because he had seemed functional. Severus had done his schoolwork, helped out around the house, and if he seemed a little miserable and overwhelmed, well, who wasn’t? If he only had one friend, at least they seemed thick as thieves; hardly a day passed since they met where they didn’t spend time together.

“Albus promised that Poppy and Minerva would check in and try to help out, and that by the end of the week he would stop by to try to talk to the boy again, but in the meantime you can keep an eye on him.” 

“What?” She asks a bit dumbly, having been stuck in her memories of the past, something that seemed to happen more often lately. 

“This is your fault. The least you could do is watch him for me.” 

Truthfully, Eileen didn’t mind the idea that much, so she just nods in agreement. While she never would have brought another child into her marriage, she had always adored children in general and had dreamed when she was younger that maybe things would improve enough with Tobias that she could consider having more. She was so naive. 

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she catches movement and looks up at the wall where a large white cat had jumped up on a shelf. In the process, it knocked over everything sitting on the shelf with a few knickknacks falling to the floor completely. Unrepentant, it lays down amidst the mess it had made and gazes around the kitchen with what could only be described as a rather imperious look.

“Oh,” Eileen said softly. “I thought the cat was going home on Monday.” 

Severus got a dark look on his face, “I don’t want to talk about it. The cat is going to the pound as soon as I have time to do anything other than crisis management. Psst! Get down from there!” 

The cat gives her son a deeply unimpressed look, not moving except to flick its tail hard, knocking an ugly little gnome figurine to the floor in the process. Eileen focuses on not laughing at his predicament. It wasn’t so surprising, she supposed, since in her opinion Severus had always had a soft spot for nice girls, the ones who were good and had kind temperaments. Or pretended to, she thought, lips tugging down into a frown. Truthfully, she had never met Narcissa Malfoy, but she knew all about families like hers; both the one she had married into and the one she came from. She could tell stories about Abraxas Malfoy or Orion Black that maybe she should have shared when Severus was young and enamored with the world of rich purebloods because surely they would have given him pause. 

That had always been an obstacle with the two of them when she was trying to guide him in those days. Severus hadn’t thought she knew what she was talking about, as if she had always been a housewife in Cokeworth. As if she didn’t know more about that world he coveted than she had ever cared to, as if she hadn’t lived in that world for longer than he’d been alive at that point and left for a good reason. Tobias had been no help, of course; wouldn’t have been even if he’d been a wizard and familiar with that world, because like her son he valued money and power every bit as much as he hated the people who had it. 

Severus had given up on the cat, instead opening the cellar door and starting to disappear into the basement. Eileen asks, “Wait, where are you going?” 

“I have to brew some potions. Poppy did what she could in the hospital wing, but we obviously don’t stock potions suitable for children that young or that small for that matter. I’ll need to do it from scratch. I’ll be back by dinnertime.” With that, he disappeared, closing the door behind him with a soft, decisive thud and Eileen was left with her thoughts and the young child in the other room who surely wouldn’t sleep much longer.

Chapter Text

Eileen had been watching Harry for a few hours and in that time her concerns had only grown. The boy had been upset upon waking, likely due to the unfamiliar surroundings and upheaval of the past couple days, and it had taken Eileen a long time to get him calm again. Even once she managed that, he wouldn’t give her verbal answers to her questions and had yet to speak in her presence, though when she asked him if he remembered her from the other day, he had nodded. Additionally, the boy was not just quiet or shy, though he was certainly that as well. Rather, Eileen thought withdrawn would be a better word to describe what she was seeing. It was just difficult to get him to engage much with her or take much interest in his surroundings. 

Truthfully, she was feeling a bit out of her depth when it came to his peculiar behavior. 

It didn’t help that there wasn’t much at Spinner’s End to entertain a child. There weren’t any toys or games to entertain him with and she didn’t know if it was safe to take him outside since a big concern was his safety. She thought the backyard should be secure enough but one glance back there quickly dissuaded her from that idea. It was horribly overgrown and someone had been throwing trash over the fence from the walking path that curved behind the houses. It was honestly a bit of a relief when it was time to prepare lunch, giving her a chance to clear her head as she put together some sandwiches with apple slices. 

Sighing, she sat the food on the table and went to fetch Harry from the living room. When she entered, she paused at the scene in front of her. Harry was kneeling on the floor with his hand outstretched to the temperamental white cat Severus had been watching, not touching it but instead waiting with a patience belying his young age. He made a soft coaxing noise, whispering, “Come here kitty. I won’t hurt you.” 

For her part, the cat seemed fairly unimpressed, laying on her side and watching the boy with an intensity matching his own. Part of Eileen was tempted to break up the situation, remembering the story Severus had told her about the cat making the Malfoy boy cry when they first got it. She couldn’t bring herself to do that, though, since this was the first time she had heard him speak and the most engaged he had been with anything since he arrived. To her surprise, the cat eventually got to its feet and walked slowly toward Harry, sniffing his outstretched hand before bumping it with her head. In response, Harry gently scratched her neck and stroked the fur on her back. 

Eileen smiled and said softly, not wanting to startle the child or the animal, “Making friends, Harry?” 

The boy pulled his hand away and looked over at her, eyes filled with caution and posture rigid as though not sure if he were in trouble. The cat, apparently heedless of the tension, rubbed against his knees before flopping gracelessly on the floor. She smiled reassuringly and he nodded slowly, reaching out to the cat again and gently running his hand over her soft fur. 

After watching for a few minutes as the cat luxuriated in the gentle attention of the child, she reluctantly had to interrupt, “Lunch is ready, dear. Let’s eat and then you can come back and play with the cat. Can you wash your hands, please?” 

After ascertaining he could reach the sink by himself in the bathroom, Eileen went back to the kitchen where Harry shortly joined her. When they sat down to eat, she was somewhat alarmed by how fast Harry was eating his lunch, eyes darting over to her as though she might take it away. Gently, she said, “Slow down, dear. You’ll give yourself an upset stomach.” 

Despite her efforts to keep her tone gentle and soft, the boy seemed to be put off his food by her remark, shooting her a guilty look and slowly putting down his sandwich. She tried to coax him back to finishing his meal but he showed the same disinterest that he had shown most things today. With a sigh, she cleaned up and told him to let her know if he wanted a snack, which she somehow doubted he would as he had not asked for anything all day. Heading back to the living room, she had an idea of how to hopefully engage him despite the lack of child friendly things at Spinner’s End. 

“Harry? Would you like to hear a story?” 

She was relieved when the child perked up a bit and offered a tentative nod. Eileen sat down on the couch, folding her feet under her, and patted the cushion next to her. Harry climbed onto the couch willingly enough, though with some distance between them and looked at her with a mixture of shyness and expectation that she found endearing. For a moment, she thought about what story she could use, and realized this was also a good opportunity to introduce him to the magical world, albeit in a very small way, by telling him a story beloved by wizarding children everywhere that involved magic. 

“Okay. This story is called The Fountain of Fair Fortune. There once was an enchanted and enclosed garden that was protected by powerful magic. Once a year, an unfortunate was allowed the opportunity to find their way to the fountain, to bathe in the water, and to win fair fortune forever more . . . “ 

So she told him about the three witches and the Muggle knight who didn’t have magic, about their trials and cooperations, about what they learned and how their turn in fortune was not due to magic at all but rather embracing the strengths within themselves. Despite being terribly out of practice, Eileen made an attempt to do a different voice for each character and to give the words the proper inflection as the story progressed. For his part, Harry listened with rapt attention to the tale and she resolved that she would tell him more in the future. 

By the time she was finished, she was feeling a bit wistful as she was visited by memories of when her own son was young. She used to tell these kinds of stories to Lily and Severus when they were children, either sitting in the park with them or at Spinner’s End on the occasions when Tobias had taken off which were always times of both stress and relief for her. Lily had been unabashedly intrigued by the stories and Severus, though he had acted greatly put upon to have to listen to ‘children’s stories’, would always end up getting drawn in despite himself. 

“Thank you for the story,” he said, so softly she might have missed it if not for the quiet of the room and their proximity. 

She smiled, “You’re welcome. I will tell you some more sometime, if you like.” 

He nodded and offered her a bright, genuine smile. 

Hesitantly, unsure if she should bring it up given his clear difficulty with all the changes happening, she said, “You know, I knew your mother when she was a little girl.” 

She watched him carefully as he looked at her shyly before looking away, fussing with a loose thread on the seam of the couch cushion. 

“She and Severus were friends when they were young. They must have met when they were not much older than you are now at a park near here. Lily was such a nice girl; always had a kind word for everyone. And she was so creative – she loved arts and crafts projects and was always making up games for her and Severus or the other neighborhood children to play.” The fondness that crept into her voice was quite genuine. “I think I might be able to find some pictures of her from back then. Would you like that?” 

Harry shrugs but then gives the slightest nod. Eileen beamed at him and they were both quiet for a moment before he asked, “What’s the cat’s name?” 

“Actually, I don’t know. You’d have to ask Severus. He’ll be joining us for dinner.” 

By the time she was making supper, Eileen was quite exhausted. You would have thought she had spent the afternoon with a much more rambunctious child but she supposed it was more emotional drain than anything. She settled on making a roast chicken with mashed potatoes and glazed carrots. To her surprise, as she was getting the ingredients from the fridge, Harry appeared in the doorway and started pushing one of the kitchen chairs over to the counter.

Bemused, she asked, “And what are you doing, little one?” 

He stopped and looked at her with big guileless eyes, seeming uncertain now, “Help?” 

“Oh,” she said, a bit surprised. Severus had pitched in doing chores and cooking when he was young, of course, though she had not had him helping in the kitchen quite this young. Nor when he was a teenager and they couldn’t seem to get along for more than ten minutes, though whenever she was injured or weighed down by what she hadn’t realized at the time was her poorly managed chronic illness, he would appear in the kitchen, waving her away and saying ‘just let me do it’ before making dinner with a methodical and put upon air. Eileen shook her head, frustrated with her frequent, unwanted walks down memory lane these past days. To Harry, she said, “Of course. I’m sure there’s something you can help with. Shall I pick you up and put you on the chair?” 

When she bent to do so, however, he moved out of her reach and to the other side of the chair. He said, “I can do it.” 

She nervously watched him climb up onto the chair, wondering if she should try to cast a sneaky cushioning charm on the ground just in case. He was watching her expectantly and she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. It was good to see the child engaged at the very least, she thought, as she gave him instructions of what to stir or pour or add while she took care of tasks a child should be nowhere near like chopping the carrots. 

Curious, she asked, “Do you help your aunt cook very much?”

It certainly didn’t seem like the woman would have the patience for it or the desire to spend the time with her nephew from the little Eileen had seen. Harry glanced over at her and said, “Yes, but . . .” 

“But?” 

“Not like this.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He shrugged, lips tugging down into a little frown and mumbled, “It’s just different.” 

“Well,” Eileen says, as brightly as she can manage, “I think you have been a very good helper. Thank you so much.” 

She got a shy smile for her trouble which somehow felt worth it anyway. When dinner was close to being done, she instructed the child to go wash his hands and eased herself into a kitchen chair to rest. Her joints were aching unpleasantly, the soft tissue there inflamed, and exhaustion was starting to creep over her. As she rested, she watched bemused as the large white cat crept into the kitchen, crouching low to the ground and staring fixedly at the door to the cellar. A moment later, she understood as her son emerged, only to be accosted by said cat who leapt at him, landing at his midthigh before using it as a springboard to run off again. 

Severus jumped impressively, yelling, “That bloody cat!” 

Eileen barely managed to get the amused expression off her face before he turned to her, though she had to press her lips together to keep them from curling into a smirk. He took in her slumped posture in the hard chair and how exhausted she looked before turning away and flicking his wand to set the table. In a much more subdued voice, he said, “Thank you for watching him and making dinner. How did it go?” 

“Okay, I think,” she was frowning though. “He is . . . very withdrawn and quiet for a child his age. I had a hard time getting him to take an interest in much of anything. The only time he really seemed engaged was when I was telling him a story and when he was interacting with the cat. He seems quite taken with her.” 

“Of course he is,” Severus made a slight face. “They have a lot in common as unwelcome houseguests in my home.” 

“Severus!” Eileen snapped in dismay. “What a thing to say! Don’t you dare talk like that!” 

He rolled his eyes at her indignation, “I’m not a monster, Eileen. I would hardly say it in front of him.” 

“Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘little pitchers have big ears’?” 

“Haven’t you ever heard of learning the perils of eavesdropping?” 

“A concept your school-age students might be able to grasp but not a six-year-old.” 

Severus huffed but inclined his head to her point. He said, “Where has he gone, anyway?” 

“I told him to go wash his hands for dinner. That was quite a bit though. Can you get the chicken out of the oven? I’ll see what’s taking so long.” Eileen stood up and left the room, hearing her son muttering about following basic directions behind her. Rather than arguing with him about it again, she sent a not-so-mild stinging hex at him before leaving him to his indignation. 

She walked down the hallway and found the bathroom door shut so she lightly knocked before entering. She said, “Harry, dear, are you all right?” 

Eileen was not expecting the little boy to be on the other side of the room, green eyes wide and wary, even fearful if she was completely honest. At her questioning look, Harry asked her, “Is he mad?” 

She frowned, “Severus? Oh, no, sweetie. Come here. Because he was yelling?” 

Harry crept closer to her and gave a small nod. 

“No, he’s not mad.” She knelt down in front of him despite her protesting joints. “I think the cat was trying to play a game and only succeeded in frightening him. And even if he was mad, there’s no reason he would be mad at you. You’ve been a very good boy today and a big help. And, even if he was mad at you, he wouldn’t hurt you. Do you understand?” 

The look he gave her was very doubtful but he gave a tentative nod anyway though she felt like it was probably just because he thought that’s what she wanted. 

“I’ll have to talk to him and remind him to use his indoor voice. I raised him with better manners than that.” She gave him a little wink which earned her a shy smile. Finally, she said, “Now, let’s go eat some supper. We don’t want our hard work to go to waste, do we? Would you like a hug before we head back? I always find that helps me when I’ve gotten a bit upset.” 

Eileen didn’t really expect him to want one as he hadn’t been particularly affectionate today, which was quite understandable given all the sudden changes and that he didn’t really know her, but he surprised her by giving a little nod and stepping closer to her, allowing her to wrap her around his small frame. She winced a little as she could starkly feel how bony and painfully thin he was with her arms around him like this but forced a smile when he pulled away and she led him to the kitchen. 

Severus had already taken a seat at the table when they got back to the kitchen and raised his eyebrows as the missing pair reemerged. He asked, “Is everything all right?” 

“Oh, yes, just a misunderstanding.” Eileen nodded, taking her own seat and patting the chair next to her for Harry to join her, though she planned to have a word with Severus later. She didn’t think her son grasped quite how fragile the boy was, even removed from the stressor of magical surroundings. As she began to fill her and Harry’s plates, Severus pulled out what looked like a Muggle medicine bottle which she assumed he had transfigured Harry’s potions. She thought it was a job well done considering how many years it must have been since he had even laid eyes on one. There was even a miniature measuring cup to go with it, which he filled to the top line. 

“Harry,” Severus said, waiting until the child looked at him to continue, “this is a medicine you will have to take every day with breakfast and dinner. Luckily, this medicine is able to treat many of your ailments at once which means less medicine you need to take, which is fortunate as I admit that it doesn’t taste very nice.” 

Eileen translated this to mean that Severus had managed to synthesize the potions Harry needed into one as well as adjust the ingredients to be more appropriate for his age and size. It sounded like, for his part, Severus had a very productive day. When Harry looked up at her, she nodded encouragingly, “Sometimes it helps if you plug your nose when you drink it. You’ll taste it less.” 

He still looked uncertain, hand creeping reluctantly toward the measuring cup, and Eileen heard Severus give a barely audible sigh of impatience. Harry looked back up at him and asked quietly, “You promise it won’t make me sick?” 

Severus blinked, “Of course it won’t. I wouldn’t give you something that would make you sick. Why would you think that?” 

Eileen could hear him making an effort to temper his annoyance, but Harry just shrugged and looked away. 

A sigh that was a little more audible that time, “It’s typically polite to answer a verbal question with a verbal answer.” 

Harry’s shoulders shuddered a little bit and he was wiping at his eyes that had filled with tears. Severus looked utterly lost, shooting a beseeching look at Eileen who was also a bit surprised by such an extreme reaction even after spending the day with the child. Something more was definitely going on there, but she wasn’t sure trying to force a cognizant explanation for the emotional display was the best idea when they needed him to focus on taking his potion and eating dinner. She rubbed his back lightly and said, “It’s okay, Harry. No one is upset. He’s just trying to understand.” 

Severus said, suddenly, “Would it help if I drank some first? So, you can see that it doesn’t make me sick?” 

Harry’s voice was very quiet, as he wiped away some more tears, “Would you really?” 

Severus looked like he wanted to say something snide but managed to bite his tongue, just nodding instead. He easily took the measuring cup and drank it down in one swallow, before he filled it again. Harry was watching him intently and he raised his eyebrows at the child, “Well? Do I look like I’ll survive?”
 

Harry nodded and reached out for the cup of potion, drinking it obediently though his face scrunched up in a rather dramatic fashion at the taste. While sympathetic to his plight, Eileen had to admit that his expression was rather adorable. When he was finished, she smiled and said, “Well done.” 

Severus gave a little roll of his eyes at the production but said, “Indeed. Now, let’s please eat dinner before it gets cold.” 

Harry was picking at his food a bit and Eileen thought he had sufficiently upset himself to spoil his appetite. She tried to think of a way to get him to relax and distract him and a thought quickly came to her. She said, “Severus, Harry was asking me what the cat’s name was, and I realized that I didn’t know and that we’d need to ask you.” 

The little boy perked up at that and Severus just said, “Eat your dinner, a little bit of everything, and I’ll tell you about the cat.” 

Harry obediently starts taking bites of his food and a couple sips of his milk. Once satisfied that he was making progress, Severus continues, “Her name is Persephone.” 

The word isn’t easy for Harry to say, and he and Severus go back and forth a couple times with her son pronouncing it more slowly each time until Harry could passably say it. Still, able to say the name or not, Harry is not entirely satisfied, “That’s a strange name for a cat.” 

“I think it’s the name of the goddess of spring in Greek mythology,” Severus said, as though that helped anything at all. 

Harry considered this and then said, “I still think it’s a weird name for a cat.” 

“I didn’t name her.” 

“Who did?” 

“Persephone belongs to a friend of mine so presumably she did. It certainly sounds like the kind of name she would choose. I was watching her while she was away from home but now it seems like she might not be able to take her back. Which is very wrong, by the way. People should consider very carefully before taking responsibility for an animal. It’s not a responsibility to just be cast off when it becomes inconvenient.” 

Harry, to Eileen’s surprise, was listening closely and nodded very seriously. She thought this might be the most she’d seen him talk all day. He was also making good progress on his dinner, distracted as he is from his earlier worries. Harry said, “Since she’s your cat now, can we give her a different name?” 

“She is not my cat.” 

“But we could give her a new name?” 

“I really don’t care what you call her, Harry.” 

“I think she’d like to be called Snowball.” 

Severus let out a little huff of laughter. Eileen smiled and said, “I like it. That’s a good name, Harry.” 

They finished dinner and Severus cleared away the dishes, leaving them in the sink for the moment, presumably to use magic to clean them when Harry wasn’t paying attention. He said, “Harry, why don’t you go find . . . Snowball, while I speak to Eileen?” 

“Okay,” he said, sliding out of his chair. He turned back to her and asked, “Are you leaving?” 

“Yes, Harry, but I’ll say goodbye after we’re done talking.” 

He nodded, but still hesitated, “You’re coming back though, right?” 

“Of course, dear.” 

“Go on now,” Severus said and Harry scampered off to find his new animal friend. 

Eileen told her son about the day and her interactions with the little boy as well as her concerns about his strange behavior, “I think he probably needs more help than we realized. More, I’m certain, than the headmaster realizes. Severus, you really must be very careful with him. He’s sensitive and scared and has been through more than anyone his age should ever have to endure. Anyone can see that even with no other information about his background.” 

“I’m sure he will be fine, Eileen. Children are resilient. I will take your words under advisement, though, and try to curb my harsher mannerisms. From what you told him, I assume you can return tomorrow?” 

“Yes, it’s no trouble. Do you know how long he’ll be here? I won’t be able to keep up with him when it’s closer to being time for my treatment.” 

“Albus promised he would start looking for a better alternative immediately so hopefully not too long.” 

“Will you be okay for tonight? I would offer to stay but I need to take my potions, and you know how exhausted they make me.” 

“And regardless, you need rest in order for your body to properly utilize them. Do you foresee me having that much trouble overnight? It should be time for him to go to bed before long anyway.” 

“I think, as I said, that you need to be careful to be sensitive when dealing with him.” 

“If I have any trouble, I’ll fire call Minerva, I suppose. She’s eager to help. She was very fond of both his parents.” Something was bitter in his expression then but Eileen didn't ask. He wouldn’t confide in her even if she did. “Can you do me one more favor?” 

“What is it?” 

“He has absolutely nothing. Would you be willing to pick up a few clothing items to tide him over until Albus finds him an appropriate family?” 

“Oh, that’s no trouble at all!” Eileen said, secretly delighted by the assignment. “And he needs some age-appropriate toys to help keep him busy. There’s really nothing to occupy a child here.” 

Severus rolled his eyes and pressed some money into her hands, “Don’t go overboard. And don’t get anything that makes obnoxious noises or a big mess.” 

She didn’t dignify his grouchiness with a response. Instead, she asked, “Do you think there’s a way that we could take him outside? I know safety is a high priority but it’s not good for him to be stuck in here all day every day.” 

“I don’t like the idea of taking the risk. I’ll see if I can figure something out, though. And I’ll try to make the backyard serviceable after he goes to bed, maybe. I’ll make sure it’s safe, at least.” 

“Excellent. Thank you, Severus.” 

He gave her a pinched look, “Eileen, don’t get attached. This is a very temporary situation, and we won’t be having contact with the boy after he leaves until I have to endure his presence at Hogwarts.” 

“I’m not getting attached! I just want to make sure that we’re doing everything we can for him. It’s called compassion, Severus.” Eileen said indignantly. At his disbelieving look, she shook her head and said, “I’m going to go say goodbye. Do both of you a favor and heed my advice about how you treat him.”