Chapter 1: One
Chapter Text
The scratch of quill on parchment was steady, measured — until Severus Snape’s fingers cramped and the tip spluttered over the edge of the page. He exhaled sharply through his nose and set the quill down, flexing his hand.
His other hand drifted to his neck, fingers pressing against the scar just below his jaw. It throbbed faintly — not with pain, but memory. He rubbed it once, sharply, as if that could silence it.
The office still smelled faintly of stone dust and fresh varnish. Somewhere down the corridor, a scaffold creaked. Hogwarts was rebuilding, room by room. He was, too.
A knock interrupted the quiet.
“Enter,” he called, not looking up.
The door opened to reveal Professor McGonagall, her robes gathered tightly at her shoulders. She stepped in with her usual purposeful stride, though there was a rare crease between her brows.
“There are a handful of students who weren’t properly classified before term began,” she said. “Some records are still missing or… delayed.” Her eyes flicked briefly to the stack of parchment on his desk.
Snape raised an eyebrow. “And you’re here to hand-deliver names?”
She pulled a folded parchment from her sleeve and set it on the corner of his desk.
“There’s one name left,” she said. “I thought you might have better luck locating him.”
He didn’t pick it up.
“And who might that be?” he asked, voice like cold stone.
“Harry Potter.”
The silence that followed was sharp and short. Snape blinked once, then reached for the parchment without reading it.
“Of course,” he muttered.
McGonagall gave him a look — not pity, not triumph. Just weariness.
“He’s likely in Gryffindor Tower. He’s not hiding, Severus. Just… slow to cooperate.”
“Some things never change.”
She inclined her head. “I trust you’ll handle it.”
With that, she turned and left.
Snape stood a moment later, slipping the parchment into his robes. His chair scraped against stone as he rose.
The corridors of Hogwarts stretched quiet and half-lit. The walls shimmered in places, spells still holding them together. It felt both too familiar and completely foreign.
The Fat Lady’s portrait was gone — the frame left empty, the wall around it scorched. Snape stepped through the wrecked threshold into the common room.
It was still, but not abandoned. The far wall had been blown open, the stone jagged and sun-warmed from the late afternoon light.
Harry Potter sat on a torn sofa, facing the sunset through the ruined wall, arms resting on his knees. He didn’t turn as Snape entered.
“We’re leaving,” Snape said, coldly.
No response.
Snape’s jaw tightened.
“I said we’re leaving.”
Still nothing.
Snape crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed Harry by the arm.
Harry flinched, turning his head at last. His eyes caught the sunlight. Not angry. Not surprised. Just tired.
“Don’t,” Harry said quietly. “You don’t have to drag me.”
Snape didn’t let go at once. The air between them was too warm.
“Then move,” he said. “You’ve wasted enough time.”
Snape scoffed as he turned to go, slow enough to hear Harry rise behind him.
They walked in silence through the broken castle, through the staircases still held together by temporary magic, past tapestries singed at the edges.
They reached the hospital wing.
It was dim, still, and half-repaired like the rest of the castle. Snape crossed to a side table and retrieved a parchment pamphlet, then turned to Harry and pointed at an empty bed.
“Sit.”
Harry hesitated, then sat.
Snape handed him the pamphlet. “Repeat the incantations. Aloud. In order.”
Harry stared down at the page.
“What is this? Why?”
Snape didn’t answer.
McGonagall’s voice filled the silence.
“It’s a classification spell,” she said gently. “It tells us how the war has changed you — emotionally, magically. Everyone receives one before their sixth year. But two years of students went without. We’re… catching up.”
Harry looked down at the list of Latin incantations. His fingers tightened on the paper.
“And what if I haven’t changed?”
Snape said flatly, “Then it will show nothing.”
Harry said nothing.
He began to read.
One line. Two.
Nothing.
The third and fourth — still nothing.
At the fifth, the words barely left his mouth before he bent forward suddenly, clutching his abdomen.
“Shit—”
He dropped to his knees with a strangled cry. The pamphlet fell from his hands.
Fire tore through his abdomen, white-hot, as if it were carving him open from the inside.
“Potter—” McGonagall moved, but Snape had already drawn his wand.
“Incarcerous.”
Ropes snapped tight around Harry’s chest and arms, pinning him in place.
“Stop moving,” Snape snapped. “You’ll only make it worse.”
“F-FUCK YOU!” Harry screamed. “What the fuck is this—!”
The pain only worsened. He arched against the bindings until the force of it dragged another scream from him — and then, suddenly, he collapsed, unconscious.
A soft silver light shimmered beneath his shirt. Slowly, a delicate, curling mark etched itself into the skin near his hip.
A symbol.
Little.
The glow faded. The mark remained.
No one spoke.
Finally, McGonagall said softly, “Then it’s true, then.”
She looked to the far wall. In a portrait frame, Dumbledore stood watching, face unreadable.
“You always saw what the rest of us missed,” she murmured.
Snape exhaled hard. “So. Now that the boy’s been branded, what exactly is the plan?”
“He’ll need a guardian,” McGonagall said. “Someone stable. Someone who understands.”
Snape sneered. “Try the wolf. Or did he vanish again?”
“He and Tonks have gone quiet. No one’s heard from them.”
“Black is dead. And the Weasleys—”
He hesitated.
“They’ve practically raised him already. Molly would take him in.”
McGonagall adjusted her glasses. “They’ve done enough. And that’s not what Dumbledore wanted.”
Snape narrowed his eyes. “And what did he want?”
She hesitated.
“It should be you.”
Snape laughed sharply — bitterly.
“I haven’t been a caregiver since You-Know-Who. And look how he turned out.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
He said nothing.
She turned toward the portrait. Dumbledore stood motionless, hands folded, eyes gently expectant.
“He saw the symbol coming,” she said. “And he said it would be you.”
Snape looked at Harry — unconscious, tied down, the glow fading from his side.
“I suppose choice is irrelevant now,” he muttered.
“It usually is,” McGonagall said.
He didn’t nod. Not quite.
But he didn’t argue again.
Chapter 2: Two
Notes:
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Chapter Text
The hospital wing was quiet now, save for the steady tick of the old wall clock and the gentle rustle of sheets as Harry shifted in his sleep.
Snape sat in a hard chair near the foot of Harry Potter’s bed, the boy finally still after the events of the last few hours. There was something unsettling about the way he looked in sleep — not peaceful, not truly rested. Just… small.
Snape sighed, long and slow.
Now that Potter had a Little classification, half the wizarding world would be desperate to take him in. Fawning caregivers with outstretched arms, smothering affection, sweet-talking nonsense. No doubt he’d be assigned to someone soft and clingy, someone who’d treat him like a wounded animal instead of what he actually was: Potter.
Bar one exception.
Snape.
He wasn’t interested in keeping the boy.
Truthfully, he was already thinking of ways to get rid of him. He could be strict. Unpleasant. Impatient. Not cruel — not exactly — but difficult enough that Potter would beg for reassignment.
A month. That was his mental deadline. Long enough to stabilize him, long enough for someone else to take over.
He glanced at Madam Pomfrey’s nearby book cart and stood, plucking a familiar volume off the top shelf.
What to Expect When Bonded to a Little: A Caregiver’s Guide, First Month Edition.
He flipped it open with faint disdain. But the deeper he read, the quieter he became.
Chapter One: The First 48 Hours
“It is during the first day or two post-classification that Littles are most vulnerable.
Their minds and bodies undergo metaphysical adjustment.
Many Littles will struggle to relinquish control.
This can manifest in tantrums, disobedience, or emotional shutdowns.
Caregivers must respond with stability, calm presence, and reassurance.
This is not defiance. This is fear.”
Snape frowned.
The next section detailed metaphysical regression symptoms:
Mental: slowed speech, mood swings, detachment.
Physical: coordination loss, reduced bladder control, emotional overstimulation.
He glanced at Harry — who slept with a faint crease in his forehead, even unconscious.
Snape exhaled sharply.
Potter was going to be a nightmare.
And nappies?
Snape barely suppressed a groan. He could already imagine the shouting.
Almost as if summoned by the thought, Harry let out a soft whirr, rolling onto his side.
Snape stood, moving toward him — and the moment Harry’s eyes fluttered open, everything shattered.
Harry thrashed violently, panic flooding his features.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
Before he could bolt across the infirmary, Snape raised his wand.
“Accio, Potter.”
Harry was yanked backward mid-sprint, hitting the floor in a tangle of limbs and curses.
“Incarcerous.”
Ropes shot out and bound him to the floor, chest heaving.
“LET ME GO! I’M NOT—! YOU CAN’T—!”
Madam Pomfrey burst through the doors, pushing a metal trolley.
“Oh, Severus.” She clicked her tongue. “Get him back on the bed, please.”
Snape levitated Harry without fanfare and bound each limb to the bedposts under her instruction.
“Mr. Potter,” Pomfrey said briskly, “you need to calm down.”
“DON’T tell me what I need—!”
Pomfrey reached into the cart and pulled out a plain white nappy.
Harry stared at it in horror.
“No. No. I’m not — no, I am not wearing that—”
“It’s standard for newly classified Littles,” she said. “Until we determine your regression age.”
Snape folded his arms.
Harry thrashed harder.
“SNAPE, don’t let her—! I’m not some—some baby!”
Pomfrey sighed. “Severus. Calm him.”
Snape’s jaw tightened. Calming draughts would take too long to brew. Charms wouldn’t last through a change.
There was only one option.
He dropped his voice — deeper, steadier, threaded with instinctive authority:
“Enough of this insolence, dove.
Let Madam Pomfrey help you.
You are safe.
You are not in control.
And that is alright.”
Harry froze.
His muscles stopped resisting.
His expression softened with confusion.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
And then… he nodded.
Pomfrey worked quickly.
With a flick of her wand, Harry’s trousers vanished.
The nappy was slid under him, adjusted, and taped into place.
Harry watched Snape the entire time. Not the nappy. Not Pomfrey.
Snape.
He knew now.
Everyone assumed Snape was an Alpha — he let them.
Encouraged it.
But the Big Voice was unmistakable.
Only a Caregiver could use it.
Pomfrey wasn’t finished. She retrieved a blue cotton onesie, slightly too big, with the zipper up the back.
“I adjusted it,” she said. “Figured he might be a wriggler.”
Snape rolled his eyes but began undoing the restraints.
He slid Harry’s legs into the onesie, guided his arms through, and zipped it at the back.
Harry huffed.
“I feel stupid.”
Snape’s voice softened — without magic this time, but still grounding.
“It’s normal.”
He sat back beside the bed, rubbing slow, steady circles into Harry’s back.
“You were a good boy for listening,” he murmured. “You can rest now.”
Harry melted into the pillow.
The circles on his back turned his mind foggy and warm.
Running seemed impossible now — too heavy, too far away.
Pomfrey returned a few minutes later, smoothing her apron.
“East Wing emergency,” she said. “A charm mishap. Nothing dangerous.”
Harry didn’t move.
He wanted to.
He wanted to bolt to the nearest cupboard and hide forever.
But Snape’s hand kept tracing those soft, steady circles.
“You’re a big softy, Severus,” Pomfrey teased.
Snape shot her a glare fit to kill.
“Say that again and I’ll hex your tea kettle.”
She only smirked and moved around the infirmary, gathering things.
Moments later, she returned with a baby bottle, freshly warmed.
Harry’s whole body tensed.
“No way,” he rasped. “No. Way.”
“It’s nearly nap time,” Pomfrey said simply. “And this will help you drift.”
“I’ve done the nappy. I’ve done the ridiculous onesie. I am not drinking from a baby bottle.”
Snape glared. “Stop being fussy.”
Pomfrey handed the bottle to him before he could explode again.
“We’ve put you through enough torture for one day,” she said. “You can hold it yourself.”
Harry huffed but took it, rolling onto his side.
He pressed the teat to his lips — and nothing happened.
He frowned.
Then the bottle tilted gently on its own, his head shifted to the right angle, and warm milk flowed slowly into his mouth.
A soft, involuntary coo escaped him.
He opened one eye.
Snape was still there.
Adjusting the bottle.
Supporting his head.
Harry blinked once.
Closed his eyes again.
He didn’t want to feel safe.
But it was just… easier.
Chapter 3: Three
Notes:
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Do you want to keep track of our work?
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Chapter Text
The descent through Hogwarts was quiet, but not peaceful.
Snape’s boots echoed softly as he moved through half-repaired corridors, the occasional creak of scaffold wood reminding him that the castle was still recovering. He held Harry Potter carefully in his arms, the boy still sleeping, head resting against his shoulder. Most of the ground floor had been patched up, but the deeper one went, the more raw the damage — and the older the magic.
Snape passed through a courtyard, then a long, shadowed hallway that led toward the dungeons.
Harry stirred.
He blinked blearily, eyelids fluttering, a faint smile on his lips like he was still dreaming.
There had been laughter in the dream — Hermione’s voice, Ron’s teasing. Something warm.
But the smile faded quickly.
His eyes caught the baby blue onesie zipped around his body, and his face fell.
The dream was gone.
He was a Little. And everyone would know.
Hermione wouldn’t judge — she was Neutral, and kind about these things. Neville was a Caregiver; he’d probably be supportive. But Ron…
Harry’s stomach twisted.
Ron had made more than a few nasty comments about Littles over the years. Got detention for it twice. And now Harry was one of them.
He curled slightly tighter against Snape’s chest, almost without thinking.
They reached the top of the grand staircase.
“…W-where we g-goin’?” Harry mumbled, voice soft and slurred.
Snape looked down.
“My quarters.”
Harry blinked. “Y-yer rooms?”
“Yes.”
His heart gave a small, nervous thump. First-year stories flashed through his mind — how Snape supposedly slept in a coffin, brewed potions from dragon bones, and never left the dungeons. He wondered how much of that was true.
They passed the Slytherin common room entrance — the familiar golden serpent statue — and then moved deeper into the unknown. The air grew colder, damper. Moss crawled up some of the stonework. These halls hadn’t been touched by the war. Just time.
“I don’… r’member this place,” Harry murmured.
“You wouldn’t.”
Snape stopped in front of a blank wall. With a flick of his wand, he whispered, “Revelio.”
A shimmering serpent rune appeared.
He tapped it and muttered a soft phrase in a language Harry didn’t recognize.
The wall slid down with a low grind, revealing a gold-edged door with a vine-shaped iron handle.
Snape opened it and carried him inside.
It wasn’t what Harry expected.
Warm, soft lighting glowed from overhead fixtures. Bookshelves lined the walls. A fireplace crackled gently. Several doors branched off from the main space. It looked… lived-in.
Snape set Harry gently onto a couch, then turned to hang his outer robe on a standing rack near the door.
Harry hesitated — then stood.
He shuffled toward the cloak.
His wand. He had to find it. Undo the charm. Get rid of the stupid onesie. Hermione would know how to fix everything.
He patted the inside of the cloak.
There. A hard shape.
He slid it out slowly—
“Expelliarmus.”
The wand flew from his fingers, clattering to the stone.
Harry turned.
Snape stood in the doorway, wand still raised.
“Wands are not safe for Littles,” Snape said. “You won’t be needing it.”
“I do!” Harry shouted, voice cracking. “I d-don’ need a d-daddy—I’m a b-big boy!”
Snape frowned. “You’re not in charge.”
“I’m not a baby!”
“No. But you are acting like one.”
Harry’s fists clenched. His face burned.
“Go,” Snape said coolly. “Stand in the corner.”
“No!”
“Now.”
Harry screamed and charged.
His fists hit Snape’s chest — small, wild, furious. Useless.
Snape caught him easily, turning the boy with one sharp motion.
“Enough,” he snapped.
Harry squirmed. Kicked. Hit. Sobbed.
Snape’s jaw tightened. His hand twitched — old instincts flaring.
Control. Restrain. Punish.
But then he saw the tears.
Not rage.
Fear.
His hand froze.
“…No,” he muttered. “Not like this.”
He lowered Harry slowly to the floor.
The boy sobbed — loud and raw, crumpling into himself.
Snape knelt beside him.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I shouldn’t have handled that the way I did.”
Harry hiccupped. “’S’okay…”
Snape picked him up again — carefully this time — and set him on the couch. A soft blanket floated down from a nearby chair and tucked itself gently over Harry’s lap.
They sat in silence for a long moment.
“I could speak to Molly,” Snape said. “She’d take you.”
Harry thought about it. The Burrow. Molly’s warmth. Safe.
But he looked up at Snape — awkward, harsh, uncomfortable.
And pointed.
Snape blinked.
“You’re certain?”
Harry nodded.
“Very well. But if you stay, there will be rules. Structure. Consequences.”
Harry sniffed.
“…An’… cud’ls? F’r good boys?”
Snape exhaled slowly. Almost smiled.
“Yes, dove. For good boys.”
Snape could see the curiosity in the boy’s face as he looked around, eyes drifting from bookcases to old wood paneling to the glint of runes etched into the mantle. After a moment, he spoke.
“Would my little dove like to look around?”
Harry nodded, perking up a little.
Snape set him gently down, watching as the boy toddled forward with cautious steps. The first door they approached was to the right of the entrance. Snape opened it.
It was a supply closet — or so it appeared.
Harry blinked. “S’big…”
Indeed, it was. The inside was far deeper than the outer door suggested. Rows of dusty shelves lined the walls, filled with cloth bags, old labeled jars, and battered cauldrons stacked one atop the other.
Snape surveyed the space with a small frown. “It’s where I’ve stored spare supplies. I’ll clear it out.”
Harry tilted his head.
“So I can stock baby supplies properly,” Snape added.
Harry squirmed a little at the term.
The next door was the one Snape had entered earlier. This time, he let Harry lead.
It was a large bathroom, with deep slate tiles and a claw-footed tub in the center. Harry wandered in, crinkling slightly with each step, his expression somewhere between curious and annoyed.
Snape watched from the doorway. “Come along.”
Harry waddled back out, clearly interested in the next space.
As he moved to the third door, Snape reached down and gave a light tug at the rim of his onesie.
Harry paused.
Snape guided him gently around to face him, looking serious.
“The next room is my private laboratory. It contains many unstable potions, some of which are dangerous to touch. You are not to enter without me. Do you understand?”
Harry nodded quickly. “M’kay.”
Snape held his gaze a second longer, then turned and unlocked the door.
Harry stepped inside, looking around wide-eyed. It resembled the Potions classroom, but more chaotic. Every shelf and table brimmed with ingredients, tools, and crates of bottled liquids in every imaginable hue.
He moved closer to one crate. The labels weren’t perfectly clear, but he could make out familiar names. “Pepperup,” he read softly, then glanced at the one beside it. “Wiggenweld.” Below the crate was scrawled, “For Pomfrey.”
Harry supposed it made sense — Snape was a brilliant potion-master. His work supplied not just the Hogwarts infirmary, but shops in Hogsmeade and even beyond.
Snape called him gently. They left the lab and moved to the next room — a bedroom. It was warm, quiet, and filled with familiar shadows. A tall wardrobe sat along one wall, its doors open to reveal rows of neatly pressed black cloaks. On the nightstand sat several well-thumbed copies of Potions Monthly.
Harry gave a soft giggle.
Finally, they reached the last door.
Snape opened it.
It was empty — clean, freshly swept, with polished stone floors and soft light.
“This,” Snape said, “will be your nursery.”
Harry wrinkled his nose. He didn’t need a nursery. He was still a big boy.
Just for a few days, he told himself. Then he’d go. Then he’d be big again.
Snape turned and gently booped his nose.
Harry blinked.
“Dinky,” Snape called.
A young house-elf appeared with a pop, bowing low. “Master Snape, sir. Dinky is here. What is needing?”
“I’ll need some clothes for Mr. Potter from his trunk in Gryffindor Tower.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Dinky vanished, Snape looked back to see Harry watching him with wide, curious eyes.
Snape arched a brow. “We’ll also need to visit Diagon Alley.”
Harry blinked.
The adventure was just beginning.
Chapter 4: Four
Notes:
Hi!
Do you want to keep track of our work?
Well now you have a solution!
https://calendar.online/a4ee37ce74e0c87c2019
This calendar will show you the upload dates for our book. (please not that these are pre-scheduled upload dates, they are not accurate and may change on the whim of the writer, these are simply just to allow the reader more effort into when the upload will happen
Chapter Text
Harry clutched Snape’s hand tightly as they made their way through the bustling crowd of Diagon Alley. His other hand gripped the edge of the cloak Severus had given him, pulled high and tight around his neck to hide his face—and more importantly, the crinkle of the nappy beneath his trousers.
At least he hadn’t had to wear the onesie.
Snape wasn’t paying him much attention, eyes narrowed in irritation as he navigated through the crowd. He wasn’t a man used to shopping days, least of all with a regressed teenager in tow. After passing the bank, Snape veered into a quieter alley just off the main path. It was lined with closed shops and an old brick storefront with frosted windows and no sign.
He knocked once, then pushed open the door.
The inside was a stark contrast to the modest exterior.
Pastel colours filled the shop from floor to ceiling. Soft yellows, powdery blues, and mint greens wrapped the walls, matched by plush chairs and oversized cushions. Shelves were lined with nappies, bottles, pacifiers, and dozens of toys and supplies that looked scaled up to adult proportions. At the far end stood displays of cribs, cots, and changing tables—all clearly meant for Littles.
Harry instinctively wrinkled his nose. He took an awkward step behind Snape.
A cheerful young woman stepped out from behind the counter. Her soft braid bounced over her shoulder as she smiled.
“Severus! Got your owl. I’ve cleared the next hour.”
With a flick of her wand, the chalkboard sign on the door's window erased itself, replacing the text with:
Closed for a break — back soon!
“I figured you’d want a bit of privacy,” she added kindly.
Snape gave a short nod. “Much appreciated.”
Her eyes shifted to Harry. “And this must be your Little.”
“Harry Potter,” Snape said dryly. “Newly classified.”
Her eyebrows lifted, just slightly. “Welcome, Harry. I’m Cassia. Slytherin—Head Girl the year before you started, though I doubt we met.”
Harry gave a shy nod, clutching his cloak tighter.
Cassia’s voice remained warm. “You’re safe here, sweetheart. We’ll take things slow.”
Snape didn’t waste time. He walked straight to the back corner where the nursery furniture was on display, running his hand across a polished crib frame.
“Do these come with customisation options?”
“Of course,” Cassia said brightly. “Tones, enchantments, themes—whatever you like.”
Snape flipped through a floating catalogue, landing on a crimson and gold motif with brass fixtures.
“Gryffindor colours?” Cassia asked.
“He’ll sulk less,” Snape replied.
He added a matching changing table and a toy chest shaped like a pirate treasure chest, complete with an ornate ruby on top.
While the adults talked, Harry slowly wandered off.
He found a doorway tucked to the side and slipped into a side room lined floor to ceiling with toys. Shelves overflowed with plush animals, enchanted books, magical building blocks, snow globes, and more. One globe in particular caught his eye—a tiny broom zipped in circles inside, dodging sparkles like a mini Quidditch match.
Harry let out a quiet gasp, reaching to turn it.
Then he reached for a bag.
He began carefully stacking items into it: the snow globe, a dragon plush, a doe plush, colourful blocks, books—and finally, he reached for a glittering sensory wand.
Just as his fingers brushed the wand—
Two hands landed softly on his shoulders.
“DADDY, YOU SCAWED ME!” he squeaked, startled.
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
He froze, horrified. His face flushed bright red.
Snape chuckled, clearly amused. “Apologies, dove. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Harry stared at him in mortified silence.
“You mustn’t wander off,” Snape said more gently. “Even safe shops can be dangerous places.”
Harry nodded sheepishly and pointed toward the wand.
Snape retrieved it and placed it in the bag. “You’ve picked some very nice things.”
He then lifted Harry and brought him back to the front of the shop, where the toy bag was handed to Cassia for sorting and purchase.
Then came the clothes.
The room opposite the toy section was filled with racks upon racks of oversized toddler-style outfits. Onesies, bodysuits, shortalls, soft jeans with buttoned crotches, and all manner of brightly coloured children’s clothes — just bigger.
Harry felt his stomach twist.
He didn’t need baby clothes. He had perfectly normal clothes. But Snape, of course, didn’t ask.
The man went straight to work, picking through racks and lifting items with critical precision.
For summer: light cotton bodysuits, sleeveless onesies, and elastic-waist shorts.
For autumn: overalls, graphic T-shirts, and a heavy cloak.
For winter: fleece-lined onesies, footie pyjamas, a thick navy snowsuit, gloves, scarves, and hats.
For spring: nothing extra—Snape determined the lighter items would do.
A swimsuit was added at the end.
When he returned, he handed Harry a soft grey bodysuit and matching shorts.
“Try these on. I’ll finish the list.”
Harry opened his mouth to complain—then quickly shut it. He didn’t want another timeout.
He muttered “’kay…” and trudged into the nearby changing cubicle.
Inside was a bench, a hook, and not much else. He took off his cloak and belt, setting them neatly aside. Then he undid his trousers and let them fall.
FLASH.
A burst of light exploded behind him.
Harry whipped around.
Standing just outside the curtain was a familiar face: blonde curls, too-red lipstick, and a raised camera.
Rita Skeeter.
“Oh, darling,” she purred, already readying her next shot. “The public is going to love this.”
Chapter 5: Five
Notes:
Hi!
Do you want to keep track of our work?
Well now you have a solution!
https://calendar.online/a4ee37ce74e0c87c2019
This calendar will show you the upload dates for our book. (please not that these are pre-scheduled upload dates, they are not accurate and may change on the whim of the writer, these are simply just to allow the reader more effort into when the upload will happen.
Chapter Text
Harry stared at the woman with panic on his face as the familiar Quick-Quotes Quill scribbled away across her floating parchment. His heart hammered in his chest.
She was already dictating.
“Harry Potter: War Hero Turned Overgrown Baby?” she said with a delighted laugh. “Our exclusive look into the secret life of the Boy Who Lived… and Wet!”
Frozen in place, Harry scrambled to pull his trousers back up, cloak forgotten. “No—stop that! You can’t write that!”
Rita grinned like a Kneazle who’d caught a pixie. “Oh, sweetheart, the world deserves to know.”
The quill scratched louder, faster.
Harry Potter, previously hailed as the saviour of the wizarding world, was spotted today in a Littles outfitter—dressed down, clearly regressed, and possibly under the guardianship of…
She paused dramatically. “Severus Snape? My, my, who would have guessed?”
Before she could continue, the Quick-Quotes Quill was yanked sharply out of the air. A hand crushed it in two.
Snape.
He stood in the doorway, fury radiating off him in cold, pulsing waves. Without a word, he snatched the notepad from Rita’s hand, tearing out page after page. Then, with a flick of his wand, he summoned the camera from her grasp, removed the film, and dropped the whole pile to the floor.
Standing between Harry and Rita, he hissed, “If even the smallest hint of this appears in any publication—print or whisper—I will personally ensure you won’t write again. Not even freelance. Not even for a gossip rag.”
Rita narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue. With a huff, she turned on her heel and stormed out.
Snape followed, watching until she was out of sight. Then, with a sharp incantation, he ignited the confiscated items, burning them to ash.
When he returned, Harry was seated on the bench, knees up, cloak tightly wrapped around him. He was shaking slightly.
Cassia rushed in moments later, eyes wide. “What happened?”
Snape glanced toward her. “Skeeter. You were locked in?”
She nodded, breathless. “In the cellar. I know exactly who did it now.”
Snape turned back to Harry. The boy was trying to button his trousers again, sniffling quietly.
“It’s alright,” Snape said. “Let’s finish up and head home.”
Harry said nothing, but followed, holding Snape’s hand tightly.
—
Harry followed behind Snape as they made their way back through the streets of Diagon Alley. His cloak rustled with each step, and he winced every time the faint crinkle beneath his trousers reminded him of what he was wearing. Worse, his bladder was starting to ache.
He didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to admit he needed the toilet.
Soon, they returned to Hogwarts and descended into the familiar quiet of the dungeons. The ornate gold door appeared once more, sliding open as Snape tapped the final rune.
Inside, Snape called for Dinky to fetch the nursery furnishings from Diagon Alley. As the elf popped away, Snape turned toward the nursery to begin setting things in order.
Harry, breathing a little faster now, took the chance to slip off quietly toward the bathroom.
He locked the door behind him, tossed his cloak on the bench, and frantically undid his belt. As he pulled down his trousers, he reached for the nappy’s tapes—
They didn’t budge.
He pulled again. Still nothing.
His bladder throbbed painfully now. He let out a soft, panicked cry and tugged harder.
A knock at the door made him jump.
“Dove?” Snape’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Open the door, please.”
“No!” Harry cried, panic in his voice. “I—I can’t—”
His knees gave out as his bladder spasmed, and he hit the floor with a whimper. A few drops escaped, and he clenched desperately.
The door unlocked with a quiet charm, and Snape entered, moving slowly. He knelt beside Harry, gently pulling him into his lap.
Harry sobbed, the pressure unbearable.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “I don’t wanna—can’t do it—”
Snape cradled him gently, one hand rubbing soft circles above his bladder.
“Deep breath, dove,” he murmured. “Just breathe. Let go. Daddy’s here. It’s alright.”
The Big Voice laced the words, soft but commanding.
Harry shuddered—and obeyed. He let out a long, shaking breath.
And slowly, with Snape’s gentle pressure, he let go.
Tears streamed down his face as relief washed over him. Snape didn’t flinch. He only held the boy, humming low in his chest, grounding him through the shame.
When it was over, Harry sobbed harder—not from pain, but from release. Snape sat on the floor with him, letting it happen.
Only once the tears began to fade did he speak again.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, alright?”
Harry nodded weakly, still hiding in the folds of Snape’s robes.
Snape gathered a towel and placed it on the sofa. Then, carefully, he carried Harry over and laid him down.
From a satchel, he pulled supplies: fresh nappies, wet wipes, talc, and Harry’s dragon plushie.
Snape handed it to him. “This will make it faster. Hug tight.”
Harry clutched it over his face, hiding his blush.
Snape undid the soaked nappy with ease, cleaned the boy with gentle, if cold, wipes, then dusted him with talcum powder across his crotch and toosh. The new nappy had toddler-like dragon designs all over it, with a thick landing strip and a bold size printed at the front.
Size 3.
Harry peeked. Then flushed red again.
Snape tickled his cheek gently. “All done.”
Harry blinked. “That fast?”
Snape nodded. “Magic helps. So does your dragon.”
The boy gave a small, tired smile.
Snape helped him sit up, wrapping him in a blanket and heading to the small kitchenette.
He returned with a warmed baby bottle, handing it over as he sat beside him.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Snape asked.
Harry hesitated. Then nodded.
They talked quietly, Harry leaning against Snape’s side, sipping slowly.
When the story was done, and the bottle was nearly empty, Snape spoke again.
“Would you… be comfortable calling me Daddy?”
Harry looked up, blinking.
Then, with a soft nod: “Yeah. I think I want that.”
Snape gave a rare, warm smile.
“Alright, dove.”
He picked up a worn children’s book and opened it, his voice calm and low as he began to read.
Harry curled in closer, warm and safe, the bottle resting in his lap.
He didn’t feel like a hero.
He didn’t feel like a freak.
He just felt… little. And safe. With his Daddy.
Chapter Text
Harry groaned softly as he stirred awake, blinking up at the faint golden glow of morning light filtering through the enchanted windows. He yawned wide, a soft squeak escaping as he stretched his limbs. The first thing he noticed was that the once-bare dungeon walls were no longer grey and cold—they had been covered in deep crimson and gold wallpaper, proudly patterned with Gryffindor symbols. His crib sat against one of the enchanted windows, casting soft, natural-looking light into the nursery. Opposite the crib stood a fully stocked changing table, and beside it, his toy chest, shaped like a pirate’s treasure box.
Harry rubbed at his eyes, suddenly overcome with emotion. It was all so much. No one had ever done something like this for him before. The only time he'd ever gotten new toys growing up was when Dudley had broken something and Aunt Petunia begrudgingly passed it down to him. This... this was just for him. A room of his own, built with care.
He sniffled softly, just as the door creaked open and Severus stepped in. Harry immediately ducked under the blanket with a giggle, trying his best to hide. There was a very obvious lump in the middle of the bed, but Snape played along.
"Now where has my little dove gone?" Snape said, glancing about the room with exaggerated confusion.
Harry popped up suddenly, shouting, "BOO!"
Snape startled dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. "Merlin's beard, you gave me a fright."
Harry laughed in delight, and Snape smirked slightly, crossing the room.
He reached into the crib and carefully lifted Harry out. "Let’s get you sorted, hmm?"
Harry was laid gently on the changing table, and with practiced ease, Snape changed him out of his wet nappy, cleaning him up and replacing it with a fresh one. Once finished, he carried Harry into the dining area connected to the living room, setting him in a highchair.
"Nooo, I don' wanna," Harry whined softly, squirming.
"It’s safer, and easier," Snape said, strapping him in.
Harry pouted but didn’t argue further.
Snape called for Dinky, who arrived moments later with a covered tray of warm food. Harry assumed it had come directly from the castle kitchens. Snape took a child-friendly plastic plate and carefully placed scrambled eggs, sausages, and a few slices of bacon on it, cutting the meat into bite-sized chunks. He opened a cupboard and retrieved a green sippy cup, poured apple juice into it, then secured the lid and placed it on Harry’s tray.
"Would you like to feed yourself, or shall I do it for you?"
Harry looked at the food, then up at Snape, then down again. After a moment of consideration, he shrugged. "You do it."
Snape nodded, sitting beside him with his cup of coffee and the Daily Prophet spread on the table. As he spooned bits of egg and sausage into Harry's mouth, he scanned the paper for any sign of Rita Skeeter's betrayal.
Thankfully, there was nothing. No mention of the nursery store. Just a few scattered articles about Voldemort’s fall, speculation on Harry’s whereabouts, and the usual drivel.
Setting the paper down, Snape looked at Harry. "We’ll be staying in today. I want us to discuss some important things."
Harry looked up, cheeks full of sausage. "Mmkay."
"Rules," Snape said. "Rewards. Punishments."
Harry chewed slowly, then nodded.
Once breakfast was cleared, Snape brought over a shopping bag and lifted out a chalkboard-like object. It was a magical rule tracker. On the left side were chalk squares for writing out rules. On the right, a sliding tracker with weather icons at the top: a bright sun, a cloud with one raindrop, a cloud with two, and a full storm cloud.
Snape wrote out the first rule:
Rule 1: Always tell Daddy if something feels wrong.
He looked at Harry. "This one’s about safety. If you’re ever uncomfortable or scared, I need you to tell me."
Harry nodded again.
"Rule 2: No potty mouth."
Snape reached into the bag and pulled out a peculiar-looking stool. He set it on the floor and tapped it. "This is the naughty stool. It makes your tooshie uncomfortable very quickly—even with padding." He poked Harry's nappy gently, causing the boy to blush.
Snape continued writing:
Rule 3: No leaving the quarters without permission.
Rule 4: No lying.
Rule 5: No magic without permission.
Rule 6: No removing clothes or nappies without help.
Rule 7: Be respectful.
Rule 8: Bedtime on time.
Rule 9: Gentle hands.
"Is all of that okay?"
"Mhm," Harry mumbled.
Snape smiled faintly. He led Harry back into the living room and began rearranging the furniture. Once the sofas were shifted to the corners, he set up a playpen and gently placed Harry inside, setting a small pile of toys beside him.
Harry gave him a look. Snape simply pointed at the rule board.
With a huff, Harry sat down and pulled his dragon stuffie into his arms. He stared at it. He supposed kids named their stuffies, right? He glanced over his shoulder—Snape was already back at his desk, quill in hand.
"Hi," Harry whispered to the dragon. "I think I should name you."
He thought for a moment.
"What’s a good dragon name? Blaze? Firetail?"
The dragon’s soft eyes seemed too sweet for such fierce names.
Harry blinked. "Pickle?"
It slipped out of his mouth without thinking. It didn’t even make sense.
But the name stuck.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Pickle suits you."
He gave Pickle a cuddle and lay back, hugging the plush to his chest. The soft rustle of parchment in the background, the faint ticking of the clock on the mantle, and the warmth of the nursery walls wrapped around him like a blanket.
Before he even realized it, his eyes were fluttering shut.
"Getting sleepy, little dove?" came Snape’s voice.
Harry nodded slowly.
Severus crossed the room, bent down, and lifted him into his arms.
"You did very well today."
Harry didn’t speak. He simply curled into the man’s robes, holding Pickle close.
He was tucked gently back into his crib. Snape pulled the blanket over him, tucked Pickle in beside him, and smoothed the hair from Harry's brow.
"Rest now," he whispered. "I'll be right outside."
Harry didn’t respond. He was already asleep.
Notes:
Hi!
I'm going to go a few days without uploading much as I want to plan how I want the fic to go
Chapter 7: Seven
Chapter Text
Snape held Harry’s wrist gently but firmly as he led him toward the designated corner of the room. The boy huffed and puffed the entire way, dragging his feet in exaggerated protest. When they arrived, Snape summoned the time-out stool with a quiet Accio and set it down with purpose.
“Now,” Snape said, tone low and measured, “do you remember why you’re being punished?”
Harry scowled, stuck his tongue out, and crossed his arms.
Snape raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He guided the sulking boy down onto the stool and flipped over the little hourglass that rested nearby. Then, with a flick of his wand, he updated Harry’s behavior chart on the wall: the cheerful sun symbol morphed into a dark cloud with two teardrops.
Harry remained still — for the first two minutes, at least. He mumbled under his breath, face crumpled in a mix of frustration and stubbornness. But slowly, the seat beneath him began to work its magic. The enchanted stool made his padded bottom feel increasingly antsy, even through the nappy he wore. What began as a dull itch quickly turned into a restless squirm.
He shifted. Wiggled. Huffed. Maybe if he just stood for a second—
“Sit. Back. Down.”
Snape’s voice boomed through the room, not angry, but firm enough to make
Harry jolts and plops back onto the stool with a startled squeak.
Harry scowled again. “But it’s makin’ m’butt hurt,” he grumbled.
“That’s the point,” Snape said coolly. “But if you’d rather come off it early, all you have to do is apologize and tell me why you were in trouble.”
Harry gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m not a baby. I can say what I want.”
He didn’t move. But it was clear he was growing more uncomfortable by the second.
The next few minutes were a quiet war between pride and discomfort. Harry tried
his best to hold out, but the enchanted discomfort on his nappy-clad toosh became too much. He whined, loudly, wiggled harder — and then, with a frustrated puff of breath, fell right off the stool in a dramatic tumble.
Snape stayed where he was, arms crossed, waiting.
“I’m sorry,” Harry muttered, cheeks hot, eyes brimming with tears.
Snape crouched beside him, meeting him at eye level. “Why did Daddy punish you, dove?”
Harry sniffled. “’Cause I said a naughty word.”
Snape nodded. “That’s right. All is forgiven now.”
He gently lifted Harry into his arms. The boy clung to his robes, eyes red and puffy, breathing uneven.
Snape moved to the sofa and sat down with Harry nestled on his lap. For a long moment, he simply rubbed soft circles on the boy’s back, letting him calm down in silence. Harry buried his face in Snape’s shoulder.
“I don’t like this,” Harry finally whispered. “Being little.”
Snape’s hand paused, then resumed its slow rhythm. “Tell me.”
Harry squirmed but didn’t pull away. “It’s hard. ‘S like I’m s’pposed t’be small. Like, I don’t talk right. My body don’t feel right. An’ I… I get all… mixed up.”
“Mixed up how?” Snape asked gently.
Harry hugged tighter. “Sometimes I feel big. But then I feel like cryin’… or nappin’… an’ I dunno which one’s real. I dunno which one’s me.”
Snape was quiet for a moment, considering. “Both are you,” he said softly. “Just different parts. And both are allowed to exist. Being little doesn’t make you less. It makes you safe. And giving in to that — letting someone care for you — it’s brave, Harry. Not weak.”
Harry didn’t reply. He was thinking. Processing. The old Harry — the one who ran into battle with a wand and a scowl — would’ve scoffed at this.
But this Harry? This one just leaned into the embrace a little more.
“Thanks… Daddy,” he whispered.
Snape’s hand stilled. Then resumed, steady as ever.
“You’re welcome, dove.”
Chapter 8: Eight
Chapter Text
Harry rolled in his crib with a soft murr, a warm smile curling at his lips. The mattress felt like a cloud beneath him, the soft scent of lavender lingering faintly in the sheets. Everything around him was cosy and warm, the quilt tucked softly under his chin, his limbs loose and relaxed. It felt good. Better than good.
He didn’t have to think. No worries about the war. No expectations. No weight. Just Harry—small, warm, safe. He murmured again happily, letting his thumb brush along the edge of the blanket, barely noticing that his words had melted into soft babble.
The door creaked gently, and Snape stepped inside.
“You’re certainly looking little this morning,” he commented, a rare warmth in his voice.
Harry flushed deeply, ducking his head beneath the covers as Snape approached.
Snape chuckled.
“Oh, don’t hide now,” he murmured. “Come on, dove. Time to get changed.”
He lifted Harry gently from the crib, holding him close before setting him down on the changing table. Harry gave a soft whine, his legs curling slightly, but he didn’t resist.
Snape worked efficiently. The nappy Harry had worn through the night was wet and a little saggy. Snape removed it with practiced care, cleaning Harry gently before slipping a fresh one beneath him.
“A new one for today,” Snape murmured. “A bit thicker, since we’ll be out and about.”
Harry glanced down. The new nappy was bulkier than his usual ones, the waistband printed with little flying brooms and golden snitches. He stared at it as Snape taped it snugly in place.
“You’re all set,” Snape said, lifting him again.
Harry didn’t speak—couldn’t, really. His words still felt sticky and soft in his throat. Instead, he leaned into Snape’s robes, letting himself be carried into the dining area.
Snape placed him in the highchair and adjusted the tray in place.
“Now, dove,” Snape said, smoothing down Harry’s hair, “I’m finished with the initial paperwork, but today we’ll be telling the other staff. It’s best they hear it from us directly.”
Harry blinked, panic beginning to rise in his chest. He let out a muffled huff, trying to protest, but his voice faltered halfway.
Snape, as always, was calm.
“I know you’re nervous,” he said, placing a bowl of porridge on the tray. “But would you rather they find out by rumour? Or trust us to tell them the truth?”
Harry scrunched his nose but nodded faintly.
Snape fed him slowly, occasionally sipping his own tea between spoonfuls. Once breakfast was done, Snape cleaned Harry’s face, then brought him into the nursery to dress him.
He chose a dark red shortall and a light yellow shirt underneath, slipping them on over Harry’s nappy.
As he helped him with his sandals, Snape added, “Normally, I’d let you use the potty for your…longer needs. But we’ll be away from a bathroom for a while, so you’ll have to go in your nappy if the need comes.”
Harry made a sound of indignation but didn’t argue further. Not out loud.
They made their way toward the Great Hall, Harry’s hand tucked in Snape’s. Each step brought more nerves bubbling up.
The doors opened.
The staff were already gathered. Heads turned.
Harry froze.
Snape kept walking.
The boy whimpered softly, tugging on Snape’s hand, but the man gave it a firm squeeze and pulled him gently forward.
“Everyone,” Snape said. “This is Harry. He’s been classified as a Little.”
He paused.
“I’ll be acting as his Caregiver.”
There was silence. Then soft murmurs of understanding.
Harry clung to Snape, hiding half behind his robes.
Afterwards, they moved outside into the courtyard, where Hagrid was waiting near the stone bench.
“There’s m’ little cub,” Hagrid said, beaming. “Don’t you look right snug, eh?”
He held out a small wrapped parcel of treacle fudge, which Harry accepted with a soft smile.
From there, they headed to Minerva’s office.
She smiled warmly when they entered. “My, you look sweet today, Harry.”
Harry shuffled awkwardly.
Minerva came closer, offering a wrapped sweet. “You can call me Nana, if you like. Most of my cubs do.”
Harry accepted the treat shyly. Snape frowned at the sugar, but said nothing.
As they began to head home, Harry felt a strange cramp in his stomach. A twist. Then pressure.
His eyes widened.
No. Not now. Not here.
He clutched Snape’s hand tighter, trying to walk normally, but his pace faltered.
Snape noticed, of course.
“Dove? Are you alright?”
Harry shook his head.
“Need the loo,” he whispered.
Snape nodded, speeding up their walk. But they were still a ways from the dungeons.
The pressure worsened.
By the time they reached the familiar golden door, Harry was shaking.
Once inside, Snape called for Dinky and turned toward the nursery—but when he looked back, Harry had vanished.
He found him moments later, locked in the bathroom.
“Harry,” he said gently. “Open the door, dove.”
“No!” came the panicked cry. “I c-can’t!”
Snape heard the soft sob behind it. A few drops. A choked whimper.
Snape opened the door with a gentle spell and crossed the room quickly.
Harry sat slumped, shaking, holding himself tightly.
Snape scooped him up.
“You’re alright, dove. Just breathe.”
He sat down on the bathroom floor with Harry in his lap, rubbing slow circles above his bladder.
“Take a deep breath. Let Daddy help.”
Harry sobbed. “I don’t wanna be a baby,” he hiccuped.
“You’re not. You’re safe. You’re loved. It’s okay.”
Snape’s voice softened with the Big Voice magic again.
Harry whimpered, let out a shaky breath, and finally—he let go.
Snape only held him tighter.
When it was over, he helped Harry get cleaned up, changed him into a fresh nappy, and carried him to the couch.
Snape sat with him for a while, arms around him, as Harry quietly sniffled against his robes.
“Daddy?” Harry said, voice small.
“Yes, dove?”
“Can we stay here for a bit?”
Snape smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to Harry’s hair.
“As long as you like.”
Chapter 9: Nine
Chapter Text
Harry sat in his crib with Pickle tucked under one arm, but for once, the plush dragon didn’t offer comfort.
He couldn’t do this.
He was Harry Potter — The Boy Who Lived, the one who faced down Voldemort more times than he could count on one hand. He’d fought Basilisks, saved his friends, led Dumbledore’s Army. He was a Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, for Merlin’s sake.
And now? Now he wore nappies. Now he drank warm milk from sippy cups. Now he lived in a nursery and had naps enforced by charms.
No.
He didn’t belong in a crib. He wasn’t a baby.
He had to get out.
Snape had mentioned earlier that he’d be in the potions lab all morning brewing a new batch for the Hospital Wing. And when he brewed, he always played his old magical records — loud. Which meant, for a while at least, Harry had the quarters to himself.
He set Pickle aside gently.
The latch on the crib clicked open easily. Snape hadn’t bothered to lock it magically — maybe a gesture of trust, or maybe he just thought Harry had settled.
He hadn’t.
Harry climbed down from the crib with a squish — his nappy heavier than he'd like to admit. The crinkle echoed in the otherwise silent room, and he winced, pausing to listen.
No footsteps.
He padded out of the nursery, every step exaggerated by the soft rustling of padding. His cheeks burned with humiliation. He tried walking with his legs further apart, hoping it would help. It didn’t.
He headed for Snape’s bedroom.
If he was going to get out of here, he needed his wand.
The door creaked as he pushed it open. He hesitated. This felt like snooping… but what choice did he have? The wardrobe and trunk at the foot of the bed were obvious hiding spots, which made them unlikely.
Then he saw it — a familiar wand box, dusty and tucked high on a shelf.
Harry moved quickly, climbing onto the bed. From there, he stood on his toes and stretched for the box. Just a little more…
His fingers brushed the edge— and the box tumbled.
It hit the floor with a bang.
Harry gasped and dropped down, crawling under the bed and pulling the box with him. Footsteps sounded a second later. The lab door opened. Then Snape’s bedroom door.
Shoes crossed the room.
Harry held his breath.
A long pause.
Then, slowly, the shoes turned. The door closed. Footsteps retreated. The lab door shut. The music resumed.
Harry opened the wand box with shaking hands.
There it was.
His wand.
He clutched it tightly.
It felt… right.
He didn’t dare keep it on him. If Snape found it, he’d never get it back. Instead, Harry crept quietly to the playroom, lifting the lid of his toy chest and slipping the wand to the bottom, beneath stuffed toys and books.
He let out a breath.
He had it. His escape could happen soon.
He wasn’t going to live like this. He wasn’t.
Still, even as he shut the toy chest and wandered back to the crib, his stomach fluttered with unease.
Chapter 10: Ten
Chapter Text
Harry bit his tongue softly as he lay on his side in the crib, quiet as a mouse. Snape had given him his nighttime bottle of milk and read him a story half an hour ago. Now, he was just waiting for the man to go to bed.
Once the door to Snape’s room clicked shut, Harry sat up and undid the lock on the crib’s side. He slipped out carefully, landing with a quiet squish and a loud crinkle that reminded him of the soggy nappy between his legs. He hugged Pickle tight to his chest, grabbed his hidden wand from the toy box, and tiptoed to the main room.
He saw Snape stack up a few sealed letters for outgoing students and finally retreat into his room. Harry waited a second longer. Then, he made his move—not toward the golden door, which was heavily charmed—but toward Snape’s office. The one that led into the larger Hogwarts corridors. The one from all his awful Occlumency lessons.
The door was locked. Of course it was.
He lifted his wand. “Alohomora.”
The lock didn’t budge. It was complex—he knew that. He raised the wand again. “Aberto.”
The magic took time, slowly working through the door’s layered protections. He could hear metallic clicks and the shifting of tumblers deep within the lock.
Then a voice broke through the hallway like a whip.
“Where do you think you are going?”
Harry froze. Snape stood not far off, wand in hand, expression unreadable.
He dropped the spell instantly and stamped a foot. “I’m a big boy, not a baby! I don’t wanna stay here anymore! I don’t need nappies or bottles or—!”
He stomped with each sentence, cheeks red with frustration.
Snape didn’t react at first. He remembered what the caregiver manual had said—conflicting headspaces in Littles could be dangerous. Emotionally, magically. It was a build-up of regression needs clashing with the Little’s resistance. Their denial.
Snape’s gaze dropped to the wand in Harry’s small hand. That was the real danger. Harry was too emotionally tangled to have control over his magic, and one misfired spell could do serious damage.
“Harry,” Snape said slowly, voice calm, “I’ll let you go… but only if you give me Pickle.”
Harry looked horrified. His grip on the stuffed dragon tightened. “No! Pickle’s my friend!”
Snape tilted his head. “Big boys don’t have stuffed animal friends.”
Harry blinked.
He looked down at Pickle, at the way the dragon's stitched eyes seemed to stare up at him. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, tears filled his eyes and hit the dragon’s fuzzy snout like fat raindrops.
Snape took a step closer.
Harry sniffed, voice small. “You’re making Pickle sad…”
“Why is he sad, dove?”
“I—I dunno…” Harry mumbled, still staring at the toy. “He’s just… a stuffie.”
The truth hit him like a wall.
Pickle wasn’t real. He was soft. He was comforting. But he was also just cloth and fluff. His chest tightened, tears now rolling freely down his cheeks. He sobbed, clutching the dragon tighter.
Snape stepped forward and pulled Harry into a firm hug, lowering them both gently to the floor. Harry didn’t resist. He let himself be pulled in, Pickle squashed between them, as he sobbed into Snape’s robes.
Snape didn’t say anything at first—just rocked them gently, hand stroking soft circles across Harry’s back.
After some time, once Harry’s breathing started to even out, Snape finally spoke.
“I want you to stop fighting this, Harry.”
Harry sniffled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I know it goes against everything you’ve always believed,” Snape continued, “but what you’re feeling now? It’s valid. It’s real. Being a Little… needing comfort… needing care… it doesn’t undo your strength. It doesn’t erase who you are.”
Harry didn’t respond with words, just tucked his head closer against Snape’s chest.
“We’ll have more regression time,” Snape said gently. “A little more each day. To help you practise letting go, even when it’s hard.”
Harry gave a tiny nod.
“You’ve done so well already, dove,” Snape murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re not alone anymore.”
Snape held him close, the quiet of the dungeons settling around them as Harry finally let himself rest.
Chapter 11: Eleven
Chapter Text
It had been nearly three weeks since Severus Snape had become Harry Potter’s official Caregiver. Three weeks of ups and downs, tantrums and tenderness, and more nappies than either of them cared to count. Snape had started keeping a small, magically sealed leather journal — not for sentiment, but for structure. For understanding the chaos of a newly-regressed Little.
The first week, the journal noted, had been all pushing. Harry resisted everything — clothing, routines, naps. The second week was focused almost entirely on getting Harry used to wearing nappies full-time. That had come with no shortage of tearful outbursts and huffy refusals, though by the end of it, Snape noted a softening. Harry still grumbled, still blushed, still hated the crinkle — but he didn’t fight anymore. Not really. Not like before.
Now, in the final week before Hogwarts reopened, Snape sat at his desk in the sitting room, quill in hand, pages open, baby monitor enchanted and humming beside him. He sighed.
With the castle filling back up soon, the question of what to do with Harry lingered heavy in his mind.
McGonagall had offered a compromise: a reduced schedule. Slughorn would return to teach OWL and NEWT students, while Snape took only the younger years. It would give him more time with Harry. But still, there would be classes. There would be moments when Harry needed supervision and Snape wouldn’t be there.
And Harry — for all his progress — was not ready to be alone.
Headspace clashes had grown less frequent, but they hadn’t vanished. The emotional swings were still unpredictable. One moment, Harry would be curled up with his dragon plushie babbling about Pickle’s favorite snacks; the next, he’d be insisting he was too old for naps and stomping around like an angry toddler in Quidditch socks.
Snape dipped his quill.
Solution: Temporary Guardian Assistance.
Neville Longbottom had been the first to come to mind. A natural Caregiver, calm under pressure, and surprisingly good with Harry. He’d visited twice in recent weeks at Snape’s invitation and managed to ease Harry’s nerves in a way even Snape hadn’t anticipated. Not to mention, the boy had shown a subtle knack for calming spells and had recently expressed interest in apprenticeship. Perhaps there was a mutual benefit to be found.
Molly Weasley was another option. But… with Ronald Weasley returning to the castle soon, the risk of Harry’s status leaking to the wrong person was too high. Harry had come so far — he deserved peace. Not ridicule.
Snape finished the letter with a curt signature and sealed it with wax. “Dinky,” he called softly.
With a small pop, the younger house-elf appeared, bowing low.
“Please see this reaches Mr. Longbottom at once,” Snape said.
Dinky nodded solemnly, took the letter, and vanished.
Harry stirred in his crib with a soft, sleepy murmur. His blanket was warm and smelled like lavender. Pickle was tucked snug under his arm, and his thumb was just beginning to creep toward his mouth when the creak of the nursery door made him blink his eyes open.
“Good morning, dove,” Snape’s voice came gently from the doorway.
Harry smiled sleepily.
Snape crossed the room, lifting him with ease and a familiar rustle of magic. Gone were the panicked struggles of the first week. These days, Harry melted easily into his arms. Snape didn’t change him right away — not anymore. Harry was more accustomed to being wet for a bit, and Snape had found it helped Harry build tolerance without immediately distressing him.
As Snape bounced him softly on one hip, he murmured, “We have a guest today. So I expect good manners from you, little one.”
Harry’s eyes widened.
A guest?
He was still trying to decide if that meant someone awful — like Rita Skeeter — when Snape carried him through to the sitting room.
And there, sitting calmly on the couch with a pleasant smile, was Neville Longbottom.
“Hi, Harry,” Neville said softly.
Harry immediately pressed his face into Snape’s robes. “Nuh-uh,” he mumbled.
Snape chuckled.
But Neville didn’t push. He waited. Just smiled. After a few minutes — and a few soft whispers from Pickle, apparently — Harry peeked out again.
Neville waved.
“Wanna build blocks?” he offered.
By midday, the two were deep into a dragon-sized pillow fort in the living room. Harry, still shy, had warmed up enough to babble to Pickle about Neville’s tea choices, and Neville, ever patient, responded as though it was the most normal thing in the world.
Snape watched from his desk, satisfied.
Later that afternoon, while Harry napped in his crib with a soft thumb-suck and Pickle curled to his chest, Snape and Neville sat at the kitchen table. They discussed a new arrangement: Neville would babysit Harry during Snape’s class hours, and in return, Snape would offer private potions tutoring for his NEWT preparations.
It was a win for both.
By the time Harry woke, dinner was nearly ready, and he found himself plopped onto Neville’s lap — not by accident, but by choice.
He giggled as Neville wiped his hands clean with a napkin and helped him sip from a bottle.
The bond was forming.
And with Hogwarts looming ever closer, Snape felt, for the first time in weeks… a little more at ease.
Chapter 12: Twelve
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry awoke to the warm scent of lavender drifting through the enchanted window. The light in the nursery was soft and golden, like a late summer morning in the highlands. For a moment, he stayed still. His body was tucked under a soft red and gold blanket, limbs close together. His fingers gently curled around Pickle, the dragon stuffie. His brain still felt fuzzy, like it was wrapped in cotton wool, and for once… he liked it.
He let out a soft murr as he stretched and rolled onto his tummy. Then, he nuzzled into his pillow with a sleepy smile. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to be “Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived” today. He just wanted to be warm, and cosy, and small.
The creak of the nursery door opening pulled him gently back to the present.
“Good morning, my little dove,” Severus said, his voice softer than usual and full of warmth. Harry peeked up over the bars of his crib, hair a complete mess, a binky still perched between his lips. Snape chuckled as he walked over.
Harry didn’t say anything—he didn’t want to break the feeling in his chest. Snape leaned in and ran a hand through Harry’s hair. He poked the front of Harry’s nappy through the onesie with a light touch. “Not leaking. Yet,” he murmured. “We’ll leave it until after breakfast.”
Harry whimpered and reached his arms up, clinging with all his strength as Snape lifted him from the crib. He buried his face in Severus's shoulder, curling up like a sleepy kitten.
“You’re clingy today,” Snape observed, adjusting the boy on his hip. “Worried about the return of students?”
Harry gave a faint, muffled nod into his robes.
Snape didn’t push. “Breakfast, then something relaxing. Come on, let’s feed that tummy.”
In the dining area, Dinky had set out breakfast from the castle kitchens. It included eggs, toast fingers, grilled tomatoes, and a small sippy cup of warm apple juice. Snape lifted Harry into the high chair. He noticed the boy's cheeks turn pink as the buckles clicked into place. It wasn’t even embarrassing anymore—it was his normal now. But it still felt strange, deep down.
Snape prepared a small toddler-sized plate and handed Harry a soft-tipped spoon. “Do you want Daddy to help, or do you want to try it yourself?”
Harry hesitated, then shook his head, mumbling around the binky, “I do it…”
“Alright,” Snape said, sitting down with his coffee and the Daily Prophet. “You’re in charge of the spoon.”
As Harry concentrated hard on keeping his egg steady, Snape looked at the headlines. Thankfully, there were no sightings of Rita Skeeter. Still, there was no news about Harry’s whereabouts either. The same empty rumours and chatter about the Boy Who Lived's disappearance after the war. He folded the paper and pushed it aside.
“We’re staying in today,” Snape said as Harry finished the last bite. “I thought we’d do something calm. Playtime with some paints.”
Harry looked up, binky bobbing a little, then gave a tiny smile. “Art?”
“Yes. Something creative.” Snape stood up, took Harry out of the highchair, and patted his padded bottom. “But first, let’s get you cleaned up.”
The change was simple, quick, and efficient. Harry lay on the change table, holding Pickle while Snape swapped his wet nappy for a fresh one. This one had little stars and cauldrons across the front, and a bright yellow size tag with a bold “4” stamped on it. Harry blushed when he saw it, turning his head.
“Don’t sulk,” Snape said in a calm voice while he dusted on some talcum powder. “It’s a number. It doesn’t mean anything bad.”
Still, Harry tugged Pickle over his face.
Dressed in a soft t-shirt and nappy-covering shorts, Harry helped tidy his playpen. He stacked the soft blocks in their box, folded his blanket, and handed Snape his bottles. It earned him a rare smile.
Snape cleared a spot in the living room. He laid down a tarp to protect the rug. Then, he summoned a small, sturdy art desk for a child. They made it for a Little, with a high back and wide seat. The charm-embedded anchors weighted the legs to prevent tipping, and a mild anti-mess charm covered the surface, making it perfect for finger painting.
Next came the supplies: paint jars in every shade, glitter glue tubes, thick brushes, chunky crayons, paper stacks, and stickers with cartoon brooms and Quidditch players.
Harry's eyes went wide. He toddled over and lowered himself into the desk’s seat, the sound of crinkling filling the air.
“You’re in charge,” Snape said, conjuring a cloth for wiping hands and setting it beside him. “Try not to turn the entire living room gold.”
Harry giggled. He picked up a fat blue crayon and started to draw a house—big windows, a red roof, and a sun with a smiley face. Pickle sat nearby, propped up to “watch.” Snape went back to his armchair and parchment. He jotted down some last notes on Harry’s progress.
Over the next hour, Harry made a rainbow mess. There were trees made of finger paint, shiny glue dragons, and a crooked broomstick with wings. They even had a portrait of Snape—long black robes, a stern frown, and floating hearts around him. Harry hid that one under a sheet of blank parchment, cheeks red.
At one point, Harry turned to look over his shoulder. “Daddy?”
“Yes, dove?”
“Fank you… f’r today.”
Snape paused his writing. He looked at Harry—his paint-smudged cheeks, bare legs swinging from the desk, and the soft glow in his eyes.
“You’re welcome, Harry.”
And Harry went right back to his glitter.
Notes:
Hey everyone! I just wanted to give a quick update. I’ll be taking a little break to refocus on my main series, Blue — following Daniel’s journey through a world of mystery, discovery, and self-growth. We’re thrilled that the books are now available through major retailers, and I’m currently working hard on Volumes 3 and 4!
This doesn’t mean the fanfic is ending — not at all. Updates will just slow down a bit, likely to one chapter every two weeks or even monthly depending on how writing goes.
Thank you all so much for the support! 💙
Interested in checking out our published work?
You can find Blue: Volume One and Volume Two at major outlets like Barnes & Noble and Apple Books.
All purchase links and retailer info can be found here:
https://linktr.ee/caseysinkhouse
Chapter 13: Thirteen
Chapter Text
Harry blinked with heavy eyelids as warm hands lifted him out of the crib. He let out a soft yawn, his head resting against Snape’s shoulder. The man gave a small hum and pressed a kiss to Harry’s hair before settling him on the changing table. The routine felt familiar now. Harry had stopped resisting it days ago. He still flushed when he heard someone undo the tapes, but he no longer protested. Snape whispered praise and kept things calm. Harry found this comforting in an unusual way and something he could rely on.
“Your nappy’s a bit soggy,” Snape said as he worked, “but no leaks. That’s something, hm?”
Harry gave a small, drowsy nod, not quite ready to speak yet. He squirmed at the cold wipe but then froze as Snape added powder and put on a fresh nappy. Today’s nappy was pale green, with tiny potted plants on the front.
Snape put him in a soft cotton romper. It had adjustable leg snaps and a gentle moss colour that highlighted Harry’s eyes. Once done, Snape scooped him back into his arms and carried him out to the dining table. A bowl of porridge, sweetened with cinnamon and honey, waited next to a sippy cup of orange juice.
Snape, still in his housecoat, placed a copy of the Daily Prophet next to his black coffee mug. He quietly read while Harry ate. Now and then, he paused to remind Harry to take small bites or wipe his chin.
As Harry munched quietly, Snape cleared his throat.
“I’ve arranged for you to have company today,” he said, tone carefully neutral. “Neville will look after you while I go to some final staff meetings and interviews."
Harry froze mid-bite, eyes widening slightly. “Wiffout you?” he asked, mouth still full.
Snape quirked a brow. “Yes, dove. Without me. But just for today. He knows all your routines, and I’ll be back before tea.”
Harry looked down, stirring the porridge around with his spoon. “’Kay…” he mumbled.
Snape didn’t push. He reached over to brush a crumb from Harry’s cheek, then finished his coffee. Folding the paper neatly, he called for Dinky, who appeared to tidy the table and fetch Neville.
By the time Harry was wiping his face clean with a damp flannel, there was a knock at the quarters’ door.
Neville stepped inside with a wide, friendly grin. “Morning, Harry!” he greeted cheerily. “You look very cosy today.”
Harry blushed, hiding slightly behind Snape’s robes.
Snape gave a short nod of approval. “He’s already been changed and fed. He’ll likely want playtime first, then a small snack around midday. Naptime is after lunch, as usual. I’ve left the rule chart out.”
Neville nodded, his usual confidence bolstered by how seriously Snape treated the role. He glanced down at Harry and offered his hand. “Will we have some fun, then?”
Harry peeked up and hesitantly took his hand.
Once Snape had left, Harry stayed quiet for a while, curling up in the playpen with Pickle, his dragon plush. Neville sat nearby on the floor, sorting out paints and papers from Harry’s art bin. He chatted softly about plants and summer flowers, not forcing Harry to talk. He even brought out a few seed pods to show Harry — enchanted ones that bloomed briefly in response to warmth.
After a while, Harry watched him curiously. “You’re good at this,” he said softly.
Neville blinked, surprised. “At what?”
“Looking after Littles,” Harry mumbled. “You’re not… weird about it.”
Neville smiled gently. “Thanks. I think it helps that I spent a lot of time caring for Gran when she was sick. I like taking care of people.” He hesitated for a beat. “Actually… I’ve been thinking a lot about having a Little of my own. Watching you has helped me feel more confident about it.”
Harry tilted his head. “You wanna be a daddy?”
Neville’s ears flushed pink. “Maybe someday. When the time’s right.”
Harry grinned at that and invited Neville to paint with him. They painted for ages, glitter and colour blooming across the pages. Neville helped Harry mix colours. He used a sticking charm to hang their artwork on the playpen walls. Harry got paint on his fingers, cheeks, and even in his hair. He giggled as Neville pretended to scold him with a serious face.
Neville suggested some sensory play. He brought out a bin of water beads and floating flower petals. Harry delightedly squished them between his fingers. He calmed even more as Neville softly talked about magical herbology. They even brewed pretend potions with coloured water and toy cauldrons. Harry giggled as Neville made bubbling sounds.
The rest of the morning flew by with fun. They finger-painted, built with blocks, and danced to the lovely tunes Neville created. When Harry grew tired, Neville sat on the sofa and invited him up to read a story. Harry curled up next to him, holding Pickle under one arm. He listened as Neville read with warmth and feeling.
After lunch — simple finger foods and a peeled banana — Harry grew visibly sleepy. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, leaning heavily into Neville’s side. Neville picked him up gently and took him to the nursery. He tucked him into his crib with Pickle and a soft blanket. He hummed softly while adjusting the mobile above the crib. The gentle spinning shapes caught Harry’s gaze until his eyes fluttered closed.
Snape returned shortly after naptime began. He entered the nursery quietly. Harry was fast asleep, and Neville was tidying up the lounge.
“He settled well?” Snape asked softly.
Neville nodded. “Didn’t fuss once. He was brilliant, actually. We did painting and stories, and he even tried a new snack without complaining.”
Snape gave a small, rare smile. “Thank you, Longbottom. I’d like to speak to you later about babysitting him regularly.”
“I’d like that,” Neville said, then hesitated. “Also… I know I said it earlier, but… I really am thinking about it. Becoming a Caregiver, I mean.”
Snape nodded again. “We can discuss that too.”
When Harry woke later, he was surprised to find Snape beside the crib. There was also a new man he didn’t recognise. He was tall, had sandy brown hair, and kind grey eyes. He had a calm, capable aura, and Harry blinked up at him sleepily.
“You’re not… you’re not from the Ministry, are you?” Harry asked, rubbing at one eye.
The man chuckled. “Not anymore. Tristan Graves. I’ve just accepted the post for Defence Against the Dark Arts.”
Harry squinted. “I’ve seen you before… you’re in the Auror handbook.”
Graves smiled. “Guilty. Retired now. Thought I’d try something quieter.”
Snape gave a nod of reassurance. “He knows, dove. The whole staff do. You’re safe.”
Harry relaxed slightly, and Tristan gave a kind smile. “I look forward to seeing you around Hogwarts, Harry — in whatever way is most comfortable for you.”
Harry gave a small nod, curling against Snape again.
Neville said his goodbyes soon after, promising to visit again before term started. Snape made a simple dinner. Harry sat quietly in his high chair, playing with a rattle toy. Pickle watched from his lap. After dinner, Snape helped Harry into fresh pyjamas and read him a story before bed.
That night, Harry yawned sleepily. He was snug under a special quilt and surrounded by his favourite things. It had been a big step: a whole day with someone else, and nothing had gone wrong.
He might be a Little now… but maybe he could still be brave.
Chapter 14: Fourteen
Chapter Text
It was the morning of the first day of the new term, and the air in the dungeons held a strange weight to it. Harry sat on the edge of his highchair, knees pulled up as Snape spooned porridge into his mouth slowly. The soft hum of the enchanted lanterns overhead did little to distract him from the quiet nervousness curling in his stomach.
“Students are coming back today,” Harry murmured, eyes downcast.
Snape looked up from his coffee. “Yes, dove. But they won’t be coming down here. You’ll stay safe in our quarters.”
Harry hesitated, then added softly, “What if they see me? What if someone finds out?”
Snape reached across the table, wiping a smear of porridge from Harry’s chin. “They won’t. The staff all know, and no one else will unless you decide to tell them. You’re not on display, Harry. This is your safe space.”
That helped a little, but not enough to fully relax the boy.
When breakfast was done and Harry was wiped clean, Snape lifted him from the chair and carried him to the lounge. Harry clung to him more than usual, arms wrapped tightly around Snape's neck.
“You’ll be all right,” Snape said as he gently pried the boy's arms away. “I need to be at the staff meeting this morning. It won’t be long.”
Harry didn’t let go.
Snape raised a brow. “If you’re good today, and follow the rules, then maybe we can talk about you staying home on your own more often. Without a sitter.”
Harry paused, then finally stepped back, looking up with wide eyes. “Really?”
Snape smoothed Harry’s hair. “Really. But only if I come back and find everything as it should be.”
Harry nodded determinedly.
“I’ll bring supper back,” Snape added, collecting his cloak and heading to the door. “Be good, little one.”
When the door shut with a gentle click, Harry stood in the quiet flat, alone.
He looked around for a moment. The temptation was there, deep and strong. He knew where his wand was hidden. He could try something. But he also remembered Snape’s words. He didn’t want to lose the trust he was finally starting to build.
He scratched at his hip distractedly, only to feel one of the nappy tapes peel away. He looked down, blinking.
Daddy hadn’t charmed this one.
Harry hesitated, then carefully undid the other side. He stood there for a moment, holding the front of the nappy in place, heart thudding.
He could change it.
He could take it off and put another on before Snape got home.
But the thought of an accident on Snape’s carpet, or worse, not making it to the nursery in time, made his stomach twist.
He sighed and reattached the tapes. Then padded off toward his room.
The toy chest creaked open with a familiar sound. Harry looked inside, rummaging gently through its contents until his fingers found the old train set. With care, he pulled it out and began setting it up across the nursery rug.
He constructed a full circuit, connecting miniature versions of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and Diagon Alley. Each turn was carefully looped, each building clicked into place. He set the red and black Hogwarts Express on the track and pressed the enchanted button.
The train sprang to life with a soft chug and glow, slowly rolling forward as smoke puffed from its tiny engine.
Harry grinned.
He should have been on the real train today, in a carriage with friends, wearing his prefect badge and talking about classes. This was meant to be his last year.
Now he was here.
In nappies.
Playing with toys.
And Snape was his Daddy.
Harry sat cross-legged and watched the train circle the loop. A quiet huff escaped him.
He thought of Ron and Hermione.
He wanted to tell them so badly — especially Hermione — but something twisted in his chest whenever he imagined Ron’s reaction. Ron didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to Littles. He’d made more than one snide comment in the past. Harry didn’t think he could handle being laughed at or worse… pitied.
He lay on his tummy beside the train set, chin resting on his arms as the Hogwarts Express made another gentle loop. The soft chugging of the little engine was almost soothing. A knock on the doorframe made him lift his head.
Dinky padded in, carrying a small tray balanced expertly in her hands. “Master Harry’s treat from Professor McGonagall, sir,” she chirped, setting it gently beside him. “Missus Nana says she is thinking of you.”
Harry gave a sleepy little smile. “Thanks, Dinky.”
The tray held a sippy cup of apple juice and a shallow bowl of sweets — lemon drops, chocolate frogs (non-jumping, thankfully), and a few sugar quills. Harry popped a sweet into his mouth, chewing slowly as he stared at the train again. The sugar helped a little.
He missed the real Hogwarts Express — the way the wind rushed past the windows, the gentle sway of the carriages, the laughter of students echoing down the corridors. Sure, there were bad moments — like the dementor attack in third year — but there were good ones too.
He met Ron and Hermione on the train. He’d met Remus there too.
Back when things made sense.
Harry swallowed hard and took a sip of juice. The sippy cup felt oddly comforting in his hands now. So did the warmth in his belly from knowing Nana had sent him a treat. Maybe… maybe not everything was awful.
He scooted Pickle closer, tucking the dragon plush under one arm as the train continued to chug along, winding past tiny Hogsmeade and toward the plastic castle towers of Hogwarts.
“I’ll tell them one day,” Harry mumbled into Pickle’s fur. “Just… not yet.”
Chapter 15: Fifteen
Chapter Text
Hey everyone!
I am kina stumped for what I want to do for chapter fifteen so, time for a little audience participation!
https://linkto.run/p/BDTUMXSA
This link is to a poll please select an option or add your own, most voted for will be done for chapter fifteen, survey closes tomorrow at 5pm!
Thanks
Casey!
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