Morning light crept through the curtains, catching dust motes in its golden fingers. The smell of brewing tea drifted from the kitchen, where the kettle had just begun its soft whistle.

On the worn sofa sat a small boy. Dark hair, impossibly messy. Glasses that sat slightly crooked on his nose. He clutched a ragged stag plushie to his chest, thumb hovering near his mouth before he caught himself and lowered it.

The door to the kitchen swung open. Severus Snape emerged, his daughter wrapped around his leg like a limpet, a cup of tea in his free hand.