The late 16th Century timber cottage was idyllically situated in a wooded valley of the Severn river, surrounded by mountains, lakes and forests. The nearest village, Trefeglwys, was more than three miles away.

Except for the addition of a balcony and a veranda, it was a typical Welsh cottage. On the ground floor, there was a dining room with farmhouse table and benches, a sitting room comfortably furnished with a fireplace and a French door leading to the garden, a toilet and a kitchen with a door to the back garden. In the sitting room, a wooden staircase led to the first floor, where a narrow hall opened to Snape's bedroom suite on the left which included a bedroom, a large bathroom and a balcony. Snape's office was to the right of his suite. Outside, at the rear of the back garden, a storage shed had been transformed by Snape into a Potions laboratory. The front veranda faced out to the secluded front garden, which was traversed by a stream.

He had already prepared dinner, leaving it ready to be heated when the moment was right. He had cleared up the house, cleaned the fireplace. Everything was ready. The magical clock showed: "ten minutes to his arrival".

Snape went into the kitchen and poured a glass of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. Then he went back to the sitting room, opened the front door and sat on the easy chair on the veranda. Through the open door, if he looked back, he could see the fireplace.

Five minutes. The boy wouldn't come, it was obvious. He had been a fool to think otherwise. And it was better like that. There were too many dangers involved.

Then why did he feel that cold in his stomach just from considering the possibility that the boy wouldn't show up? Why did he feel his heart sink? Why couldn't his brain assume full control over his reactions?

Oh, if he didn't come, all that hope, all that impossible light that had flared up inside him and guided him during the entire week would extinguish itself. And the world would be darker than ever.

He glimpsed some fairies playing in the garden, spreading their twinkling sparks. They were beautiful. Perhaps Harry would like to see them. Harry... He shouldn't think of him as Harry.

Only two minutes to the hour. What a delusion. Of course he wouldn't come. How could he have believed otherwise? Certainly the next day, remembering the night before, the boy had wondered what he had been thinking, why he had given his virginity to the old and ugly bat. Probably he had felt ashamed and disgusted. And now he was with his friends, having fun or... up to something. Of course he wouldn't come.

Snape remembered how he had opened himself to the teen, how he had made himself vulnerable. Now he, Snape, would pay for that. For having put himself in the hands of a careless and irresponsible brat.

The fairies insisted on shining, almost dazzling him. He took a sip of his Firewhisky. The hour had come, and nothing. The foolish Muggles believed that fairies would make their wishes come true: "sweet fairy, bring me my boy". Ha. Idiots. Fairies were only annoying insects.

If he knew how to love, if he had more experience, perhaps he would have been able to imprint his mark indelibly on the boy's heart. But if there was a subject totally unknown to Severus Snape, it was love. Damn. How deluded he was, thinking that he had a chance! He, with his big nose, sallow skin, greasy hair. Take a look at the mirror, Snape.

One minute after the appointed hour. You are an unmitigated idiot, Snape. Empty your glass, get in and drown your vain hopes in the rough and bitter taste of Firewhisky.

He took the glass to his lips, but suddenly stopped. A thunderous noise made him get up immediately - a reflex acquired in his life of former Death Eater and current spy.

In his sitting room, a skinny figure shook his clothes, though there wasn't even a tiny bit of dust, because Snape had impeccably cleaned the fireplace earlier.

They found themselves face to face, and stayed still for a while.

Snape's heart was beating fast.

Then there it was, the boy had flung himself in his arms, and Snape was squeezing him fiercely.

"I'm so glad you're here! I was afraid that you'd given me the wrong address or something like that," the boy said, in a broken voice.

"Harry..." was all that Snape could say. Then he took the boy in his arms, carried him into the sitting room and laid him on the sofa. Dinner could wait. The world could wait.