Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry Potter was running for his life.

In Harry’s mind, this statement was not hyperbolic in the slightest. After all, with Dudley and his gaggle of thugs on his tail, Harry was at risk of being beaten to a pulp if he couldn’t escape his cousin in time. Dudley had been in a particularly bad mood today. Harry had burned his breakfast bacon, which Dudley couldn’t eat while watching the television because he’d smashed the screen with a toy in a fit of temper the previous night. Worst of all, he’d been seated too far away to cheat off of Harry in the spelling test before lunch. All of it combined to make one incredibly cross cousin. 

Harry, of course, was the handy punching bag whenever Dudley was in that foul of a mood, but he couldn’t afford for his glasses to be broken yet again. Harry was starting to worry that even duct tape couldn’t hold together the snapped bridge for much longer…

Unfortunately for him, Harry was really struggling to outrun his cousin today, given the sorry state of his school shoes. Not only were they filled with holes that soaked his socks with rainwater, they were also two sizes too small and pinched terribly. Harry now spent most of his time limping around Little Whinging, waiting for the moment where his aunt and uncle would finally deign to dig out new ones for him. Since Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon refused to do anything for Harry unless it was an absolute necessity, he was stuck with the tattered things until they disintegrated. 

Suddenly, the cursed shoes struck again, and Harry stumbled. The December cold had left the concrete playground incredibly icy, so he skidded across the ground, arms wheeling about, and crashed spectacularly to the floor. His skinned palms and knees began to smart furiously, but Harry couldn’t focus on the pain of his injuries with his cousin still lurking in the background. He had to push through. 

Unfortunately, that stumble was all Dudley needed to cut Harry’s lead. As he turned himself around, grimacing in pain, he was met with the sight of Dudley looming above him, eyes glinting with malice. 

“Caught you, cousin!” Dudley jeered. 

Piers, Gordon and Malcolm cracked their knuckles, grinning at one another. Harry’s heart started pounding against his ribcage, and his stinging, scraped palms grew damp with sweat. This part of the playground was obscured from the view of the teachers who patrolled around at lunchtime. He had no way of escape, and no one would be able to intervene before Harry was beaten to a bloody pulp...

This was going to be bad. Really bad.

Harry tensed, preparing for the first blow to land. He hated himself for being scared, but couldn’t help it. Growing used to pain didn’t make it hurt any less, and this attack from Dudley was certain to be worse than usual.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and wished, as hard as he possibly could, that he could be anywhere else in the world but here, in horrid Surrey with his insufferable cousin and his foul gang… Harry wished and wished, filled with desperation, even though he knew it was pointless. He just had to grit his teeth and get on with the beating.

And speaking of, the first blow hadn’t landed. That was odd - Dudley wasn’t one to dither. He liked to get his punches in while he still had Harry cornered… so why hadn’t he hit Harry yet?

And, more importantly, where had the chilly December wind that had pierced through Harry’s ragged coat gone? Where were the faint screams of the other children in the playground, shot through with the occasional shrill whistle of a lunchtime supervisor?

Confused, Harry opened his eyes and discovered he wasn't even outdoors anymore. Instead, he appeared to be in a cramped, dark room. How odd… maybe Dudley had locked Harry into one of the school cupboards again? He liked to do that as a nasty jab about Harry's living situation, even though he wouldn't dare to actually mention the cupboard in public. Uncle Vernon made it clear to his son that discussing Harry’s ‘bedroom’ was strictly forbidden. 

Why wouldn't Harry remember getting put in the cupboard, though? As far as he could tell, he'd been outside just moments ago.

Maybe Dudley had hit him really hard in the head, so Harry was having trouble remembering. He gingerly raised a hand and ran it across his skull, but couldn't feel any painful lumps building. In fact, none of him was bruised or bloodied, except for his skinned hands and knees. 

What on earth was going on?

As Harry's eyes adjusted, he realised that the door to the cupboard was slightly ajar. He pressed it until it swung open a little more, and peered through the gap.

It looked quite a lot like a classroom, with several workbenches set up in front of a large, imposing desk and blackboard. That was where the resemblance to any schoolroom Harry was familiar with ended, though. For one thing, it was far darker than any of the classrooms at St Grogory's, like all the windows in the room had been bricked up. Strangely enough, there were also what could only be cauldrons set up at the benches. 

The only other conclusion Harry could draw was that he'd somehow gotten himself into Stonewall High, the local comprehensive. Harry didn't think students there used cauldrons, but there was still a lot he didn't know about secondary school. Harry similarly didn't have an answer to the question of how he'd have managed to get all the way to the secondary school without remembering the journey, but was forced to dismiss it for later. Strange things often happened around Harry, after all. 

He was just about to push the door open further to investigate his surroundings when there was a loud bang. Harry scuttled back into the shadows of the cupboard as the noise of dozens of feet hitting cobblestone filled the room. He didn't want to be seen just yet, especially since he was in a place that he probably wasn't supposed to be. 

Harry crouched behind a tall stack of cauldrons. He felt certain he'd be hidden from view if someone looked inside of the cupboard, but he could still see out if he tilted his head in a particular way. From here, Harry could make out some students settling in at the front workbenches, as well as the desk before a blackboard which a tall man was sweeping over to.

Harry immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he regarded the imposing person at the front of the classroom. He had a large, hooked nose, greasy hair and wore flowing black robes alongside a fierce scowl. He reminded Harry immensely of a vampire; he wouldn’t have been surprised to see white fangs protruding from the man’s thinly-pressed lips. 

He stared out into the sea of students, eyes dark and unreadable.

“You will be continuing with your Wit-Sharpening Potions,” the vampire-man said in a low, ominous voice. “Goodness knows that the vast majority of you are in desperate need of a decently brewed one, given your appalling end of term exam performances! And let it be known that any of last week's disruptions will not be tolerated today, or it’ll be fifty points from Hufflepuff. Begin.”

Several whispers drifted through the air, but were silenced instantly by a quelling look from the man. He waved one hand, and Harry could have sworn writing suddenly appeared on the chalkboard behind him. A trick of the light, he supposed. Harry certainly didn’t have the greatest eyesight in the world, so he might have just missed it earlier.

There was the scraping of benches against stone as the students rose from their seats and began to mill about the classroom to collect the things that they needed. Harry took this as an opportunity to examine them more closely, and quickly decided that he couldn’t be at primary school anymore. The greater height and stronger features of the teenagers before him once again suggested that Harry had somehow ended up in Stonewall High. Still, the uniforms they wore were very different to the ones of the local comprehensive. The students Harry was watching were wearing long, black robes like their teacher, but these ones were trimmed with different colours, either green and silver or yellow and black. It was a far sight away from the grey blazers and navy ties of the Stonewall High pupils.

Feeling decidedly unnerved, Harry decided that the best course of action was to stay back and continue to keep watch from his cupboard. The teacher in charge seemed very scary, and Harry doubted that he was the kind of man who would appreciate being interrupted by a displaced nine-year-old. Besides, Harry really didn’t want it getting back to the Dursleys that he’d done something abnormal again. The last thing Harry needed was to spend all of the Christmas holidays locked in his cupboard without meals, especially since he’d be missing out on the school-provided ones over the break…

A spotty boy briefly obscured the view from Harry’s hiding spot as he nervously approached the front of the room.

“Professor Snape, my potion’s missing!” he complained. 

“Then you must have misplaced it, Stebbins,” he snapped. “An unsurprising development, since you so often seem to misplace your brain when you come to my lessons! A zero for today’s assignment. Return to your desk.”

The boy’s face fell, and he scurried away to his desk without another word. Professor Snape’s eyes scanned the room, and Harry could have sworn they lingered on his cupboard for a moment longer than was necessary. The teacher darted forward, and vanished from Harry’s narrow frame of view.

He spent a fair bit of the next half an hour or so trying to work out what class he was possibly watching. Was this some sort of Science lesson? All of the students were measuring things out into vials with puzzled frowns, or chopping up all sorts of strange products. The blonde girl closest to Harry appeared to be slicing into an animal heart, with a thoroughly squeamish look on her face. She prodded it with the silver tip of her knife, made a groaning noise, then turned to her desk partner.

“I can’t wait for Christmas, can you?” she whispered. Harry could just about make out what she was saying if he strained his ears. “No more of this disgusting stuff for two glorious weeks…”

“Just three more days until we’re on the Hogwarts Express,” her pinch-faced friend said, smiling distantly. “Are you doing anything nice over the holidays?”

“I’m going skiing in Switzerland,” the blonde said proudly. 

Her friend frowned. “What on earth is skiing?”

“Oh, right. You wouldn’t know. Basically, it’s a Muggle sport where you strap these wooden planks to your feet…”

Harry, who couldn’t fathom how that girl didn’t know what skiing was, found his focus on the conversation slipping as he tried to puzzle out the meaning of the word ‘Muggle’. Perhaps it was some sort of descriptor for skiing that Harry hadn’t heard of? 

Harry’s eyes darted from the girls to the cauldron they were using. Something quite strange seemed to be happening to it. There was some purple foam forming at the top, gradually expanding over the lip of its container. The two teens were far too busy with their conversation to notice whatever they were making was starting to bubble over, so Harry alone witnessed some of the purple foam overflow the cauldron rim, trickle down the pewter, then drip into the small flame beneath the cauldron.

The reaction was instantaneous. The moment the potion made contact, the fire exploded upwards, consuming the cauldron in an instant. It rose in a great, crimson red plume, reaching all the way to lick at the cobbled ceiling. Harry could have sworn he saw twisted, screeching faces in the blaze…

“AGUAMENTI!” 

At the very edge of Harry’s rather narrow plane of view, he noticed Professor Snape dart directly before the flame, holding out some sort of wooden stick. A great jet of water shot out of the stick with the power and force of a fire hose, dousing the explosion and reducing the inferno to a flickering fire, then to steaming ash. The cauldron was a twisted hunk of metal; the desk was scorched and charred; the girls were crying and clutching each other.

None of this registered with Harry. He was staring at Professor Snape, slack-jawed, as the water finally stopped flowing from his stick. What had Harry had just witnessed? There was no way to conjure up water out of nothing like that…

But this strange man had just done it, like magic. 

Nobody else seemed to react to this perversion of the natural order. The two girls were far too busy staring at Professor Snape, the terror on their faces obvious even through the gloom of the classroom. The blonde had immediately succumbed to hysterics, which were only worsened when a snarling Professor Snape exploded at her and her friend. 

“You foolish girls!” he shouted, towering over them. “I didn’t think I was remiss in assuming that a group of third-years would have two brain cells to rub together, but I am obviously mistaken! When will you both learn to pay attention? Twenty points from Hufflepuff! Miss Heathcliff, get yourself to Madam Pomfrey to have that burn seen to. Escort her, Miss Mayhew.”

The pinch-faced girl quickly escorted her hysterical friend out of the room, casting fearful looks over her shoulder at the irate professor as she fled. The resounding thud of the door slamming shut seemed to double in volume in the silent classroom, where every single student was staring at Professor Snape, obviously terrified.

He snapped around to scowl at the rest of the students. “Unless you want a repeat of that sorry affair, get back to your potions now!”

The students all exploded into action, reaching to chop things or stir their cauldrons with frenzied enthusiasm. As Professor Snape stalked between their desks, barking insults with even more venom than he had employed previously, Harry couldn’t stop staring at the strange man with his mouth hanging open.

Potions? Real life wands, capable of dousing huge explosions of flames without any water source? There was only one explanation for all of this: magic.

Harry had long since stopped believing in magic and the supernatural. Even uttering the words in the presence of his aunt and uncle warranted a week in the cupboard, as a matter of fact. Still, sceptical though he was, Harry wasn’t stupid enough to overlook the bare-faced facts set out in front of him. The terrifying Professor Snape was some sort of magician… and judging by the terror of his students, a very evil one.

The tale of Hansel and Gretel suddenly came to Harry with alarming relevance. In that sorry story, a scheming witch had attempted to bake Hansel and Gretel in an oven… that seemed like the kind of thing Professor Snape would do, if Harry wasn’t careful. 

Cold terror washed over him. Perhaps that was how he’d ended up in the castle! Had Snape summoned him to be eaten, or to be chopped up and deposited into one of his strange potions? What would he do to Harry if he was caught hiding in this cupboard?

As Harry didn’t fancy being eaten or otherwise dismembered, he decided the best course of action was to remain wedged in the darkest, dustiest corner of the cupboard until he had a chance to sneak out of this place. Harry didn’t know what was beyond the classroom doors, but he fancied his chances better with that than with the vampire-man who reigned supreme over this part of the building. 

Luckily for Harry, Professor Snape saw fit to leave his classroom before even his students did, so he was able to hide in his cupboard until the students all vacated the room, grumbling under their breaths about the various shortcomings of their teacher. 

Even once the last snatches of chatter died from the air, Harry remained crouched behind a cauldron, too scared to leave. He liked cupboards. They were dark, tight and safe, too small for Uncle Vernon to fit into, and filled with his ever-constant companions, the spiders. This cupboard, however, could easily be entered by Professor Snape if he needed to retrieve one of these cauldrons. Harry needed to get out of here before he was caught.

Heart in his throat, Harry rose to his feet and crept to the door, gently pushing it open. He almost scuttled right back to the cauldron pile when the hinges squealed, but the small noise didn’t cause anybody to come running. Thanking his luck, Harry hurried through the deserted classroom and pushed his way out into the corridor beyond.

This was just as dark and intimidating as the Potions classroom. The whole hallway was made of stone, lit by a few sputtering torches. They cast odd, unnerving shadows across the ground, which Harry did his best to dodge past. The corridor was also very chilly, and Harry wrapped his arms around himself, trying to suppress a set of shivers. He found himself wishing, yet again, that he had a better winter coat than this ratty old thing…

Hoping to escape the dungeons, Harry decided it was his best bet to follow the corridors up. He quickened his pace, eyes lowered to the floor, hoping and praying to find daylight to escape Professor Snape’s domain. He was so nervous and focused on speed that Harry didn’t register the footsteps approaching him until he nearly collided with the person rounding the corner.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing, boy?!”

Harry willed himself to run, but couldn’t find it in himself to move an inch as he stared up at one very angry Professor Snape. He felt rooted in place, like his legs were made up of the same stone that the dungeons consisted of. Harry lowered his eyes to the floor, trying his hardest not to tremble. This was it - this was how Harry died…

“You shouldn’t be running in the corridors!” Professor Snape said severely. “Five points from… what house are you in?”

Harry’s mind drew a blank, until he finally remembered a similar statement from earlier. What was the thing that Professor Snape had removed points from when the girls set that fire? “Er - Huff… Huff… er -”

“Five points from Hufflepuff!” he snapped, scowling at Harry. “And an additional five points for not being in uniform. Now, go!”

Not wanting to chance his current luck, Harry scrambled down the corridor at as quick of a pace as he could manage without it being considered running. Once he was out of view, though, Harry did run; in fact, he sprinted like Dudley was hot on his heels until he was out of the depths of the dungeon and into a far sunnier corridor on an upper floor. 

Harry had gotten lucky. The professor hadn’t known that he wasn’t supposed to be here - clearly he mustn’t have summoned Harry specifically to eat or kill, after all - but that luck certainly wouldn’t hold out if Harry stayed this exposed! In fact, he was running the risk of bumping into even more people the longer he stayed in this corridor. Harry could hear voices in the distance, rapidly approaching. He spotted the doors of some kind of utility cupboard which was mercifully unlocked, and ducked inside. He crouched on the floor, where a small knothole let out a stream of faint light. It was just at eye level for him, so he was able to watch as clusters of students made their way down the corridor, chattering inanely.

“...Absolutely starving…”

“No more History of Magic until January, thank God!”

“I definitely failed that quiz McGonagall set…”

Harry allowed the snippets of conversation to wash over him, and began to try and piece together his situation. From what he’d gathered so far, this was definitely some sort of school. Not any normal school - after all, what typical comprehensive taught History of Magic?! The most magical thing Harry had encountered in his history lessons was a brief mention of witch burnings while they were taught about the Tudors.

That strange comment, coupled with the creation of magical potions, that spectacular and unnatural fire and the jet of water that had propelled itself from Professor Snape’s wand? There was only one conclusion that could be drawn - this was a magic school. Harry’s conclusion was only proven further when his knothole provided a perfect view as a ginger boy flicked his wand, which began to shoot a huge cluster of pink bubbles at an equally redheaded teenager walking somewhat ahead. 

“Fred!” he bellowed. “How many times - stop hexing me!”

“Leave your brother alone, Mr Weasley,” A bespectacled woman in brilliant green robes and a pointed witch’s hat ordered. “Five points from Gryffindor for using magic in the corridors - now get to dinner before I make it detention!”

“Alright, miss,” he said with a cheeky grin, racing away down the hallway with an identical boy in tow.

Yep, definitely a magic school. As he crouched in his cupboard, Harry couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. This was a far shot above Little Whinging - in fact, he wasn’t concerned at all about getting back to his relatives with this to amuse himself with. This might be the most interesting place that Harry had ever encountered, and he was certainly not going to exchange a magic school to be chased around the playground by his vindictive cousin…

No, Harry was going to stay in this place for as long as he possibly could.

Severus strolled down the corridor at a sedate pace. He was lost in thought. 

Why couldn’t he place that first-year who had barreled into him? It was obviously a first-year, Severus knew, as no other student at Hogwarts could possibly be that small. Severus certainly wouldn’t have pegged him for a child of eleven - more like one of seven or eight, really… they just got smaller every year, didn’t they?

But why wouldn’t Severus recall teaching the boy? As a rule, he couldn’t care less about students that weren’t in his own house, but Severus tended to work out their names by Christmas at the very latest. He almost felt like he’d never seen the boy before… probably because he was a Hufflepuff. The Gryffindors annoyed their ways into the forefront of Severus’ mind, and the Ravenclaws usually had the brains to put on a half-decent show at Potions and distinguish themselves, but Hufflepuffs tended to blur into a homogenous mass of tears and incompetence.

A pair of Gryffindors hurtled past, distracting Severus from his musings as they nearly knocked him over.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for running in the corridors!” he shouted after them, feeling his temper flare as they didn’t so much as glance over their shoulders to apologise. They ought to know better than to ignore Severus! At least that first-year had the decency to look appropriately terrified… 

He would have to really crack down after the Christmas holidays to knock some of the arrogance out of the lions. Making their lives appropriately miserable in Potions would certainly remind them of their place. 

Severus shook his head and started wandering through the hallways again, straight to the Great Hall. Just two more days, he reminded himself. Two more days before the little snots were packed onto the Hogwarts Express to become somebody else’s problem. 

In the meantime, he’d keep an eye out for that first-year. After all, Severus did love a good mystery.

Chapter Text

Harry spent the majority of the evening ensconced in the safety of the utility cupboard, observing the students as they passed back and forth. Judging by the delicious smells that were wafting towards him, many of them were currently making their way down to dinner. Despite his watering mouth, Harry didn’t dare go and seek out the source of the smells, of course - that was a surefire way of getting caught. What if he ran into somebody who knew he was an imposter?

No, it wasn’t worth the risk. Harry would have to rely on the meagre school lunch fare to get him through, although that meal already felt alarmingly distant. He’d only had a piece of plain toast for breakfast, so the school meals, which Aunt Petunia had to pay for lest the teachers notice him not eating, were the only decent chunk of food Harry got in a day. It barely even began to make up for the rest of his uneven mealtimes…

Still, Harry was hungry. So much so that he spent the majority of the evening fantasising about food, until he finally realised that thinking about eating so obsessively was only going to make him hungrier. It was a rule he knew too well from long nights locked in his cupboard without supper.

What Harry needed was a distraction. He felt marginally less anxious about being caught, now, and more inclined to venture out into the building. After all, what was the point of being in a magic school if Harry didn’t even bother to explore it?

The majority of the crowds of students and teachers had vanished by now - dinner must have concluded. Harry decided it was safe to emerge. At a loss for what particular direction to go in, Harry simply decided it would be best to follow his nose. He could last for a while without meals, but Harry would eventually need to eat something if he planned on staying here. Hopefully, he could find an unobserved area to nick some food from when less people were about. 

 Keeping a careful eye out for any teachers who might notice his lack of uniform, much like Professor Snape had, Harry ventured down several sets of stairs. The further down he went, the stronger the smells got, until Harry found himself in a dimly lit, slightly dusty basement. It was filled with large crates, and one wall bore a large oil painting of a bowl of fruit. Harry went to take a step forward -

BANG!

Harry tripped forwards and yelped as his battered hands made contact with the ground underneath him, aggravating the previous wounds from the afternoon of Harry Hunting. A shimmering silver powder descended from the ceiling and covered Harry from head to toe. He began to cough and splutter. Harry glanced down, and realised with no small amount of alarm that his already fraying clothes were starting to disintegrate at a very rapid rate where the silver powder had made contact.

“Oh, no!”

Two boys ran out from behind a stack of crates Harry realised that this was the same redhead who had magicked bubbles at his brother earlier, although he had somehow acquired a twin. Both of them looked rather contrite.

“Really sorry, mate!” one said, trying to brush the silver off Harry’s clothing. He muttered an oath under his breath as that only made the clothing flake away faster.

“That was meant for our brother, Percy,” the other boy explained, casting a cautious look over his shoulder. “He’s always trying to get us in trouble, we wanted to get him back for being so nosy so he wouldn’t find out that we know where the kitchens are hidden -”

“Fred, will you help me here?” His twin demanded, gesturing to Harry.

“It’s no use, George,” Fred said grimly. “It’s not coming off. The clothes are going to completely fall apart in a minute…”

Harry let out a yelp and scrambled away as best he could while still stuck on the floor. Was he seriously about to end up starkers while he was stranded at a strange magic school? He had the worst luck in the entire world!

“Look, er - what’s your name?”

“Harry,” he muttered absently, praying his clothes would remain intact long enough for Harry to hide himself behind some crates. 

“Right - Harry, we can fix your robes, alright? We just found out where the house-elves do the laundry,” George said a little frantically. “Come with me before they all start to go!”

After a brief pause saved to wonder at what a house-elf might be, Harry scrambled to his feet and hurried after the twins. By now, most of his winter coat had dissolved into ash, and his school trousers were more so resembling shorts.

Fred and George ushered Harry up a staircase and pulled aside a richly-woven tapestry. They all ducked beneath a stone arch, entering a dimly lit room full of shelves. They were piled with the black robes that the students of this school wore. It was otherwise unoccupied, to Harry’s relief. 

“The elves always have a ton of spares,” Fred whispered. “They won’t mind you taking some. What house are you?”

“Er - Hufflepuff?” Harry tried, remembering the house that Snape had taken points from earlier. Judging by the nods the twins exchanged, this had been the right answer. George quickly looked through a pile of robes, and threw a pair trimmed with yellow and black at Harry.

“Here, change into this.”

“We just figured out Shrinking Spells, so shout if they’re the wrong size,” Fred added.

“And try to brush the Dissolution Powder off your skin,” George said. “It won’t hurt you, but it might wreck the new robes, too.”

“Right - will do.”

The boys turned their backs as Harry removed his glitter-covered clothes, which were now almost entirely in ruins. They seemed rather preoccupied with discussions about somebody named Lee Jordan, who was supposedly meant to be acting as a lookout. Harry didn’t pay much attention while he brushed the remaining Dissolution Powder from his face and hands, then struggled into the flowing black robes. They truly swamped him, with the sleeves falling far beyond his wrists, and the base of the robes pooling around his feet on the floor. 

“Er - could you make these a bit smaller, then?” Harry asked hesitantly. 

“Right.” Fred turned around, taking a wooden stick from inside of his own robes. That was a magic wand, Harry supposed. 

“Reducio!”

Suddenly, the black fabric glowed, and tightened snugly against Harry’s body. He stared down at himself, mouth agape. So he hadn’t been seeing things! Sure, he’d been attempting to come to terms with the existence of magic, but to see it like this, actually occurring so close to him - “You alright there?” George said, stifling a snort. “It’s just a Shrinking Spell! We can do a whole lot more impressive than that!”

“Just wait until you see what we have planned for the Slytherins in the new year,” Fred said, smirking deviously.

“Er - yeah. I can’t wait.” 

Harry hoped he could make it in this castle long enough to witness whatever the boys had in store. 

“Thanks for being so good about this,” George said, clapping Harry on the back. 

“Didn’t mean for you to get caught up in all this,” Fred added. 

“Can we pay you back for the trouble?”

“Want any Slytherins to spend a month with itching powder in their laundry, perhaps?” George offered, proffering a magenta bag from within his robes. 

“Er… could you just show me where those kitchens are?” Harry said hopefully.

Fred grinned wryly. “Ah, seeking a trade secret!”

“Smart, I’ll give you that…”

“Well, I don’t see the harm, do you, George?”

“As we’re in the area, and all… follow me, young Harry.”

The twins exited the laundry room, Harry trailing behind. They pointed to the portrait of a bowl of fruit.

“Right under your nose!” George said delightedly.

“All you have to do is tickle the pear, and you’ll get straight in.”

“The house-elves love to feed up the students, so they’ll be practically throwing themselves at you to give you food.”

“Just do us a favour and keep it quiet, alright?” Fred warned. “Takes all the fun out of things if everybody knows the secret.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Harry said solemnly. Well, it wasn’t like he had anybody to share the secret with, anyway, but he made the promise with as much sincerity as he would have otherwise. He wanted these cheerful twins to like him.

George clapped Harry on the back again, beaming. “Brilliant! See you later.”

“Oh, and if you want to hang onto these new robes, I’d keep clear of the Transfiguration corridor tonight,” Fred called over his shoulder as he and his twin sauntered up the staircase. 

Harry laughed. “Will do.”

He watched after the two of them, and was surprised to find himself smiling. It was an odd position to be in after having his only clothing destroyed, but the two boys were just too good-tempered, and it felt impossible to be angry with them. In fact, they’d given Harry the perfect opportunity to replace his fraying cast-offs with a significantly nicer, warmer, and well-fitting uniform that would help him blend in with the masses. Plus, he had access to the kitchens now!

Not wanting to wait a moment longer to eat, Harry rushed up to the portrait of the pear and tickled it. To his shock, the painting actually began to move and jostle, as though it could feel itself being tickled by Harry, and the entire portrait swung open, revealing a small entrance. Harry ducked through it, and his jaw dropped when he took in the sight before him.

It was a grand hall, with a high ceiling and four long tables that were laden with golden plates. The sides of the room were lined with countertops covered in brass pots and pans, and a great fire roared in a brick hearth on the opposite end of the room. These weren’t the things that shocked Harry, however. It was the creatures milling about within the room that made him gasp with shock.

There were about a hundred or so of them - house-elves, had the twins called them? They all had overly large ears, protruding eyes, and wore tea towels tied like togas, stamped with the same crest that the front of Harry’s robes bore. When they noticed that somebody had entered, about a dozen of the creatures swarmed Harry.

“Hello, young Master!”

“What can we be doing for you?”

“Is you hungry?"

Harry, who was still trying to get accustomed to the fact that magic even existed, let alone obviously magical creatures, was stumped for an answer. He spent several moments goggling at the house-elves, mouth opening and closing stupidly, before he finally mumbled, “Er… if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could I get a bit of food, please?”

“No trouble at all, sir, no trouble!” an elf squeaked.

“Have these to be getting on with!”

A veritable mountain of biscuits was shoved at Harry on a golden plate. Harry stared at it wondrously before biting into a Jammie Dodger, a treat that Harry had never had the opportunity to try before Dudley hoovered it up. He took a moment to savour the flavour of the jam melting on his tongue. This was better than he ever could have dreamed.

“What can we be getting young Master in particular?” An elf asked.

“Er…” Harry, once again, found himself stumped. “I’m not sure, sorry. I like anything, really…”

“Of course!” The squeakiest of the elves drew herself up self-importantly. “We will retrieve a selection! Have as much as you like.”

Several moments later, Harry was laden down with a picnic basket that was almost bigger than he was. When Harry glanced inside, he was met with the sight of all sorts of delightful delicacies: sandwiches set on thick white bread, delectable cold cuts, juicy raspberries and grapes, even more biscuits and an entire pie. Harry’s mouth was beginning to resemble a waterfall once he caught a whiff of that. 

He had to reach over and pinch his arm a few times, certain that he was dreaming. It seemed more plausible than him ending up with as much food as he could possibly eat…

“I can really take all of this?” he whispered.

“Of course!” The lead elf almost looked offended. “We is loving to feed the young Masters and Mistresses of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, backing towards the portrait. Harry felt so overwhelmed with shock and gratitude that it was making uncomfortable, embarrassing emotions bubble to the surface. “Just… thank you.”

“It is our pleasure, young Master!” 

“Come back soon!”

It was only once the portrait of the fruit bowl had been shut back into place that Harry allowed for his emotions to crest over the surface. He sank against a wooden crate, tears welling up in his eyes as he stared at the food inside the picnic basket.

This was the best thing that had ever happened to him! Harry had as much food as he wanted, given to him freely without having to steal… he was in a magical school, with warm and clean clothes that fit him, and he didn’t have to see his aunt, uncle and cousin ever again if he was careful enough!

Harry tentatively reached into the basket, spoilt for choice, then eventually decided to start on one of the sandwiches. He sank his teeth into the fluffy white bread, closing his eyes and sighing from the sheer joy of eating. This was far better than the half-stale bread and hunks of cheese that Aunt Petunia doled out to him.

But if he wanted to enjoy his meal thoroughly, Harry needed to go back into hiding. He’d gotten lucky with those friendly twins earlier, who had been too troubled with their prank gone wrong to question who he was and what he was doing here. This entire school was crammed with odd cupboards and hideaway spots, so Harry decided that it would be wise to set up camp nearby, so he wouldn’t lose track of the kitchens by venturing too far into this massive building.

In the end, Harry only had to wander through a corridor or so before he encountered a doorway, partially hidden by a wooden barrel. With some straining and grunts of effort, Harry managed to shift it aside, granting him access to the cupboard. It was a fair bit bigger than the one Harry had been hiding in earlier, the perfect size for him to stretch out entirely if he so desired. 

Harry set the picnic basket, then ventured back down the corridor towards the portrait of the fruit bowl. Instead of reentering the kitchen, however, he made his way back up the staircase and ducked beneath the tapestry into the laundry room. To his relief, it was just as deserted as it had been when Fred and George had shown Harry around earlier. He grabbed as many robes as he was physically capable of carrying, these ones trimmed with green and silver, then began to stumble down the corridor to where he’d decided to set up camp. It was a bit difficult, since Harry couldn’t see past the massive mound of clothing he had taken, but he managed to get to the cupboard again with minimal stumbling.

Once he was inside, Harry set about arranging the clothing so that it formed a respectable nest of bedding. Since his cupboard at home only contained a thin mattress with a fraying old blanket, Harry was often forced to use other pieces of clothing for extra warmth, particularly in the dead of winter when the heating went off at night. He’d still have killed for a big, fluffy duvet, but a few of Dudley’s enormous old jumpers sufficed for Harry.

These clothes were significantly better than what Harry was used to. He had enough robes to stack between himself and the hard stone floor, which made for a somewhat comfortable mattress. After folding up a final robe for a pillow, Harry got the two cloaks he’d also found and shook them out to be used as blankets. As they settled over his legs, Harry let out a satisfied sigh. Even though it was the middle of December, Harry was perfectly warm.

Situated for the remainder of the night, Harry decided to tuck into his picnic basket of goodies and finally reflect a little on the roller coaster of the day. 

He was in a magic school! Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as that odd little house-elf creature had called it. This was certainly a step up from St Grogory’s, even if the magic school was full of scary vampire professors and silver powder that made your clothes fall off.

Harry was never going to leave this place. After all, it wasn’t like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would be looking for him - they hated Harry, and usually liked to pretend that they didn’t have a nephew. Even though he was only nine, Harry was used to taking care of himself as a result. He’d much rather be on his own here than stuck at the cruel hands of the Dursleys for another minute.

Even if somebody did want to track Harry down, which was doubtful, they’d have no means of looking for him since he’d just disappeared and reappeared in this random place. The school could be anywhere, after all. Harry was assuming that he was still somewhere in Britain judging by the accents, but even that could be wrong… maybe he was in a different world entirely! Perhaps this school was a part of a separate world only accessible through portals, like the wardrobe in Narnia. Harry loved that story; after studying it in school, he’d spent a month squeezing his eyes shut and wishing for the cupboard under the stairs to take him into a snowy forest, where a kindly fawn would feed him tea and biscuits and never make him go back to Privet Drive.

While this might not resemble Narnia exactly, it was close enough, and Harry was pretty certain he could get away with hiding here for the foreseeable future. Harry didn’t know what the age range of this school was, but now that he had access to where the uniforms were hidden, he supposed he could just carry on hiding in cupboards and darkened hallways and hope that the robes would defend him from any passing glances if and when he explored the building further.

Part of Harry knew that it would be smarter to stay hidden full time, but what would be the fun in that? If he stayed in this cupboard and got caught anyway, it would be a completely wasted opportunity once he was sent back to Privet Drive. Harry needed to make the most of magic before the witches and wizards worked out he wasn’t one of them.

Even that looming threat wasn’t enough to dampen Harry’s good mood, though. He burrowed under his pile of clothing and munched on biscuits until his eyes started to flutter closed. When Harry did fall asleep, it was with a smile on his face. 

This had been the best day of his entire life.

Chapter Text

“McGregor!” Severus snapped. “Precisely what are you reading underneath the desk?”

McGregor snapped upright, terror obvious in his eyes. “N-Nothing -”

Severus strode forward and snatched the boy’s magazine from where it was badly hidden beneath the desk. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and sneered. It was another of those inane Quidditch guides… a lot of tosh, and a waste of good money.

“Fifteen points from Hufflepuff,” Severus said coldly, wheeling around on his heel to add the magazine to his pile of other confiscated goods in his top desk drawer. 

The magazine joined a pile of Witch Weekly editions, a scattering of Honeydukes sweets, a few Zonko’s joke products, and a strange, egg-shaped object that Severus had confiscated from one of the Weasley twins. He was still too scared to touch it. Whenever the room was silent, he could hear the thing humming slightly, and Severus really didn’t want to be the victim of yet another Weasley disaster. The twins had been at Hogwarts for barely three months, and he was already plotting ways to get the dratted boys expelled. They were some of the most shameless pranksters that Severus had ever had the misfortune of teaching.

He looked up from his drawer of contraband to observe the students. The Christmas holidays were beginning tomorrow, which meant that the children would be even more distracted than usual. Severus wouldn't dare allow them near explosive substances at a time like this, so he’d set them silent bookwork for the afternoon. He was taking vicious pleasure in brutally quashing even the slightest hint of whispers, nerves and patience frayed from a long term of teaching. 

He would never understand his colleagues like Filius and Pomona, who always indulged their pupils in Christmas-themed lessons when the end of term trundled along. Why bother to teach the students to charm suits of armour to sing carols? They would inevitably team up with Peeves and use the magic to make the helmets bellow filthy limericks at passing professors. Why should Severus go out of his way to come up with an engaging, fun activity for the little snots who made his life a living hell?

No, as far as Severus was concerned, December was a month in which he dedicated himself to providing some semblance of normality in a world gone mad. If he was the only man in Hogwarts who remembered that the place was actually a school, even when Christmas loomed above them all like a dark storm cloud, then so be it. He’d remind the students of their place. 

Thursday was typically what Severus thought of as his ‘hell day’, since it was the dreaded once a week period where he had both of the first-year Potions groups to teach. A day that consisted of nothing but babysitting snivelling children who couldn’t tell their cauldrons from their wands was his idea of torture, particularly when they were all too busy thinking of Chirstmas and the accompanying festivities to actually do their work. To Severus’ immense shock, though, tolerating the company of eleven year-olds was actually providing him with intellectual stimulation. A mystery was afoot - the boy from the corridor wasn’t anywhere to be found. 

Severus had certainly looked for him in both of these teaching sessions. As he’d taken the register, he’d scanned the class like a hawk for signs of the unusually tiny boy, but hadn’t had any luck. All of the first-years were in attendance save two, and they were both Slytherin pupils who Severus knew to be laid up in the Hospital Wing with the flu. There wasn’t any other way about it - the boy was nowhere to be found.

Now, what had originally been a fleeting interest in his lapse of memory had turned into an all-out headache of mystery. Who the devil was that child? Was Severus seeing things, or was Hogwarts being haunted by a new ghost that had simply never seen fit to make its presence known to humans until now? No, that wouldn’t make sense. Severus had felt the boy collide with him, so he had to be a corporeal being… perhaps Nymphadora Tonks had changed forms again? No, that didn’t seem right, either. As far as Severus was aware, the Metamorphmagus was unable to alter her height to that significant of a degree. At any rate, Tonks had a certain gleam of mischief to her eye that the terrified boy had been lacking. It couldn’t be her. 

Not knowing what was happening in the castle certainly wasn’t doing wonders for Severus’ temper. He hated being played for a fool, and didn’t appreciate a mere child getting the better of him. In fact, Severus thought he’d taken more house points from Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw today alone than he had in the last fortnight combined. The mystery was quickly driving him mad, and by the time he dismissed the second class of first-years, a fearsome headache was building up in Severus’ temples. 

The last thing that Severus wanted to do was to sit in the clamour of the Great Hall, but since the Headmaster had obligated him to show his face at a minimum of two meals a day, he was forced to drag himself out of the dungeons and to dinner, which he used as another opportunity to scan the house tables for that thin, pale face which was haunting him. Still no luck…

“What’s got you looking so glum, Severus?” Pomona asked, patting the top of his hand. “Cheer up! It’s Christmas!”

Severus said nothing, as such an outrageous sentence didn’t deserve the dignity of a response. He just gave Pomona a withering look, withdrew his hand and placed it upon his lap. He then refocused on watching the students, but couldn’t find anything more interesting than Marcus Flint flicking a spoonful of peas at Adrian Pucey on the Slytherin table. The boy he’d seen wasn’t here, wasn’t among the ranks of the first-years, and didn’t seem to exist.

Was Severus hallucinating? Had the little brats at last driven him mad?

For the sake of what little remained of his sanity, Severus decided to put the matter to one side for the time being. Still, there was minimal reprieve from the torment of his life as Severus made his way to the staff room for their weekly meeting. Did anybody truly care to hear Pomona, Charity and Aurora coo over the marvellous progress their students were making? From the way they told things, you’d have thought that every pupil was the second coming of Albert Einstein. Severus often found himself wondering if he was actually teaching a completely different batch of students to his colleagues.

He sighed, and stared hard at his watch. Severus deeply resented this waste of his Thursday evenings, where they were forced to recap student progress, organise school events, or worst of all, participate in the latest team-building activity Dumbledore had cooked up. Severus didn’t know why he had to engage in this, having no desire to be a member of a team. In fact, as far as he was concerned, Severus should be permitted to lock himself in his laboratory from the conclusion of lessons until it was time for him to teach again.

The rest of the staff seemed to have other ideas.

“I really think we need to start organising revision sessions for some of the fifth-years!” Pomona said, wringing her hands anxiously. “O.W.L.s are closer than they all seem to realise, and the mock exam results aren’t anywhere near our targets…”

“The reports for my Gryffindors show particularly low results in Potions,” Minerva said with a frown. “Severus, when we return in January, I think it might be wise to start up some remedial sessions for -”

“No.”

Minerva let out a loud, put-upon sigh. “Severus, you mustn’t -”

“The people you send to me cannot be taught,” Severus said tersely. “It is a waste of my time if they haven’t any talent.”

“They’ll take place on Wednesday evenings, and you’ll be tutoring Patil, Heathcliff and Crawley,” Minerva said with a tone of finality. 

Despite his best intentions, Severus wasn’t quite able to find it in himself to argue with her. Minerva was capable of a certain steely-eyed glare that still had the power to cow him, despite it being over a decade since the Transfiguration professor had taught Severus. Instead, he satisfied the simmering resentment within by mentally listing all of the poisons he could slip into Minerva’s tea which couldn’t be traced back to him. 

Severus had reached fourteen grizzly deaths before Dumbledore changed the topic to an even drearier matter - Christmas plans. Why on earth did he have to sit through this? Severus couldn’t care less about the extended family of the Hogwarts faculty! It made no difference to his own holiday plans who they were visiting or not. He was going to have a long, silent few weeks, and only surface for the mandatory Christmas meal. That was Severus’ idea of time well spent, unlike this bloody meeting… he glanced over at Professor Binns, dozing in his usual chair, and wondered if the ancient History of Magic professor’s death had been caused by sheer boredom during a similar mandatory gathering. It certainly seemed plausible. 

Severus did his best to tune out his colleagues’ menial chatter and think appropriately disdainful thoughts, but a particular remark from Albus brought him snapping back to attention.

“And Severus will be in charge until Aberforth and myself return on the twenty-ninth, so ensure -”

“I beg your pardon?” Severus said, eyes narrowing. “Since when am I taking charge of the school? I never agreed to this!”

“You did last Sunday, Severus! Don’t you remember?” Albus’ eyebrows rose. “After all that funny business with Abeforth’s illegal goat charms, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to go abroad with my brother so he could get away from the media headache. Since Minerva is spending the holiday with her stepson’s family, you agreed to manage all Hogwarts affairs in our absence.”

Curse Sererus and his tendency to drift off in meetings! He really needed to stop nodding his agreement to everything Albus said in a vain attempt to end their conversations sooner…

“Headmaster, I really do not think I am qualified -”

“Nonsense! There will only be about a dozen or so students staying for the holidays this year, so what’s the harm?” Albus’ eyes twinkled infuriatingly. “This will be good for you! A little bit of responsibility never hurt anyone.”

Responsibility might not hurt anyone, but Severus was certainly going to inflict something painful on his colleagues before the day was up…

“I’ll be heading off right after the students board the Hogwarts Express,” Albus said cheerily. “If you have any truly dire issues, you’ll need to contact Minerva. We’ll be putting Anti-Owl Enchantments on the cabin to try and waylay some of the Howlers Aberforth’s been receiving, poor man…”

“Do not contact me for anything less than life or death,” Minerva added crisply. 

Severus let out a low growl, and bunched his hands into fists. Despite his very best efforts to prevent it, he was unfortunately still capable of feeling empathy. He was observant enough to know that Albus was a rather lonely man, and had a deeply fraught relationship with his brother. If they were finally spending time together, and Severus had been stupid enough to facilitate their holiday by not paying attention, it would be rather heartless of him to suddenly backtrack.

It would be equally unacceptable to pawn the responsibility off on Minerva, tempting though that was. Severus also knew how difficult of a time she’d had since the tragic death of her husband four years ago, and Christmas was a particularly unpleasant period for her…

Damn it all. He was stuck doing this, wasn’t he?

Still, it didn’t mean that Severus had to be happy about it. Once the rest of the end of term announcements had been discussed, Severus strode from the staff room without another word. The blasted Headmaster was going to be the death of him! Severus got so little time off as it was, and he had been looking forward to the Christmas break as a period of recuperation… now he was responsible for keeping an eye on all of the student madness?

When Severus remembered that the Weasley twins were staying for Christmas, he barely managed to stop himself from marching straight into Dumbledore’s office and handing in his resignation.

The prospect of spending the holidays stuck minding the Weasley brats had dried up any of Severus’ meagre reserves of goodwill. He therefore spent the twelve hours between the conclusion of the staff meeting and the sendoff of the Hogwarts Express attempting to come up with a plausible excuse to win his Christmas back. A sudden onset illness, perhaps? No, Poppy would see right through Severus… perhaps a family emergency? Severus’ lack of any living family presented a minor roadblock, but he could always manufacture some estranged brother, or discover a long-lost child… that would certainly tug on the heartstrings of the soft types like Pomona… but then Severus would be forced to maintain the lie. If his colleagues insisted on meeting this imaginary child, then Severus would be outed as a fraud. The humiliation would be intolerable.

In the end, Severus was left with only one option: begging.

“Albus, are you really certain I must -”

“Yes,” Albus said pleasantly, waving to the departing Hogwarts Express as it sped from Hogsmeade station. 

“I know Minerva is busy, but Filus and Pomona -”

“Filius and Pomona are both taking leaves of absence for one period or another over the Christmas period to see their own families,” Albus interrupted. “You are the only senior member of staff remaining at Hogwarts for the entire Christmas period. Your Head of House duties fully qualify you for this position, so I must inquire as to why you’re protesting so vociferously?”

Unfortunately, ‘I don’t want to’ wasn’t a valid response if Severus didn’t want to sound like a petulant child. He refused to sink quite that low.

“Do you feel incapable of handling the task?” Albus asked.

“No!” Severus said, feeling rather affronted. He could manage a dozen students perfectly well on his own, thank you very much! What did the barmy old coot take him for?

“Then I shall see you on the twenty-ninth, Severus,” Albus said, patting him on the back. “Ta!”

The Headmaster strolled in the direction of the Hog’s Head without another word, humming to himself.

Furious and outwitted, Severus decided it was more than fair to spend a few minutes picturing Albus twitching under the Cruciatus Curse for his troubles. By the time he had managed to reign in his temper, Albus had vanished into the winding streets of Hogsmeade. Severus stalked back in the direction of the castle, keeping an eye out for any wandering students that he could punish. If he really hit his stride today, perhaps he could drain the Gryffindor counter by a good fifty points…

Unfortunately for Severus, the closest he got to human interaction was a wandering Slytherin first-year, who he quickly ordered back to the common room without any point losses. As he watched Westbrook race away into the dungeons, he was reminded once more of the tiny child who he had yet to identify. In the chaos of Albus’ leave of absence, he had forgotten about his investigation. 

Severus hurried into his office, and immediately pulled a face. A pile of documents had appeared upon his desk, presumably from the Headmaster, detailing the various duties required of Severus during the break. He was truly working with a bare bones crew - even Poppy was leaving today, and wouldn’t return until Boxing Day. Apparently while he’d been absentmindedly nodding away in Albus’ office, Severus had also agreed to be the stand-in Healer. He buried his face in his hands and contemplated death.

Then, Severus glanced up and realised that  Albus had sent a bottle of Ogden’s Finest Firewhiskey down with the piles of paperwork. Well, at least the old man wasn’t completely heartless. 

He was just about to break the seal when a knock suddenly sounded at his door. Severus hid the bottle, then flicked his wand to open the door, revealing sixth-year Jacob Finchley. He was a Slytherin Prefect of Severus’ with enough talent in Potions to earn his begrudging respect. 

“Afternoon, sir,” he said briskly. “I was just wondering if I can spend some time in the Potions classroom this afternoon? I’ve been struggling a bit with my Skele-Gro, and I wanted to practise.”

“Go ahead, Mr Finchley,” Severus said. He reached into his desk and handed the boy the keys for both the Potions classroom and the storage cupboard. “Return these by the end of the day.”

“Thanks, sir.”

He disappeared out of the office, while Severus returned to his stack of paperwork, deciding that he might as well get it out of the way. Then, he could get back to attempting to enjoy what little remained of his holiday time.

It was a long and arduous task, one that took hours. By the time Severus was done, he decided the best course of action was to settle in his quarters with a good book to reward himself. 

But instead of getting some well-deserved relaxation time, Severus’ walls instead began to shake and tremble, causing several of the jars on his shelves to topple to the ground and shatter. He muttered an oath under his breath and leapt to his feet as the alert wards around his Potions classroom shot an alarm into his office. Of course an incident would occur within hours of Severus being put in charge! What on earth could have possibly happened? Finchley was an exemplary brewer, and never had accidents! 

Severus sprinted from the office, wand in hand, wondering about causes, and decided that the Weasley twins must somehow be involved. Perhaps, the egg had been a slow-timed bomb with the power to blow up his classroom and everything in it. It certainly wasn’t outside of their devilish capabilities…

He swore again as he ran through the hallway, wondering just how many points he could get away with taking from Gryffindor before Minerva hexed him senseless. This was already shaping up to be the worst two weeks of his life.

Chapter Text

After a delightful night nestled in his cupboard, Harry had once again set out for observation. He’d spent most of his time in the basement of this school, spying on the yellow-robed students who were known as Hufflepuffs. They appeared to live somewhere down here.

That wasn’t the only thing Harry had learned while spying from various cupboards and closets, which Hogwarts was conveniently full of. He overheard a lot of students complaining, although the nature of their annoyance was disappointingly mundane. Magical homework was still just as boring as the regular kind, it seemed. The students were also still regular people, who could do magic as well as gossip about their friends, exes and enemies. A large topic of conversation seemed to be two groups called Gryffindor and Slytherin, who both hated each other for reasons that the Hufflepuffs found to be very ridiculous. 

The terrifying Professor Snape had also turned out to be a little less evil than Harry had originally suspected. He was utterly abhorred by the student body, it seemed, but from what Harry had gathered, the man wasn’t actually on the verge of murdering any of them. He was just quite stern and angry, and the students of Hogwarts spoke about him with the same vicious hatred that St Grogory’s pupils reserved for the crotchety old music teacher, Mr Macnamara. 

That didn’t mean that Harry wanted to have another run-in with Professor Snape, though. Whenever the basement corridors seemed to morph into the frozen, torchlit terror of the dungeons, Harry inevitably turned back to the safety of his cupboard. He found himself hiding often, even though he now had the shield of a Hogwarts uniform defending him. One tiny teacher with a squeaky voice had barely given Harry a passing glance in the corridor, but it just wasn’t worth the risk.

That was how Harry found himself hiding in an uncomfortably cramped closet on his second morning at Hogwarts. He shifted slightly, trying not to knock over a broomstick while also alleviating the pins and needles in his right foot. He tapped a finger against his knee impatiently, wondering when he was going to have a chance to leave.

Since Harry was a generally early riser, he’d risen this morning to a deadly silent corridor. Presuming that the other residents of Hogwarts were asleep, Harry decided that this would be a perfect time to explore upstairs. 

After making several journeys back and forth to be absolutely certain that he had the pathway to the fruit bowl portrait and his hideout memorised, Harry had started to strike out into the castle proper. The first early rays of dawn had begun painting the sky light shades of pink and orange when he’d stumbled into an Entrance Hall so grand that the entirety of Number Four, Privet Drive could have fit inside of it with room to spare. Adjoining that was a great set of oak double doors, which were slightly ajar. 

When Harry had peered into the room beyond, he’d found an exact replica of the four long tables that the house-elves had been tending downstairs in the kitchens. It was significantly more spectacular up here, however, than in the basement. Harry spent a fair amount of time mesmerised by the floating candles, wondering how they were suspended in mid air like that, before his eyes fell upon the even more spectacular sight beyond. 

There was no roof on this dining hall; instead, the ceiling was an exact replica of the sky, which was dyed the same pink and orange hues as the outside world. Harry spent several minutes just staring at this ceiling, slack-jawed, when snow began to gently drift down from the pastel clouds above. Every flake dissipated before they hit the magically suspended candles, but when Harry exited the dining room and strolled over to the window, he saw the already snowy grounds outside of the window being further blanketed by flurries of snowflakes. 

Harry sat on the windowsill and wiped his hand against the pane of glass, smudging away the condensation that had built up to get a better view of the grounds beyond. The sun had risen enough to properly illuminate the landscape, which consisted of great, rolling hills and imposing blue mountains. He noticed some sort of large pitch, surrounded by wooden stands and bearing two sets of three golden hoops, which stood tall enough to kiss the clouds above. A large lake was glistening in the early dawn light, frozen over by the cold of winter, and the tendrils of shadow from the coniferous forest to its left cast long, dark tendrils across the lawn. Harry could also make out the shadows of great, rising turrets, extending into the sky above. Just how big was this castle, anyway? 

When he at last grew bored of staring at the snow, Harry decided to continue his journey of mapping out the castle. After the daunting look out of the window it did feel like an impossible task, but Harry had all the time in the world. He didn’t stumble across anything particularly interesting, however; most of the closed doors were just classrooms, which looked the same as Harry’s in Surrey did. He’d not been sure why he’d expected a magical school classroom to contain anything other than a chalkboard, desks and chairs, but it was slightly anticlimactic. 

Harry had just made use of a nearby boys' lavatory to wash up in the sinks a little when he registered the castle waking up around him. It sounded like the first few people were making their way down to breakfast. That was disappointing; Harry had only reached the first floor! With a sigh, Harry began to make his way back down the stairs again, but halfway through his journey back to the basement, changed courses. He’d discovered yet another cupboard near the marvellous Entrance Hall, and that seemed like the perfect place to hide out while remaining close to the action. The doors didn’t quite join all the way, so Harry had a good view from the slit down the middle, far better than the knothole he’d been contending with before. Now, he had a perfect view in case any duels broke out! 

Unfortunately for Harry, the bubbles conjured up by one of the Weasley twins seemed to be a one-off event. The students seemed to follow that rule against using magic in corridors quite closely. In fact, they barely even talked about any tricks or spells like Harry had hoped. Instead, the Hogwarts pupils were all just discussing all sorts of mundane matters that Harry could hear about back in Little Whinging.

“I’m never speaking to her again! She kissed Jacob, I know she did -”

“Do you think I should rush to finish that Charms essay before the train, or just hand it in to Flitwick after the holidays?”

“I still haven’t finished packing, and the train’s in two hours!”

“I’m really hoping I get the Nimbus 1000 for Christmas…”

Really, by now Harry had grown quite bored. He'd amused himself for a brief stint by playing pretend that he was an MI6 agent, sent out by the government to spy on witches and wizards, but even that had grown dull. The premise had fallen apart, since Harry thought a real spy would have far more exciting things to do, like jumping out of helicopters or fighting bad guys. He was just sitting in a cupboard and listening to teenagers complain about their boyfriends.

Both of his legs had now fallen asleep, so he had to cautiously stretch out in the confined space to coax some life back into the deadened limbs as he continued to listen in on the breakfast crowd. He didn’t think it was wise to leave - every now and then, he’d catch the sound of a reprimand, or see a taller head in different coloured robes amidst the sea of black that hinted to the presence of a teacher. 

Harry wasn’t stupid; he knew that so far he’d gotten lucky. Professor Snape had obviously been trying to place him, so what if a more attentive teacher correctly concluded that Harry didn’t belong in this school? No, it would be safer to wait until after breakfast to make his way back down.

Unluckily for Harry and his aching legs, the school was particularly busy today. The minute that the hallways slowed after the end of the meal, they once again became crowded with students carrying backpacks, luggage or animal cages. Owls hooted and screeched loudly above the cacophony of chatter, while a pair of boys tried to restrain two yowling black cats fighting one another in the Entrance Hall.

“Hurry up!” The woman who had scolded the Weasley twins the day before shouted over the chaos. “The carriages are leaving for Hogsmeade station in fifteen minutes!”

Oh - it was the end of term, wasn’t it? Harry’s own primary school was drawing to a close that week, so that didn’t come as too much of a surprise. It did fill Harry with a slight, niggling worry, however. What would happen to the school when term time was over? Worst of all, what would happen to him? 

When the students had at last been packed away into the carriages that the Scottish woman had been referencing, Harry finally had a quiet moment to make his way back down into the depths of the school. He went first to his hideout, where he finished up the remaining food in the picnic basket. Unlike yesterday, Harry took great care to eat the food slowly. He’d still been marvelling at the miracle that was a full belly, so he’d taken things too far yesterday morning and had absolutely gorged himself. He’d then lost a full morning and half of the afternoon that could have been spent exploring lying in a ball and clutching at his aching stomach, praying not to sick up the food.

It hadn’t been pleasant, but all things considered, he’d had worse problems. Harry so often went hungry that the experience of his belly hurting from eating too much food instead of too little made for a welcome change. 

After he eventually grew full, Harry decided it was high time to return to his exploration of the castle. He spent more than enough time sitting in cupboards back on Privet Drive without placing himself into them voluntarily, after all. Harry was bored of sitting around and watching, and it was high time for him to enjoy himself

He wandered through the basement levels happily, not coming into contact with any other humans during his journey. When the stonework of the basement gave way to the chill of the dungeons that Harry had originally teleported his way into, he felt his pulse quicken. This was Professor Snape’s domain, and Harry certainly didn’t want to run into him again…

But this, if anything, was a good time to explore the vampire-like man’s domain. It was the holidays, so he’d probably gone home, along with the rest of whatever staff tended to Hogwarts. Harry should do some reconnaissance while his enemy was away. 

Harry wandered through the dungeons, still alarmingly conscious of the sound of his footsteps, and eventually drew closer to the classroom he’d appeared in yesterday. The door was slightly ajar, and Harry pushed it open to reveal a lone cauldron, sitting atop a low-burning fire. After some careful, cautious inspection, however, Harry realised that the classroom was devoid of human presence. He simply decided that someone must have finished their potion, and had left the excess to throw away later.

Unbeknownst to Harry, the usually fastidious Jacob Finchley had been distracted from his Skele-Gro practice by the wiles and good looks of Kelsey Abbott, a Hufflepuff seventh-year who was also staying for the Christmas holiday. Unable to pass down the opportunity of a lifetime to spend some alone time with his previously unrequited crush, Finchley had come to the rather rash conclusion that his potion could be briefly left unattended while he occupied himself with other, more exciting matters. It was Christmas, so nobody would go anywhere near Professor Snape’s classroom, anyway! The castle was empty, and Finchley really ought to reap the benefits of that and leave the potion so he could find a convenient broom cupboard to snog a Hufflepuff in with minimal chance of interruption. Finchley simply left the Skele-Gro base to simmer on the heat and went on his merry way, giddy with excitement.

The blinders of young love meant that Finchley failed to account for several factors. He was too busy thinking about how much emptier than usual Hogwarts was to remember that it was not completely devoid of other witches and wizards. These people included one irritable Head of Slytherin who had entrusted him to go unsupervised around explosives, as well as one curious and incredibly bored nine-year-old who was wandering the castle and looking for entertainment. 

Sadly for Finchley and his previously impeccable detention record, Harry found his amusement in one active cauldron, just waiting to be tampered with. 

Harry stared down at the purple liquid inside of the cauldron, almost giddy with excitement. He might not have a magic wand, like the other people at Hogwarts did, but there was nothing to stop him from making a potion, right?

With a wide grin on his face, Harry began the search for ingredients to make something with. Most of the cupboards at the sides of the rooms were unfortunately locked, but one handle clicked open with a bit of jiggling. Harry quickly slipped inside, and found himself in a room full of what could only be ingredients. At least, Harry was assuming they were ingredients, given that they were stored in jars and labelled neatly in looping handwriting. The things themselves were absolutely unfamiliar - powdered unicorn horn, bicorn hair, essence of Asphodel…

They also smelled foul. The odour as he entered the cupboard was quite overpowering. Even the various nasty smells weren’t enough to put Harry off when fireworks of enthusiasm were exploding inside of him. Harry was going to make a magic potion! 

He obviously didn’t have any ingredients, so Harry decided to simply pick up containers with interesting and magical-sounding ingredients inside of them and carefully hauled them outside. He placed the jars down on the stained and nicked wooden workbench, then unscrewed the lid of the powdered unicorn horn. It was shimmering and technicoloured, almost too mesmerising to pour away into a cauldron. Harry did it anyway for the sake of science, of course, and hoped that he’d be able to find a real life unicorn somewhere if he stayed here long enough. 

Next, he poured a jar of something named flobberworm mucus into the cauldron, wrinkling his nose and doing his best not to let any of it touch his hands. It was vicious and disgusting, bearing the same colour and consistency of snot. It didn’t do much when poured into the cauldron, but began to bubble gently after a couple minutes in contact with the heat.

At this point, Harry decided to throw whatever he could into the cauldron, trying to get it to do something. He assumed there were recipes for specific potions with particular desired effects, but if you threw enough things with magical qualities into one pot it would still do something interesting, right?

Harry had just hit his fifth ingredient - billywig stings - when at last, the potion’s consistency changed from murky gloop into something more colourful and exciting. Before, it had just turned a strange greyish-brown, but the addition of the stings had caused the whole brew to turn a brilliant crimson, and a purple vapour began to rise into the air. His potion was also properly coming to a boil.

Finally, the fizzling excitement began to morph into a well-placed feeling of concern. Harry had a decent bit of experience with cooking, but he’d never seen a soup or stew begin to boil so rapidly… and the liquid within never started to rise and expand, either. It only was then that Harry remembered the terrifying violet flames that the teenaged girls from yesterday’s Potions class had created when something went wrong in their cauldron. Harry had been working off cooking assumptions - the worst that could happen with a few misplaced ingredients would be bad-tasting dish.

This wasn’t an excess of garlic or an overly-long cooking time, however. These were magical, supernatural ingredients that could do supernatural things when combined, and perhaps now would be the time for Harry to start backing away. 

He’d barely retreated two steps backwards from the workbench before he stumbled over something, and heard a loud yowl coming from somewhere around his ankles. Harry glanced down and realised that the object he’d tripped over was actually a cat. It wasn’t a particularly attractive creature, with a dust-coloured pelt set over a skeletal, scrawny body, and bulging eyes that seemed to somehow be full of disdain.

“Oops. Sorry,” he muttered. “Who do you belong to?”

The cat’s only response was a noisy hiss.

“Er… nice kitty -”

“AHA!” 

The half-open door was slammed forth to its full extent, and Harry flinched violently backwards. A grizzled, middle-aged man with ratty, thinning hair and livid eyes began to shuffle forwards.

“Students out of bounds!” he snarled, lips pulling back to reveal crooked, yellowing teeth. “Trespassing in the Potions classroom, of all places! You’re coming with me, young man - perhaps Professor Snape’ll see sense and let me chain you by your wrists in the depths of the dungeons, eh?”

Terrified of this man and the equally scary professor who he was referencing, Harry began to stumble backwards, nearly toppling over the workbench at his back. As he cast a hand out to steady himself, disaster struck. Harry’s hand knocked another jar, and it plummeted off the side of the table and directly into the cauldron.

This last ingredient seemed to be the final requirement for the roiling potion to overcome the boundaries of the cauldron it was in. The crimson liquid exploded out in every direction. The grizzled man, who turned out to have surprisingly good reflexes, threw himself beneath the closest desk and crouched alongside his hissing, spitting cat. He was far enough away from the cauldron to avoid any of the splatter, unlike Harry. He only managed to stagger back and shield his face with his arms. 

Once, Harry had knocked a pot of boiling pasta all over himself, scalding his torso and entire left arm. This was significantly worse. It wasn’t like the burning heat of boiling water on flesh; it was as if the potion was actually eating at him, instantly destroying the sleeves of his robes before burning and penetrating his skin. Harry let out a low cry of pain, and tears actually sprung into the corners of his eyes. He had a high pain tolerance, but this was really something else…

The angry man was positively foaming at the mouth by now, still hiding beneath his desk.

“I’LL GET YOU FOR THIS, BOY!” he screeched. “ATTACKING A MEMBER OF STAFF MEANS EXPULSION, YOU - GET BACK HERE!”

Harry, ignoring the sharp jolts of agony that shot through his arms like electric shocks, had pushed himself up from the ground and immediately sprinted from the classroom. Mercifully, it seemed that his arms had taken the entire splashback of the potion, so his legs were in fair shape to run from the furious man intent on getting revenge. Harry pretended that his cousin was hot on his heels as he sprinted up the stairs, heart pounding in his ears as he tried to escape before the teacher caught up and -

“Ouch!” 

Harry ran headlong into a tall, black-robed figure. The impact actually knocked him to the ground, where the pain of his burned palms hitting the cobblestone made him cry out. Harry tried to shift himself upright, tried to carry on running, but it was too late. A hand tightened on the back of his collar and yanked him upright.

“Just what the devil do you think you’re doing?!”

Harry struggled to hold back a groan. For the second time in three days, he’d run directly into the clutches of Professor Snape. 

Chapter Text

Severus was filled with a malicious sense of glee as he stared down at the squirming mystery child, whose nameless face had been tormenting him for days. He wasn’t going mad!

“Stop struggling!” he ordered, and the child froze in place. Severus tightened his grip on his collar. “You’re in enough trouble as it is!”

“I’m sorry,” the boy whispered. He was trembling all over. Severus caught a glimpse of the Hufflepuff crest on the child’s robes and frowned.

“There aren’t any Hufflepuff first-years staying for Christmas this year!” he said suspiciously. “What is the meaning of this?”

The boy began to mumble something incomprehensible, eyes fixed on the ground.

“Speak up!” Severus snapped, feeling the irritation flare up in him. “And look at me when I’m talking to you!”

The boy lifted his head, and Severus was met with a pair of alarmingly green eyes. He stiffened. Those eyes… the resemblance was uncanny…

Severus shook himself. He was seeing ghosts in places they didn’t belong again. He had to focus on the matter at hand, which was divining precisely who this boy was.

“Well?” he demanded. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“I don’t know how I got here,” the boy said, still speaking so softly that Severus had to strain his ears to hear. “I - I was running from my cousin in the playground, and when I opened my eyes, I was in a cupboard full of cauldrons!”

Severus scoffed. “A likely story. You expect me to believe that you just Apparated yourself into Hogwarts?”

A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “What’s Apparated?”

“Don’t play the fool with me!” Severus snapped.

“I’m not!” The boy’s eyes flashed with temper, and Severus was once again startled by a sensation of deja vu. The amount of times that Lily had fixed him with that exact look…

“I don’t have a clue how I got here!” he said a little desperately. “You have to believe me!” 

Severus’ frown deepened. The child’s protests did strike him as genuine… and he did look far too young to be a Hogwarts student. In fact, Severus would have pegged him for a child of seven or eight, not one of eleven.

He mentally cursed Albus. Severus might be a talented wizard, but he didn’t hold a candle to the Headmaster’s magical prowess. He certainly didn’t know if it was possible for a child to will themselves past the Hogwarts Anti-Apparition boundaries in a fit of accidental magic. It was a deeply under researched and sporadic form of magical power, so it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility.

He sighed. It didn’t matter how the child had gotten into the school. Severus ought to return him to his family before too much time elapsed.

“What’s your name, then?” Severus asked.

“Harry,” the boy said. “Harry Potter.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and prayed for patience. “Young man, I am going to be your professor someday, and it would be very unwise to make a bad impression by lying to me! What is your real name?”

“Harry Potter,” the boy repeated, looking at Severus like he was slightly stupid. Looking at him with those eyes -

Severus felt like a bucket of icy water had been dumped over his head. He took in the child’s startling green gaze, the familiar turn of his lips and shape of his nose, and that messy mop of jet black hair that refused to sit down. He reached out a hand to brush away the boy’s fringe, ignoring the way he flinched at Severus’ touch, and stared at the marking on his forehead.

A lightning bolt scar.

It was like he’d forgotten how to breathe. Severus tried his best to hide the stricken look on his face, but Potter’s renewed attempts at struggling away told him that he was failing miserably. 

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Severus was supposed to have had more time! Ever since that dreaded Halloween, Severus had been bracing himself to see the child that he’d orphaned at Hogwarts - the spawn of his worst enemy, the last remnant of his best friend…

The resemblance to James was startling. Excluding the eyes, of course. That likeness was even more painful than the one to Potter.

He’d had a whole speech planned. Potter Junior would strut into his Potions classroom, head inflated from a decade of pampering and fame, and Severus would make a few well-placed comments to take the brat down a few pegs. He’d been imagining Potter’s crestfallen face with vicious joy for a long, long time. 

He couldn’t have dreamed that events would unfold this way, two years early. Severus was startled and unnerved, two feelings that he despised experiencing, and which made him irrationally angry.

“What do you think you’re playing at, Potter?” Severus demanded. “You don’t belong at this school! I’m sure you’ll be cursing us all with your presence in two years’ time, but you just couldn’t wait that long, could you? No, the famous Harry Potter had to show up to Hogwarts early!”

Severus took in a breath, ready to continue with his cutting diatribe, but was abruptly cut off as Potter’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head. His legs collapsed out from under him, and Potter only avoided a nasty head injury by virtue of Severus’ quick reflexes and the strength of his grip. He clung tightly to the handful of robes he was using to stop the boy from running away, and lowered him gingerly to the floor. Severus frowned. His tirades often resulted in children bursting into tears, but he’d never quite driven them to fainting spells… some Gryffindor Potter was going to make…

He struggled to stem the waves of guilt buffeting through him. Severus did dislike children as a rule, but he wasn’t quite evil enough to take pleasure in their ill health. If he was driving nine-year-olds to lose consciousness, then perhaps Pomona’s talks about sensitivity might be more necessary than he’d previously thought…

Severus’ feelings of alarm only grew as he went to put Potter in the recovery position and finally noticed the state of his arms. The robes he was wearing were ragged and singed, revealing painful-looking burns. Severus pushed his sleeves up further, revealing damage from the tips of his fingers to just above his elbows. Some of the skin was raw and red, while other parts of it had already become distorted and bubbly with cream-coloured blisters.

Blast it all! Severus hadn’t yet connected the explosion down the hallway to the presence of Potter in this school. Finchley must have left the room unlocked for some reason, leading to Potter’s wounds. Severus wanted to kick himself for being so oblivious, but there wasn’t time. He needed to treat these burns, then return to the Potions classroom to check in on Finchley. He’d most likely managed to cast a Shield Charm before the corrosive liquid hit him, but Severus had to be sure.

He was still just one person, however, and had to deal with the sick child in front of him, first. Without a second thought, Severus lifted Potter into his arms and made a beeline for his office.

As he hurried through the hallway, Severus was rather troubled by the weight in his arms, or lack thereof. He’d carried a few unconscious students out of harm's way during his time as Potions professor, but it always required some degree of physical exertion, even for the first-years. Older years typically required Feather-Light Charms. Potter was significantly lighter than he would have expected. Did children really put on so much weight before they turned eleven? 

No, that couldn’t be it. Potter was unusually small. Before he’d connected the dots of the identity to realise the child’s true age of nine, he’d thought he resembled a child of seven or eight… he was small for his age, and startlingly skinny. His arms were stick-like, and his face was very thin and pale. 

Severus tried to push such errant worries out of his mind as he kicked open the door of his office. There were more serious health concerns for him to manage, namely the burns. He laid Potter on top of his desk and Vanished the sleeves of his ruined robes. With the injuries to his arms fully exposed, Severus quickly busied himself with gathering the necessary potions. The most corrosive ingredients Severus owned remained stashed in the depths of his quarters, so at least Potter couldn’t have come into contact with something that would actually kill him…

Nevertheless, Potter had given himself some rather nasty chemical burns. Severus summoned a few topical remedies and moved aside the ruined fabric of his uniform to check for other injuries or burns. As he looked Potter over, Severus frowned. There were old, yellow bruises on his ribs, and strange ones on his upper arm that vaguely resembled fingerprints… These couldn’t be related to the potion accident.

Severus shook himself, and moved back to the burns. They were far more pressing than the odd contusions he’d discovered. Severus drew his wand and summoned several topical remedies, and quickly began to disinfect the wounds. Small tendrils of smoke curled their way into the air, and Potter let out a small whimpering noise. Severus cringed, and hoped that the boy wouldn’t wake before he was done. He might have the necessary knowledge to act as a stand-in Healer while Poppy was away, but he certainly didn’t possess the bedside manner.

Suddenly, the door to his office burst open. Argus stormed in, Mrs Norris on his heels. When his eyes landed on Potter, his face twisted into a scowl.

“Found the little tresspasser, did you?” he said, crossing his arms angrily. “I watched him blow up that classroom while messing about with a cauldron, Severus! He’s the cause behind the disturbance!”

“That much was a bit obvious, Argus!” Severus snapped, gesturing to the boy's burned arms. “Was Jacob Finchley anywhere nearby?”

Some of the obvious glee on Argus’ face had died down a bit. “Er - well, not to my knowledge. The boy was the only one in the room.”

“If you find him, tell him to report to my office immediately,” he said angrily.

Argus nodded and quickly ducked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Severus returned his attention to the boy, not paying any mind to the grumbling of the irritable caretaker.

Unfortunately for Severus, Potters’ state of unconsciousness was not destined to continue. He jerked awake with a hiss as Severus finished disinfecting the wounds on his right arm. Potter reached out to try and push himself upright, and Severus stopped him with a firm hand to the chest.

“Don’t!” he ordered. “You’ll only aggravate the injuries.”

Potter tried to squirm under his grip, and Severus pointed his wand at the boy. “Do you want to lose your arms?!”

“N-No -”

“Then stop struggling!” 

Severus was admittedly being a little dramatic - Potter’s limbs weren’t at any serious risk - but the threat finally stilled the boy. He laid on top of the desk, wide green eyes tracking Severus’ every move while he rubbed a healing poultice into the injuries on his left arm. Severus watching him right back, frowning. Most children would be blubbering and whingeing about the pain by this point… Potter’s face was screwed up, but apart from that, he hadn’t made a sound. That wasn’t normal whatsoever.

“Are you in any pain?” he asked, trying to keep any obvious signs of irritation out of his voice.

Potter hesitated. “No…”

Alarm rose in Severus. Were Potter’s injuries so severe that his nerve endings had been damaged? Just what concoction had the blasted brat created?!

“Can you feel this?” Severus asked, prodding his arm.

Potter let out a hiss and violently flinched away, cradling his arm against his chest.

“Why did you lie to me?” Severus demanded.

To his horror, Potter’s eyes began to grow glassy. “I - I just didn’t want to be a bother -”

“It’s fine!” Severus said quickly, determined to stop the tears before they got started. He couldn’t stand crying children. “It’s really fine, you don’t need to - well, just don’t concern yourself with that, Potter. I’ll just give you something now.”

He flicked his wand to summon a Pain Reliever. As it flew into his open palm, Potter stared at him with his mouth agape. He’d seem to have forgotten his tears. “How’d you do that?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “A Summoning Charm, of course. Now, sit up to drink it - don’t push yourself upright, mind, or you’ll aggravate the injuries on your palms.”

With a little assistance from Severus, Potter was up, but when Severus uncorked the Pain Reliever and held it out to him, Potter didn’t move to drink it. Instead, he eyed Severus with unparalleled suspicion.

He scowled. “Rest assured, Potter, if I wanted to poison you, I’d have done it by now.”

Potter’s eyes grew even rounder, and he ducked his head back from the vial, lips firmly zippered. 

Severus cursed Poppy and her annual winter jaunts abroad, and tried to change tactics. “It’s fine. Look.” He took a small sip of the Pain Reliever himself, then held it back out to Potter. “I wouldn’t have consumed that if it was toxic, would I?”

Potter slowly shook his head.

“Then drink up. No more than half the vial, since you’re so small.”

Potter finally drank the offered potion with his nose wrinkled, but not without muttering, “I’m not that small.”

Severus’ eyebrows rose. “I beg to differ.”

“I’m not!” Potter protested. “I’m taller than half the girls in my class, now, and Jack Holland is still an inch shorter than I am.”

Severus rolled his eyes to the heavens. Children truly were ridiculous. “Did it work?"

Potter nodded slowly, eyeing his injuries with wonder. “I barely feel it anymore!”

Severus began to bandage Potter’s arms. “The poultice will need to be reapplied every twelve hours, and you’ll have to keep these on for the duration. While we’re on the topic - what on earth were you thinking, messing about with unknown substances? Why did you start interfering with that potion?”

Potter’s face fell. “But I saw the other students doing it -”

“With recipes, under supervision. You should never, ever brew without knowing what you’re doing!” Severus lectured. “Didn’t your aunt teach you not to combine strange things together?”

“I thought that was only for bleach and - wait, you know my aunt?” Potter frowned. “I never mentioned living with an aunt…”

“That is irrelevant,” he said dismissively, trying to change courses back to the lecture.

“No, you know something about me!” Potter insisted. “You went all funny and started looking at my forehead earlier when I told you my name! Why?”

“You know perfectly well why I was looking at your forehead, Potter,” Severus snapped, tying off the final length of bandage. 

“I don’t, actually!” Potter said, jutting his chin out arrogantly.

“Don’t give me that attitude,” Severus said sharply. 

“I’ve never met you before, so why do you know so much about me?!”

“Everyone in the wizarding world knows about you, Potter,” Severus said exasperatedly, vanishing the empty vials with a flick of his wand. 

“Wizarding world?” he echoed. “So there’s a whole world of you out there, not just this one school?”

Severus was beginning to feel like a pit had opened up in the bottom of his stomach. “You don’t mean to say they never told you?!”

“Never told me what?”

Severus could have rained hellfire upon Petunia Dursley at that moment. He ground his teeth and stared at the boy, doing his best not to let out a growl. He’d known Petunia hated magic but this truly was pathetic, even for her…

“Magic is real, Potter. You’re a wizard.”

Potter looked at him with eyes the size of dinner plates. “I’m a what?”

“A wizard,” Severus said, trying his hardest not to be impatient. He still remembered all too clearly how badly Lily had reacted to being told ‘you’re a witch’. This was a conversation to be handled with delicacy and care, qualities which Severus was certainly deficient in. 

“This is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You’ll come here when you turn eleven to study magic,” Severus explained. 

“But - But there must be some kind of mistake!” he stammered. “There’s nothing special about me - I’ve never done anything magical!”

“Use your head, boy!” Severus snapped. “How else would you have transported yourself from wherever your aunt lives to Hogwarts if you hadn’t done magic?” 

If it was possible, Potter’s eyes widened further. His expression was an odd mixture of excitement and worry, and he seemed to look around at the jars in Severus’ office with renewed interest. His hands rose to scratch at his bandaged arms, but Severus quickly grasped them in his own hands to still the motion.

“Don’t touch,” he ordered. “You’ll worsen your injuries.”

“But it itches,” Potter said, the slightest hint of a whine in his voice.

“Well you should have thought of that before you messed about with unknown ingredients, shouldn’t you?” Severus said unsympathetically. “Leave the bandages, or else.”

He released the boy’s hands. Potter promptly folded them into his lap, and Severus could tell from the crease between his brows that the child was still in no small amount of discomfort. Instead of mentioning that, though, Potter asked, “Why do I have to wait until I’m eleven to study magic? Couldn’t I start earlier?”

“There isn’t a magical school for children your age. I’m sure you can bear a year and a half’s wait.”

“Oh.” Potter’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. 

“Now, it’s going to take a few days to fix those burns,” Severus said, “and you’ll stay with me for the duration.”

Severus would have expected Potter to further curl in on himself at that, but the boy actually seemed to perk up, somewhat. He even grinned. What in Merlin’s name… a child had never displayed anything apart from utter revulsion when faced with the prospect of spending time with Severus, even his Slytherins! 

Severus was so confused that he couldn’t even think up an appropriately cutting retort. Instead, he simply said, “I’ll owl your aunt and let her know you’re with us so she won’t worry.”

“You don’t need to bother with that,” Potter shrugged. “She and Uncle Vernon don’t care where I am.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Severus snapped. “I’m sure they’re worried sick! How long have you been here, anyway?”

Potter shrugged again, and Severus felt his blood pressure spike. “Um…”

“Do not lie to me,” he growled. “Tell me now, boy.”

“Three days,” he said softly.

Severus pressed a hand to his forehead, headache coming back in full force. “Why didn't you bother asking an adult for help, you idiot child?!”

To Severus’ dismay, his furious reaction seemed to have provoked upset in the boy again. Potter was now staring hard at the floor, refusing to respond to questions no matter how sternly-worded they were, and he looked alarmingly near tears once more. He also looked like he was struggling not to itch his wounds again; his hands kept straying to his bandaged arms, before he abruptly snatched them back.

Admittedly, Severus ought to be more sympathetic. He'd experienced similar injuries after experiments went wrong, and the itching of the healing poultice was maddening. Since Potter had been stupid enough to not go to a more kindly adult before they'd all vacated the Hogwarts premises, though, he was now stuck with Severus' lack of patience. Even so, Severus tried to conjure up some semblance of a bedside manner, if only because it would make his life a bit easier.

“Why don't I give you some Dreamless Sleep?” Severus suggested. “That way, you won't be awake for the worst of the itching.”

“Is that okay?” he asked softly.

Severus frowned. “Why wouldn't it be?”

Potter didn't respond. He seemed to be fully sold on sitting in dead silence, now. Severus tried staring at him, seeing if that would elicit a response, but he still wouldn’t speak. While Severus did prefer children to be silent, this was really quite unnerving…

Eventually, he gave up and muttered, “Follow me.”

It felt dreadful to have a future student in the private sanctuary that was Severus’ quarters, particularly when the child in question was Potter. His flat in the dungeons was small, which was how Severus liked it, but the lack of space presented him with a problem. Where was he meant to put Potter? Severus wasn’t particularly inclined to give up his own bedroom, so he decided to set the boy up in the living room. When Severus Transfigured his sofa into a bed, Potter’s jaw actually dropped.

“Wow,” he breathed, finally dropping the quiet, nervous exterior. Potter turned to Severus, eyes sparkling with wonder. 

To his shock, Severus didn’t feel the expected disgust at that display of awe; quite the opposite, in fact. How quickly magic had turned mundane for him - he’d forgotten the excitement and wonder that simple spellwork could induce. 

Severus summoned a vial of Dreamless Sleep, then handed it to the boy. “Drink up. If you need to use the facilities when you wake, they are through the left-hand door.”

Potter nodded, and quickly drank down the potion. He sat down on the side of the bed while Severus made his way into the kitchen to grab a piece of parchment. This was certainly a situation that the Headmaster needed to be apprised of.

Albus,

I require your assistance urgently. Harry Potter has managed to Apparate himself into Hogwarts, and spent three days wandering around before getting into a Potions accident. Please return here as soon as possible and put this right.

Severus Snape

He placed the letter into an envelope, then called out, “Blinky?”

The house-elf popped up. “Yes, Professor Snape?”

“Please deliver this letter to the Headmaster,” he said, handing her the envelope. “It is a matter of urgency.”

Blinky’s face fell. “Headmaster Dumbledore is not to be disturbed.”

“Aren’t you able to bypass his wards?”

Blinky shook her head and began to tug on her ears, looking rather distressed. “Headmaster Dumbledore’s wards cannot by bypassed, I is very sorry -”

“Never mind,” he said with a sigh. “Just send it with an owl for me.”

Blinky nodded vigorously. “Of course!” 

She popped out of his kitchen, and Severus let out another low growl. “That bloody man…”

He stalked back into his living room, stopping short at the sight which befell him. Potter was curled up on top of the bed, completely uncovered. He hadn’t so much as bothered to take off his glasses! With a huff of displeasure Severus removed them, only to frown as he realised that the spectacles were badly damaged at the bridge. He muttered a quick repairing spell, then placed them on the coffee table. 

Following that, he took off Potter’s shoes and set them down. To preserve his sofa, of course. Nothing more. He also flicked his wand and Transfigured Potter’s singed and ruined robes into a more suitable pair of pyjamas. Then, he found himself placing a blanket over the sleeping boy… not due to any sort of sentiment, mind, but sheer logic. The child was unwell enough as it was, and the last thing Severus needed was for the chilly dungeon climate to worsen Potter’s sickness.

It was harder to see James Potter in Harry’s face when he was like this. At the moment, he just looked like a very sick child, who had come to injury due to Severus’ negligence. He kept his classroom locked up to prevent these very sorts of accidents… Severus hoped, for Finchley’s sake, that the boy had a very good excuse for leaving a cauldron unattended in the manner he had. He couldn’t possibly imagine what had happened to distract him so significantly. 

A large plume of flame exploded to Severus’ right, scaring the daylights out of him. A singed piece of parchment drifted down towards where Potter was sleeping. Severus snatched it out of the air, unfolded it and began to read.

I am currently out of office, and will not return until the twenty-ninth of December. For any Hogwarts-related issues, please contact Severus Snape, the Head of Slytherin House. Have a happy Christmas!

A.P.W.B.D

Severus set the paper alight and took great satisfaction in watching it burn. Albus Dumbledore had personally vouched for him, Severus reminded himself. He was the only reason why Severus wasn’t locked up in Azkaban right now. He really ought to be more grateful, and stop plotting his saviour’s imminent, gruesome murder. 

But incidentally, Albus was truly insufferable to work for. Severus thought he could really be forgiven for his inclinations towards homicide. At the very least, he deserved a pay rise for all the nonsense he had to put up with…

After watching Potter for a few moments to make sure that the Dreamless Sleep had taken effect, Severus made his way into his office to write one more letter. If Albus wasn’t going to deal with this mess, then he supposed that somebody had to inform dear old Tuney where her precious nephew had gotten off to.

Severus really couldn’t understand what that woman had been thinking, not informing Potter of his heritage! Surely she knew that he was going to be off to Hogwarts soon, so why keep the information from him until then? How was she explaining Potter’s accidental magic to him, too? Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and ground his back teeth, frustrated beyond all belief. This truly was a mess.

Once he’d spent sufficient time despairing at the situation he’d found himself in, Severus finally decided to shake himself and start writing to Petunia. 

Dear Mrs Dursley,

I am writing to inform you that following an incident of accidental magic, your nephew has ended up in Hogwarts castle. While I aim to return Mr Potter to you as soon as is feasible, an incident occurred which resulted in his injury. His life and overall health isn’t at any risk, but the wounds he sustained require magical care. As a result, he needs to stay in our world for a brief stint to receive the particular medical attention which he requires.

Rest assured, your nephew will be home soon. I will write and keep you updated as to when you can expect his arrival.

S.S.

He gave that letter to another elf so it could be delivered by owl, then finally indulged himself by burying his face in his hands.

This was Severus’ worst nightmare. He had too much history with Potter to tolerate this setup easily - with his father, with his mother, and with the prophecy. Even the idea of the child felt unbearable to Severus. Spending an extended period of time with him seemed dreadful!

But there wasn’t anybody else to supervise him. Minerva, Pomona and Filius were all taking advantage of a significant lack of students at Hogwarts for Christmas that year to take a year off, and they’d all left by now. He’d have to track them down, explain the situation, and then deal with the questions and conversations, or God forbid, discussions of feelings. They all knew about his connections with James and Lily far too intimately for the topic to go undiscussed.

Technically speaking, Severus was qualified to manage this situation, and he couldn’t pawn this off on somebody else no matter how much he wanted to. He’d just have to babysit the Boy-Who-Lived until his burns were gone. Severus could cope with that, couldn’t he?

He groaned and sank further down onto his desk, hating his life.

Chapter Text

It was the itching that woke Harry up.

The sensation was unbearable, like tiny pinpricks of torture from the tips of his fingers to somewhere above his elbows. It reminded Harry of the time when Dudley had shoved him into a patch of stinging nettles, but this particular irritation seemed to penetrate to his very bones. Harry groaned and tried to reach out and scratch at his arms, only to flinch violently when hands reached out and grabbed his. Harry’s eyes shot open, and an unfamiliar face swam above him.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to itch?!”

The acerbic, scolding tone was what made it all come rushing back. Harry was in a magic school, and had unfortunately been caught by the terrifying Professor Snape after that explosion. Now, he was… sleeping on the man’s sofa? Or was it a bed, now?

Harry tried to move his arms so that he could push himself upright, but Professor Snape kept a firm grip on his hands. After shooting him a warning glare, he released them and helped Harry to sit upright without having to use his bandaged limbs. Then, Professor Snape placed Harry’s glasses onto his face, bringing the whole world into sharper focus. Harry was in a bookshelf-filled living room, lying on a sofa-turned-bed which Professor Snape was currently perched on the side of.

Harry stared at the professor, wide-eyed. That was about the nicest thing an adult had ever done for him, all without asking! It was a small gesture, but Harry’s aunt and uncle would never care to help him with… well, anything, really. Had he misjudged the apparently prickly man when he’d first appeared in his classroom?

“Wipe that daft look off your face,” he snapped.

Okay, maybe Harry hadn’t been entirely wrong about him. Still, he preferred Professor Snape to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon by a mile already.

“What time is it?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

“It’s just gone six in the morning,” Professor Snape explained. “You’ve been asleep since yesterday afternoon. How do your arms feel?”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Itchy.”

“You’ve made me very well aware.” Snape rolled his eyes. “I was inquiring if you are in any amount of pain.”

Harry stared at him hesitantly. Was this a trick question? It was always one with the Dursleys, who would somehow spin any complaints of ailments into a failing of Harry’s character, before sending him on his way with a muttered, “I’ll give you something to cry about if you don’t stop whining.”

But yesterday, when Harry had denied it like he was supposed to, Professor Snape had gotten annoyed with him for not saying yes. What was the right answer?

He stared at the man like a deer in the headlights. Professor Snape let out a very loud huff of exasperation. “I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

Harry slowly nodded.

“Merlin save me from the histrionics of children!” Professor Snape muttered under his breath, waving his wand about in a very complex, weaving fashion. “I still think we should dump the lot of you on an island until you turn seventeen and gain a lick of sense, it would certainly save me the headache…”

Harry had to struggle not to snort as Professor Snape continued to grouse and grumble while he lined up a series of multicoloured vials on the coffee table next to Harry. All of his dramatics were highly amusing to witness. He was almost looking forward to seeing whatever creative and cutting insult Professor Snape conjured up next. 

A vial was uncorked, and held out to Harry. “Drink up.”

As Harry’s hands were bandaged all the way to the fingertips, he was unable to properly grasp the slippery vial on his own, and it almost shattered on the stone floor when he tried. Professor Snape deftly snatched it back and held it out to Harry’s mouth while he struggled not to gag at the taste - lawn clippings. Weren’t these people supposed to be magic? Why did their medicine have to taste so bad? 

Once that was mercifully down, Snape began to unravel the bandages around Harry’s arm. He cringed at the sight beneath. The entirety of his flesh from his fingertips to his elbows was covered in cracked, greenish scabs, some of which were oozing yellow pus.

Professor Snape scowled at the arm, then at Harry. “Infected - by whatever nightmare concoction it was that you put together, no doubt… this is only going to slow your recovery time, you know. This is what your utter irresponsibility has brought you, so I hope you’re happy…”

Harry was actually over the moon, but judging by Professor Snape’s tone, that was not the reaction that the man was looking for. He tried his best to nod contritely, and attempted a subdued expression, but his inner happiness couldn’t help but shine through. Professor Snape shot him a glare, and then uncorked a vial of something white. Harry grimaced and bit down hard on his bottom lip as Snape began to rub the liquid into his injuries, which began to sting fiercely. He screwed up his face, trying not to make a sound, and bit down harder. His mouth flooded with the coppery tang of blood.

Professor Snape’s hands abruptly stilled. “What on earth are you doing?”

Harry opened his eyes and stared silently at Snape, confused.

“The lip biting,” he clarified, reaching out to tap Harry’s chin. He released his lip from between his teeth, and Snape’s frown deepened. “You’ve hurt yourself, now - why are you doing it?”

Harry stared at the knit blanket covering his legs, face on fire. “I, er - I didn’t want to be annoying, ‘cause it sort of stung, so…”

“Didn’t want to be - for heaven’s sake, Potter, I’m not that heartless!” he said exasperatedly. “What kind of a sadist do you take me for?! If I’m rubbing antiseptic into an open wound, it’s obviously going to hurt! You don’t need to sit there and take it silently, boy!”

“Oh.” 

Harry pressed his bloodied lips together as his throat tightened with unexpected emotion. Harry had caused the professor so much trouble, and even now, he was being so nice. No one had ever tended to Harry’s injuries with this much care and attention, except for maybe the school nurse, and she believed Petunia’s lies and thought he was an attention seeker…

“No, no! It’s fine, Potter,” Snape said very quickly, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. Any hint of exasperation had been replaced by a look of all-out alarm, an emotion that made Harry feel more like laughing than crying. “You, er - what I meant by that is that I won’t be disturbed by any normal expressions of pain. You are… coping with this well. It will be over soon.”

The last two sentences were stated mechanically and robotically, like Snape was reciting off a script he was seeing for the first time. Despite his assurances, however, Harry wasn’t fooled. He knew how annoying he was when he made noise or otherwise showed hints of his continued existence, so did his best to stay quiet as Snape unbandaged and disinfected his other arm. He was proud that he only let out a couple hisses and grunts of discomfort during the process.

Snape, on the other hand, didn’t seem pleased - far from it, in fact. He waved his wand over Harry’s forearms, causing a scroll to appear in the air. Snape snatched it up and scanned it closely, trailing one pale finger down the length of the page.

“No nerve damage,” he muttered, rolling up the scroll again and turning to Harry. “They do hurt, don’t they?”

“Um… a bit, I guess…” he said tentatively, wondering why Snape was so bothered by it.

The man continued to stare at Harry like he was a series of puzzle pieces that wouldn’t slot together. It was very uncomfortable to deal with Snape’s black eyes boring into his own, but Harry did his best to maintain eye contact until Snape returned to his row of vials. He uncorked one and began to slather the green paste all over Harry’s forearms and hands. This didn’t sting, but he did feel the familiar prickling sensation beneath his skin begin to grow.

“When’s it gonna stop itching?” he asked, not looking forward to another stint of that unpleasant experience.

“It won’t, until you no longer need a Burn Salve.”

“Why?”

“Because an agent in the poultice causes the itching,” Snape explained, winding a fresh length of bandage on Harry’s injured limb. 

“What agent?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nettles.”

Harry stared at him, aghast. “How are stinging nettles meant to heal me?!”

Snape shot him a disapproving look. “Of course, the magical nuances of healing solutions would be lost on the likes of you…”

Harry hadn’t even known magic existed until about a day ago, but decided not to argue the point. After all, he had far better things to talk about.

“That’s right! You said I’m a wizard?” he said eagerly.

“Yes.” Snape scowled “Good to see the explosion hasn’t diminished what little intellect you possess…”

“But how do you know?” 

“Because your parents were wizards, Potter!” he snapped. “How else?”

Harry’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “They were?!”

Snape dropped the pot of salve to the floor. Muttering oaths under his breath, Snape fished it up and placed it on the table, then whipped around to stare at Harry with the same incredulous look he’d worn yesterday after finding out how little Harry knew of magic.

“You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t even know magic was real until about a day ago, either,” Harry pointed out. “How could I have?”

Snape turned away from Harry, eyes squeezed shut. Harry watched closely as the man visibly took a few deep breaths while a vein pulsed in his forehead. After a minute he turned back to Harry. Snape seemed significantly calmer, but there was an undercurrent of shock in his face that hadn’t been there before.

“Why don’t you tell me how much you do or don’t know about magic?” he prompted. “To save us any further misunderstandings.”

“Er… well, it’s pretty much just all you’ve told me,” Harry admitted, feeling strangely embarrassed. He felt as though he was confessing to some sort of personal failing. 

“And how much of your parents?”

This Harry could do.

“They were jobless scroungers,” he recited from memory. “Oh, and they were drunks. That’s why they crashed the car and got themselves killed so my aunt and uncle were forced to take me in -” 

“WHAT?!” 

Harry flinched backwards from Snape in the tremoring aftermath of his explosion. He looked for a place to flee to but couldn’t manage it, not with Snape’s hand holding onto Harry’s wrist with an almost bruising grip. The man’s yellow teeth were pulled back into a snarl, and his eyes were popping and livid. Harry tensed up and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that whatever came next wouldn’t hurt too badly…

But nothing landed, in the form of a slap or a magic spell. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, really. It hadn’t been for the vice around his wrist to loosen, only for that very hand to come up and rest upon his shoulder far more gently.

“Harry?”

He cautiously opened his eyes. Snape’s face was closer to his than it had been a moment ago, and written over with worry.

“I didn’t intend to frighten you,” he said uncertainly.

Harry got the impression that this wasn’t a sentence that Snape was used to saying - in fact, judging by their interaction on Harry’s first day at Hogwarts, he probably went out of his way to scare people. 

“S’okay,” he mumbled, hunching his shoulders.

Snape sighed, and went back to tending to Harry’s arm. “So it would be safe for me to assume that you know nothing of the magical world, or your role in it?”

“My role?” 

By now, Snape looked as though he was in a large amount of pain. He was grimacing something awful, like he was the one with burns all up and down his arms. At last, he finished bandaging Harry’s other arm and rose to his feet. 

“Let’s eat breakfast,” he said abruptly. “Since it’s practically the crack of dawn, I haven’t had a chance to have something yet. Come with me.”

“But -”

“We will discuss things at the table,” Snape interrupted, hurrying away through his quarters. 

Harry followed at a more sedate pace, wondering when his robes had turned into pyjamas. Had Snape changed them for him? He also must have removed Harry’s glasses and shoes. He grimaced - that was embarrassing.

Harry pushed it out of his mind and went back to examining Snape’s quarters. The entire place seemed to consist of bookshelves, or of comfortable places to sit and read those books. To Harry’s relief, none of the jars full of dead things had made it from Snape’s office and into here. 

The bookshelves didn’t leave much room for a kitchen. The closest thing to it was a small counter and sink, as well as a squat kitchen table that barely had the room to fit two people. Despite the lack of cooking space, or a stove to cook things on, the table already had two bowls of steaming hot porridge upon it. Harry’s eyes grew round. This was far nicer than the grey sludge Aunt Petunia sometimes made and inevitably forced upon Harry. The oats were drizzled in honey and cinnamon, with little blueberries stirred through.

Professor Snape took a seat and Harry settled down opposite, staring longingly at the bowl. Harry had been sleeping for such a long time… his stomach was growling, and all he wanted to do was eat the food…

But he had to wait. He glanced up at Snape, who was neglecting his own food to drain a cup of black coffee like a man dying of thirst. Harry returned to staring at his bowl, unsure of what was expected of him.

“You know, Potter, people are generally incapable of eating their food by staring at it!” he said sharply. “If you don’t like it, you’ll just have to cope - I won’t be waiting on you hand and foot -”

“No, no!” Harry said quickly. “I love porridge.”

“Then eat it.”

Thinking that was about as close to explicit permission as he was going to get, Harry clumsily picked up his spoon with his bandaged hands to tuck in. He practically inhaled the food, as was his habit.

“Will you slow down?” Snape ground out. “You’ll give yourself indigestion. It’s not going anywhere, Potter, so don’t be so sloppy…”

Harry had nine years worth of meals with Dudley Dursley to prove that it was, in fact, going somewhere, but slowed down nonetheless. 

Once the ache in his belly had eased, Harry looked back up at Professor Snape. He had about a billion questions to ask, but didn’t have a clue where to start.

“You know stuff about my parents?” he decided to say.

Professor Snape set down his spoon. “I do.”

“Like what?”

Snape did not respond immediately. He fixed his unnerving stare on Harry once again, expression impossible to read.

“Well, one thing I can tell you is that your parents were not unemployed drunks,” he said eventually. “They both worked as… well, I suppose the best way to describe it is soldiers. They were members of a group who fought against the Dark Lord during the war.”

Harry’s head was spinning. “What war? And Dark Lords? What -”

Snape grimaced again. “Let me start from the beginning. It will be… easier.”

And that was how Harry found out that his parents had been murdered.

There had been no car crash involved, Snape said. His parents had been fighting against a very bad wizard, who one day had decided to come to their house so he could kill Harry’s mother and father. They had both died instantly, leaving just Harry, who that Dark wizard could not manage to kill.

“The curse backfired against him,” Snape explained. “The Dark Lord vanished permanently that day, leaving you with just a scar on your forehead.”

Harry’s bandaged fingers reached up to trace over his forehead. “How did I survive?”

“No one knows,” Snape said. “That is why you are so famous - you are the sole survivor of the Killing Curse.”

“But if I’m really famous, wouldn’t I know about it?”

Snape scowled. “Trust me, Potter. If you aren’t already acquainted with your celebrity status, you will be shortly.”

“Oh.” 

Harry couldn’t make up his mind about how he felt about that. On the one hand, being a celebrity seemed like it could be kind of fun, but probably if you were a rockstar or something, not a skinny nine-year-old with a weird scar on his forehead. Harry didn’t quite see the fun in any of that, especially when it seemed like he hadn’t done anything all that extraordinary to be famous.

“Petunia really didn’t tell you?” Snape still looked utterly shocked by this fact.

Harry shook his head. “I mean - she’s not a witch, is she?”

“Oh, she most certainly is not,” Snape muttered, looking vaguely disgusted. 

“So how could she or Uncle Vernon even know?”

“Because her sister was a witch,” Snape said, glowering furiously. “And she therefore knew a significant amount about your mother’s magical education, seeing as she witnessed much of it!”

“Right.” Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. “Was Mum a good witch?”

Snape broke eye contact to stare at the table. Misery was written into every crevice of his face. “Yes. Lily was one of the very best.”

Harry opened his mouth to ask about his father, next, but was cut off as Snape sprang to his feet. His face was now bearing its usual scowl.

“Enough about that,” he said tersely. “I have work to be getting on with, and seeing as I cannot return you to your aunt and uncle in this state, you will have to accompany me.”

“What kind of work?” Harry asked, swinging his legs back and forth.

“Brewing.”

His face lit up. “Cool!”

“During which I will be appropriately educating you about the pitfalls of your senseless behaviour yesterday!” he said severely. “I still don’t know what possessed you to do what you did, Potter! You won’t be entering my classroom in first-year and throwing ingredients haphazardly into cauldrons, hear?”

Harry nodded again, slightly more subdued. “Yes, sir…”

Suddenly, some of the events of the previous day came flooding back. Harry stiffened in place, staring at the irritated man in front of him with no small amount of fear.

“The mess got all over your classroom!” he said, dismayed.

Snape shot him a withering look. “That is a general side-effect of it exploding out of a cauldron, yes…”

“I’m so sorry!” Harry shot to his feet. “Do you have any cleaning supplies? I’ll go and fix it right now, I’ll work on it all day if I have to -”

“Stop it, boy,” Snape commanded. Harry froze in place. “I certainly do not appreciate my classroom being coated in a layer of corrosive ooze, but I am, in fact, a wizard. It was put to rights with about ten seconds of spellwork. At any rate, how do you expect to be cleaning with chemical burns up and down your arms? You’ll only hurt yourself again.”

“Well… that doesn’t matter,” Harry said, confused.

Snape’s gaze sharpened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Harry fixed his eyes on the ground. “It was all my fault this happened in the first place, and - and you were already good enough to heal my arms, even though I was stupid enough to do it to myself, and I still need to be punished for being a nuisance -”

“Not with further physical injury!” Snape looked quite alarmed by now. “Good God, Potter! Why would somebody do that to you?”

Harry kept his eyes fixed on the ground. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because it’s wrong?” Harry changed a glance up, and realised that Snape was staring at him incredulously. “Irritating though you may be, what sort of person would go out of their way to hurt a child?”

Harry went back to staring at the floor, throat tightening once again. He still couldn’t understand why Professor Snape was being so good to him, even though he was always such trouble. He felt alarming pinpricks in the corners of his eyes, and squeezed them tightly shut. No one liked a crybaby, and Harry needed to just get it together. Harry didn't understand why he was so out of control right now. Something about being ripped from the familiarity of Surrey coupled with rather painful burns to his arms had really rubbed his emotions red-raw. 

“Enough with the tears, Potter,” Snape said brusquely. “Nothing to worry about - it’s in the past. You’ll know enough not to do that again in the future, I imagine.”

“Y-Yeah…”

Snape flicked his wand, and Harry’s pyjamas were suddenly replaced with flowing black robes. Instead of the yellow and black trimmings of the clothes Fred and George had given him, these ones bore green and silver colouring. 

“Come along,” Snape prompted. “I have much work to do, all of which has been significantly delayed by your dithering.”

“Okay.” Harry glanced at the empty bowls of porridge. “Shouldn’t I wash up first?”

Snape flicked his wand, and the bowls vanished. 

Harry stared at the table, fascinated. “How -”

“Magic, you dunderhead.” Snape tutted. “Now, hurry up. You’re going to have a lot of reading to get on with…”

Snape stalked out of the room, muttering to himself irritably, as he was wont to do. Harry followed cautiously behind, wondering how lucky he must have been to stumble across such a nice grown-up after doing something so stupid.

The laboratory was significantly smaller than the Potions classroom, with room for two cauldrons and a desk. Snape gestured to the latter, and flicked his wand. A thick textbook flew through the open door and onto the top of the table.

“You will sit quietly and read that while I work,” Snape ordered. “And in case yesterday’s accident did not make it clear enough to you, Mr Potter, these cauldrons are off-limits. You do not touch them, you do not place objects into them - in fact, you don’t so much as look at them too closely. Do you understand me?”

Harry nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes, sir,” he corrected sharply. 

Harry climbed onto the chair while Professor Snape sat at the workbench next to a heavy-looking stone cauldron. He turned to his textbook, entitled Laboratory Safety: A Guide to Brewing. Harry couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. This sounded unbearably boring. 

In search of entertainment, Harry shifted slightly to watch what Professor Snape was doing. Currently, he was chopping up a length of purple root that honked like a duck when his silver knife deftly sliced through it. Harry was dying to know what it was and why it made that noise, but didn’t dare ask. Questions were bad, and he didn’t want to get in even more trouble.

Snape seemed to feel Harry’s gaze lingering on him, and looked up from his work to meet it. “I don’t see you reading, Potter.”

“But can’t I help you with that?”

“You’ve never touched a Potion in your life. You wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“But I cook all the time!” Harry said, desperate to do something a bit more interesting. 

Snape scoffed. “I’m sure you do.”

“No, really!” Harry insisted. “I know how to do a full English, and I can do all of the ingredients for a stew, or bake the desserts for Aunt Petunia’s friends, and I can do most of the roast dinner by myself, now!”

The annoyed look on Snape’s face became tempered with something else. “Just how often do you cook?”

“All the time!” Harry said proudly. “I do breakfast every day before school, and nearly all of the Sunday roast, and lots of the dinners unless I’m too stupid to cook them properly.”

“And… you enjoy this, then? Cooking?”

Harry’s enthusiasm faded away. “Uh - yeah.”

It wasn’t too bad. He’d enjoy it more if he wasn’t so scared of upsetting the Dursleys by burning the food…

Snape was still staring at him. Harry wasn’t really sure why.

“You won’t be able to chop anything with your hands like that,” Snape said eventually. “You don’t have the fine motor skills for it.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped.

“At any rate, how can I trust you near a cauldron right now, given that you clearly know nothing of laboratory safety?” Snape lectured. His voice had regained the stern edge that it usually possessed, but something about it was strangely half-hearted. “If you really intend on helping me, then you will sit quietly and read that book. No more interruptions unless you have a question about the text.”

Harry nodded vigorously. This, he could do. He turned back to his textbook and cracked open the first page, determined to do a good job at this to try and repay Snape. He didn’t quite understand why the man had him reading and hadn’t put him to work, but if he wanted Harry to read, he was going to be the very best at it. 

He would also do his very best to be quiet while he did it. Harry was very good at acting like he didn’t exist, and intended on proving that to Snape. He’d hopefully like that, and maybe if Harry was well-behaved enough, Snape would tell him even more about his parents. That sounded like a dream, and the prospect alone brought a smile to Harry’s face as he started reading the first page.

Chapter Text

Something about Potter wasn’t sitting right with Severus.

The boy wasn’t anything like what he’d been expecting. He’d been anticipating, spoiled, big-headed, and arrogant… but instead, Severus was trying to deal with a very skittish and quiet child.

Why was he being so quiet, anyway? Severus had obtained chemical burns of the kind that Potter had, and they’d been horribly painful. He struggled to tolerate the sensation as a fully grown man, and the overall surface area of his burns had been significantly smaller than Potter’s… Severus had been concerned about nerve damage, but every test indicated nothing of the sort.

Then, as it turned out, Potter was actually in pain. He was just too scared to admit to it, and had bitten down on his lip to the point of drawing blood in the efforts to keep quiet. Merlin’s beard, had Severus really frightened him that badly? He knew he wasn’t the most pleasant of people, but he didn’t want to scare children until they ended up hurting themselves! But he’d never witnessed something like this with any of his other students… Perhaps reluctance to express pain was a behaviour limited uniquely to children under the age of eleven?

That didn’t seem right, either. Draco, who was about Potter’s age, still cried over a skinned knee, and Severus knew for a fact that the boy would be screaming himself hoarse if he accumulated injuries to the extent of Potter’s.

But no, Potter remained silent, and had done so for the entire morning. Severus had assigned him a particularly tedious book on laboratory safety for punishment purposes, but the child had not complained once. The closest thing to a display of disobedience was a bit of fidgeting. He barely even looked up after his initial questions about Severus’ brewing.

Nine-year-olds were not supposed to be this subdued. Whenever Severus went over to visit Lucius, Draco certainly didn’t know how to shut up, no matter how dearly Severus wanted him to… this was really getting quite creepy. Why was Potter like this? Had Severus broken him or something?

He glanced over to the boy and nearly jumped out of his skin when a pair of green eyes met his gaze. At last, he’d looked up from his book, and was nibbling on his lip and looking worried about something.

“What is it, Potter?” he prompted.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You already have,” Severus muttered.

“What’s corrosive?” The boy indicated with his head towards the book in his lap.

“It’s a substance that is able to destroy solid materials by chemical reaction.” Severus scowled. “Much like the disaster you created in my classroom.”

Potter’s brow furrowed. “So if that was corrosive, why did it only burn my skin, and not the cauldron, or the ceiling?”

“Because specific chemical reactions, like corrosive ones, require particular substances to come into contact with each other,” Severus explained, slightly taken aback. If he was displaying this kind of intellectual spark early on, then perhaps the boy wasn’t as much of a dunce as his disaster yesterday had suggested. “At Hogwarts, we use pewter cauldrons. Alloy metals are more resistant to large-scale magical chemical disasters, and the dungeons are built from stone, which doesn’t corrode as easily as human flesh.”

“Oh. Right.” Judging by the perplexed look on the boy’s face, he’d understood about half of that explanation. “Can anything burn through the dungeons or the cauldrons?”

“Nothing you’ll be working with until at least N.E.W.T. level Potions, if you know what’s good for you,” Severus warned, “but yes. Certain potions may need to be brewed in stone, iron or gold cauldrons, due to the melting point or chemical properties that pewter can no longer cope with.”

“Right.”

Potter returned to his reading, swinging his legs back and forth. His feet just about brushed the floor. Severus glanced at the clock and winced. He typically remained locked in his laboratory at all hours, halting for meals only when his stomach started growling, but he couldn’t do that with a child present, could he? It was just past one, and he knew Potter would probably be getting hungry.

He shook his head. Severus really was not equipped to look after small children… if Potter didn’t expire under his care before Albus returned from his trip, it would be a miracle.

“Let’s break for lunch,” Severus suggested, rising to his feet. “Leave the book.”

Potter nodded, laying the text onto his desk. “Do you want anything specific?”

Severus stopped so abruptly that the boy almost crashed into him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well… I can make all sorts of stuff,” Potter said, faltering slightly. “I can do hot food, but I couldn’t see a stove, but -”

“I’m not keeping you here to be my servant, Potter!” he snapped. “What on earth has driven you to think this way?!”

The boy quickly fixed his gaze on the ground, shoulders hunched. “I just wanted to be helpful…”

Severus nearly swore. He was trying his hardest not to snap, but it was hard when the boy was behaving so oddly. It set him on edge, and that made Severus’ temper go short. If Lily knew how often he was upsetting her child for no good reason, she’d have hexed him senseless. 

“This is what house-elves are for, Potter!” he said exasperatedly, trying to banish some of the bite from his voice. “They do all of the cooking and cleaning around the castle. Why are you so determined to imitate one?”

“Well… you’ve been so nice to me, even though I’m such trouble, and I just wanted to say thanks…”

Troublesome was the understatement of the century. Potter might be the most chaos-prone child Severus had ever met, and that came after three months teaching the Weasley twins! Severus didn’t voice this, however, not wanting to set the boy off again. 

He typically didn’t care after driving children to tears - often, he took it as a sign of accomplishment - but something about seeing Lily’s green eyes well up reminded him far too much of upsetting his old friend. It made Severus feel all of nine years old himself; panicked, and doing whatever he could to fix what had hurt her, instead of snapping at the boy like he would another student. 

And at any rate, Potter really was just trying to be helpful, strange though his help was. Shouting at him for doing so would be horrible, even for him.

“It’s nothing to trouble yourself over, Potter,” he said, feeling abruptly exhausted. “You can thank me by doing as you're told - and that includes leaving those bandages alone. Don’t think I didn’t notice you rubbing your arms earlier. That’s the same thing as itching.”

“Sorry,” Potter muttered, though he didn’t particularly look it.

“Come along, now. Sit up at the table.”

Potter obeyed while Severus ordered up their food from the kitchens - tomato soup and some sliced bread. He didn’t want anything that required cutting, given the sorry state of Potter’s hands. The best he could probably manage was a spoon right now. Severus quickly tucked into his own food, but noticed that the boy wasn’t doing the same. Once again, he was just staring at it longingly, occasionally glancing up at Severus.

“Why do you do that?” he asked abruptly.

“Do what?”

“Stare at your food instead of eating it,” Severus said.

“You didn’t give me permission,” Potter said cautiously.

Give him permission? Severus’ parents had been admittedly remiss in their child-rearing strategies, but he didn’t think that waiting for permission to eat was an etiquette rule he’d neglected to learn… just how was Petunia raising her children, anyway?

“Well, none of that needs to happen here,” Severus said, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. “When the food appears, it’s all yours. I don’t care to dictate your dining habits.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Potter picked up his spoon, sipped at the soup, then cast another glance at Severus. He didn’t know what the boy was waiting for, but Potter finally seemed to draw whatever conclusion he had to arrive at in order to put an end to his hesitation, and quickly began hoovering up the soup. Severus pulled a face. Apparently, Petunia’s odd etiquette rules didn’t extend to eating at a normal pace.

He suddenly remembered the boy’s comments about cooking from that morning. He made breakfast every day before school? Did that mean that Potter simply poured himself a bowl of cereal, or was he cooking an entire meal? Worse, was he cooking for the whole family, or simply helping his aunt with the food? That comment about him being ‘too stupid to cook them properly’ had sent alarm bells ringing in Severus’ head.

It was obvious that Potter’s self esteem was at the complete opposite end of the spectrum to his egotistical father. He kept telling Severus how much trouble he was to put up with, or other such insults about his character… Was that a personality trait, or had the boy’s aunt and uncle instilled the behaviour in him? Severus had a bad feeling that it was the latter. 

He remembered many occasions where Lily would come to him, crying her eyes out about some vile letter that Petunia had sent her. He couldn’t count the number of times that Petunia had called Lily a freak… that wasn’t even to mention how she treated Severus himself, but he had held out hope she wouldn’t be so outwardly cruel to her only nephew.

Severus sighed. He was doing a lot of that lately. As he watched Potter eat, he resolved to be a little less harsh with the boy than he had been. There was no point in knocking Potter down a few pegs if he was already at rock bottom. Besides, he owed it to Lily to treat the boy with even the barest civility, if his own relatives couldn’t be bothered to do so…

“Professor Snape?”

“Yes, Potter?”

“Do you know what my mum and dad looked like?”

Severus tried hard not to grimace, his already low opinion of Petunia simply worsening. It was completely unfair that he was the one being forced to have these conversations!

“Well, you bear a strong resemblance to your father,” Severus said quite reluctantly. “Except for your eyes. Lily had green eyes, much like you, as well as red hair.”

The only other time Potter had beamed like this was when Severus had done magic in front of him. He was currently trying to inspect his reflection in the back of a spoon, and had gone slightly cross-eyed in the process. Watching the child made something odd twinge in Severus’ middle, and before he knew it, he kept on talking.

“Your mother and father attended this school.” Severus swallowed. “There may be pictures of them somewhere.”

“Really?” Potter whispered.

“I’ll have a look,” Severus said reluctantly. He wanted to smack himself in the head. Why was he being so soft?! This was nothing like him! What the devil was the boy doing to him?

“Enough about that,” he said briskly, trying to slam down on the foreign emotions. “When you finish eating, I think you should go and lie down. You must be tired.”

“I don’t need a nap,” Potter muttered, glaring at him. “I’m not a baby!” 

“You are, however, recovering from a nasty infection, as well as moderate to severe chemical burns!” Severus said sharply. “That will exhaust you more than usual, and at any rate, sleep aids the body in healing. The quicker you get better, the sooner you’ll be able to return back to your family. Don’t you want to be home for Christmas?”

He’d expected that to do the trick; instead, Potter simply shrugged, stirring his soup around mindlessly. That certainly threw Severus for a loop.

“You don’t like Christmas?”

“Not really,” Potter said, shrugging again. The motion was infuriating.

“Why not?”

“It’s just a lot of work,” Potter said, wrinkling his nose. “I have to do all the cleaning, and then I have to help Aunt Petunia cook the whole roast, and the rest of the day I spend in my, er - my room, ‘cause they want to have family time.”

Severus stared at the boy, mouth agape. Was he lying? Severus wanted to believe he was lying, but the effortless manner in which Potter had just dispelled that information halted him from accusing the boy outright of falsehood. 

“And why aren’t you included in this family time?” Severus queried, dreading the answer.

“Oh. Well, I’m not family,” Potter said, staring at him like it ought to be obvious.

Under the table, where the boy couldn’t see, Severus dug his fingernails into his thighs so hard that he was certain it would bruise. His pulse was pounding in his ears, and all Severus wanted to do was smash something. He couldn’t, though; the child was skittish enough as it was. Outright violence would be a huge misstep.

“Not family? You are their nephew, correct?” Severus said through gritted teeth.

“That doesn’t matter,” Potter said nonchalantly. “They don’t actually want me around, and they already do enough for me. The Dursleys could’ve put me in an orphanage after I got dumped on their doorstep, but they took me in out of the goodness of their hearts so I shouldn't complain.”

It was clear from Potter’s tone that this was a frequently heard rant; so much so that he could recite it from memory. Something in Severus’ cold and stony heart seemed to crack a little at the unhappy but grimly accepting look on the child’s face. It was not an expression one ought to see on a child; in fact, it was downright cruel. Lily’s only son…

“Well, you’ll be having the most boring Christmas of your life this year, Potter,” Severus said abruptly. “Your irresponsibility in the laboratory means you’re unlikely to be home at Christmas, anyway, at the rate you’re healing…”

You’d have thought that Severus had admitted to being Father Christmas himself from the way Potter’s face lit up.

“Are you serious?” he breathed. “I get to spend Christmas here?”

“Of course I’m serious! I don’t just talk for the pleasure of hearing myself speak, Potter,” he grumbled. Such gratitude was disconcerting to behold. “It’ll be nothing to write home about - just attending the feast, then a quiet day in here. You’ll have to wait until you’re back with your relatives to receive your presents.”

“I wasn’t going to get anything from them, anyway,” Potter said impatiently. “This is way better! I get to spend Christmas in a magic castle!” 

No presents? Severus had grown up on the breadline, and even his parents had managed to scrape something together for him! His opinion of Petunia and her husband simply worsened by the second.

“Stop bouncing like that,” Severus said, rubbing his temples. There went his worries about the child being too quiet - he was practically hitting the ceiling. “My company really isn’t something to be so excited about, Potter -”

“It is!” The boy insisted, face aglow. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

“If you really want to thank me, you’ll go and lie down in the other room,” Severus muttered, knotting his fingers in his hair. “Your constant whirlwind of activity is giving me a headache.”

“Right. Of course.” Harry nodded vigorously, then rushed into the living room and out of sight. 

It was only once the boy had vanished that Severus allowed the full scope of the emotion he felt to make itself obvious on his face.

If he’d been doubting it before, Severus certainly knew it now; there was something very wrong with the Dursley household. He was unfortunately acquainted with Petunia Evans, now Dursley, and he knew all too well how unpleasant she had been to Lily as a child and teenager. She’d always been jealous of her sister’s magic, a shortcoming that Severus had never known her to overcome before his own friendship with Lily had fallen apart…

But would she really take that hatred out on an innocent child?

Potter’s words echoed in his head again. My parents were jobless scroungers. Oh, and they were drunks.  

Apparently, she would.

Severus glowered at the kitchen table. He hadn’t asked Albus for extensive details regarding what he’d done with the boy after the Potters had been killed, having not particularly cared, but he vaguely remembered something about a Lily-invoked blood protection that was linked to him living with Petunia. 

Clearly, something had gone wrong in that household. Severus wasn’t stupid; he knew child abuse better than anyone as a Head of House, and from his own personal experiences. If this was the stuff that Potter admitted to, then what was going on that he wouldn’t talk about? 

Severus needed to do something about this. He couldn’t knowingly send a child back to a potentially abusive household, especially Lily’s child. He’d sworn to protect Potter, and putting him straight back into Petunia’s clutches would be a sorry way to repay his deceased friend.

He’d wait until Albus was back from his retreat, Severus decided. The Headmaster had made this mess, and he could be the one to fix it. He’d find some excuse to tell Potter to justify keeping him until just before the New Year, and it wasn’t like the boy was all that put-out by the prospect of staying in the castle. There was clearly no love lost between him and his relatives. 

And, loathe though he was to admit it, Severus wasn’t as miserable in Potter’s company as he’d expected to be. He was better behaved than most of the first-years, at least, so Severus could manage to tolerate him for another week or two. Even if he stopped being so deathly silent, that might be a bit of a relief. 

He’d keep observing Potter closely, and would try to glean more about just what was happening in the Dursley household. It was a basic decency he’d give to any of the Slytherins under his care, and Potter deserved for it to be extended to him, despite the complicated feelings Severus had towards his parentage.

It was time to investigate.

Chapter Text

Living with Professor Snape was brilliant. 

Harry had spent the best few days of his life in the man’s company. He had three meals a day, a bed to sleep in, and Professor Snape hadn’t locked him up at all, not even after Harry had caused all that damage to his classroom. He was always grumbling discontentedly under his breath, but Harry found it sort of funny, even when the complaints were directed at him. It was never anything truly hurtful, like when Uncle Vernon called Harry a worthless freak. He tended to just complain about children as a whole, which wasn’t too bad.

Harry hadn’t had to do a single chore, either, on account of his hurt arms. Instead, Harry got to sit in the corner of Professor Snape’s laboratory while the man brewed his magic potions, with all sorts of interesting books to amuse him. At first, the professor had made Harry read a really boring book about laboratory safety, but from day two onwards, he’d found some series called Why Time Keeps Running that Harry had been really enjoying. It was about a young wizard who accidentally banished himself back to the nineteenth century with something called a Time Turner, which Snape had told him was a real thing. The book was so interesting that the hours underground just raced by. 

It admittedly wasn’t the most fun activity in the world, spending most of the day sitting in a corner of a lab, but Harry could put up with it. Anyway, it was way better than sitting quietly in a dark cupboard with a couple of toy soldiers, wondering when he’d be let out. He was used to finding his own entertainment. 

Best of all, Professor Snape never told Harry that he wasn’t allowed to ask questions like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon did. He always answered Harry, even if he muttered under his breath and shot Harry funny looks about some of the things he said or did. Once Harry had figured out that he wouldn’t get in trouble for asking Professor Snape things, the floodgates had opened.

“Professor Snape?”

The man sighed and looked up from his cauldron. “What is it, Potter?”

Harry glanced down at his book, trying to make sure he wasn’t horrifically butchering the pronunciation. “What’s, er… Quiddle-itch?”

“Quidditch,” Professor Snape corrected. He looked like he was currently in some large amount of pain. “It’s a Wizarding sport played on broomsticks.”

“Wizards have sports?” Harry said excitedly. “Cool! How does it work? What are the rules? Can I play?”

“You would be interested in Quidditch, wouldn’t you,” Professor Snape muttered, rubbing his temples. “No, you can’t play it. You currently do not have full use of your arms, have never flown a broomstick before, and do not have an additional thirteen players to make up the two teams required.”

“Oh.” Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Can you at least tell me how it works?”

Professor Snape groaned. “I’ll get you a book on it.”

Harry beamed. “Thank you!”

Professor Snape simply turned back to his potion, looking rather grim.

Harry was about to return to his book when another question struck him. “Professor Snape?”

The man let out another loud sigh. “Yes?” 

“How do they make the broomsticks fly?”

“Magic,” he said brusquely.

“What kind of magic?”

“A series of enchantments woven into the wood which draw on the magical core of the wizard in question,” Professor Snape said. “As I am not a racing broom specialist, I cannot tell you what ones in particular."

“What’s a magical core?”

“The power within you and I that allows us as wizards to draw on the magic of the environment,” Professor Snape said. He tapped his wand on the rim of the cauldron, and a pink, shimmering bubble enveloped it. “It is what distinguishes wizards and witches from Muggles.”

“Where is it in me?”

“Everywhere. It flows through your entire body, like blood, although it is theorised that the core is mainly concentrated somewhere in the chest.” Professor Snape rose to his feet. “It’s high time we ate dinner, I believe. Afterwards, we can see if I can remove your bandages.”

Harry grinned. “Brilliant!”

He followed the professor into the kitchen, in a remarkably good mood. Professor Snape had stopped applying the itchy Burn Salve to him yesterday morning, but he’d replaced it with something that smelled like rotten eggs today, which had left Harry feeling too nauseous to eat his breakfast. After briefly snapping at Harry for not eating his food, Professor Snape had eventually realised that the smell was bothering Harry, and had Charmed the bandages so that neither of them could catch any of the stench. Professor Snape claimed that this was more for his benefit than for Harry’s, but he still appreciated the gesture. 

“What kind of potion were you making today?” he asked.

“A Fever Reducer.”

“Why’d you make so much of it?”

“Because Madam Pomfrey, the school matron, needed me to replenish the stocks,” Snape said, looking increasingly haggard. “When the students return from the Christmas holidays, they inevitably all have some sort of disease or cold.”

“Can’t you sell your magic potions to Muggles?” Harry asked. “They always work better on me than ibuprofen or paracetamol does.”

“They interact with your magical core, and as Muggles do not possess that, the properties of healing are lost on them.”

“Can I help you stock up your potions if my burns are okay?”

“No.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Why?”

“You have never brewed before in your life, Potter.” Snape shook his head. “It’s very difficult. You need to be taught particular techniques.”

“Okay…” Harry turned back to his stew, disappointed.

After a moment of silence, Snape grimaced. “But if I have a spare moment, I will demonstrate some basic techniques to you. I suppose it would be a waste of my time and yours if you spent a prolonged period with your future Potions professor and learned nothing in the process…”

Excitement shot though Harry. “Thank you!” 

Then, disaster struck. Harry’s elbow knocked against his bowl of stew, sending it flying off the table. It hit the cobblestone floor and shattered into pieces, spilling stew everywhere.

“For heaven’s sake, Potter!” Professor Snape snapped, jumping to his feet. “Be more careful!” 

Harry didn’t respond. He jumped out of his chair immediately, crouched to the ground, heart pounding. He needed to clean this up right now, or Professor Snape would -

“Stop!” Snape shouted. 

Harry froze in place, one bandaged hand still outstretched to pick up the shattered chunks of porcelain. Professor Snape looked truly furious, now. He took a step forward, and began to draw his wand. Fear struck him like a bolt of lightning. Before Harry knew it, things around him were rattling. The torches flickered in their brackets, the dishes began to clatter together, and books tumbled from their places on the shelves and onto the floor.

“Potter, calm down!” Professor Snape said quickly. 

But Harry couldn't. His heart was thrumming, and his breaths came in shallow gasps. First he'd broken something, and now he was making all these weird things happen, Professor Snape was going to kill him -

Snape crouched down to Harry’s level, and framed Harry's face with his hands. The rattling surroundings and broken dinnerware were hidden from view, and all he could see were the dark pools of Snape’s gaze.

“I need you to take a deep breath. Can you do that for me?”

Harry shakily inhaled, trying to push down the knot in his windpipe.

“Good, good - now, keep doing that,” Snape said evenly. “There you go, well done…”

Harry kept forcing himself to breathe deeply, and gradually, the shaking and flickering stopped. Then, a whole new wave of fear smacked into him, and he wrenched himself out of Snape’s grasp before it turned bruising.

“I’m so sorry!”

Before Harry knew it, he was on the other side of the room, crouching with his back against the wall and arms covering his face. He screwed his eyes shut. What was Professor Snape going to do? Was he going to hit out at Harry, like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would, or was he going to use his magic powers against him? Was Harry about to be turned into a toad and boiled alive in a cauldron?

Footsteps slowly clacked across the stone floors, stopping just short of where Harry crouched. Robes rustled, and Harry registered even breathing somewhere close to him. He opened his eyes a fraction, and saw that Professor Snape had crouched down next to him. He was pulling the crinkled face which Harry had started to associate with Professor Snape being concerned about something.

“Harry? It’s alright,” he said uncertainly. “You aren’t in trouble.”

“But… But I broke your bowl,” he said nervously.

“I’m a wizard, Potter. It’s already fixed, see?” Professor Snape moved to the side slightly, and gestured to the table. Harry peered between his raised arms and saw that the bowl was once again intact, and the spilled stew had vanished.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? It was an accident.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again, hoping in vain that it might lessen his punishment. “I didn’t mean to make all those freaky things happen.”

Very slowly, Professor Snape reached out his hand. When it came to rest on Harry’s shoulder, he tensed and squeezed his eyes shut again. But Snape’s hand didn’t move, or tighten to squeeze him painfully, or to shake Harry until his teeth rattled. It simply stayed, a gentle and soothing weight.

“I have some good news,” he said softly. “I just cast a few diagnostic spells, and it appears that you can take the bandages off permanently, now. Should we go and take care of that?”

Harry slowly opened his eyes and looked at Professor Snape. He was obviously angry, judging by the set of his jaw and his narrowed eyes… Why didn’t his tone match his face? He was speaking to Harry very calmly. It was strange.

“Well? Shall we sit up at the table again?”

Harry nodded slowly. Professor Snape slid his hands under Harry’s arms and helped him to his feet, then followed closely behind as Harry took his seat at the table again. Professor Snape dragged his chair from the other side of the table and brought it to sit next to Harry.

“Arms on the table,” he ordered.

Harry obeyed, wondering when he was going to be punished. Did Professor Snape actually mean it when he said that Harry wasn’t into trouble? How strange.

Harry had grown used to the sight of his arms beneath the bandage; a mismatch of cracked scabs that looked remarkably similar to the barren landscapes of the famine-struck countries that popped up on the evening news. Now, the scabs had fallen away. When Professor Snape conjured up a wet rag to wipe away the green tint of the salves he’d been using on Harry’s arms, his skin still didn’t look quite how it was supposed to. It was a strange, blotchy shade of red, and felt overly-sensitive and tender as Snape wiped it down.

“I have another salve you will be applying in the evenings that will return your skin to a normal colour,” the man explained, setting the wet rag to one side. “You don’t have to worry about scarring.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Harry said, examining the patterns on his arms admiringly. “It looks kinda cool.”

“Of course it does,” Snape muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he went back to looking at Harry, lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line.

“Can I ask you something important?”

Harry nodded slowly.

“Do your aunt and uncle punish you for doing magic, Harry?” Professor Snape asked in the gentlest voice Harry had ever heard him use.

Harry vehemently shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I don’t do magic.”

“All young witches and wizards have magical accidents,” Professor Snape said. “What do the Dursleys do when you have them?”

Harry shook his head vehemently. “I - I don’t do magic. That’s bad.”

“It’s not bad, Harry,” Snape said, softly. “How could it be? And anyway, I thought you liked seeing all of the magical things around Hogwarts, hmm?”

Harry did, but it was different. He hadn’t had one of his freaky accidents since getting to Hogwarts. Now, his heart was pounding in his ears, and a sick feeling had risen in his throat. Magic wasn't exciting anymore; it was terrifying and taboo. 

“What do they do, Harry?” Snape asked insistently.

“I don’t want to say,” he choked.

“Why not?”

Harry wrapped his arms around his middle. “Cause I don’t want you to do that!” 

“Do what, Harry?” Professor Snape implored.

He just vehemently shook his head a few times, eyes squeezed shut, thinking of cupboards, and shouting, and harsh hands, and hunger. Faintly, Harry realised he was trembling.

Professor Snape’s hands suddenly touched Harry’s upper arms, and he flinched. The man still wasn’t hurting him, though. He began to slowly rub his hands up and down Harry’s arms, a soothing motion that managed to knead all of the tension out of him. Gradually, Harry started to believe that Snape was telling the truth. He wasn’t angry. He eventually dared to open his eyes again.

There was only one way to describe the look on Snape’s face. It was pity. 

“You keep asking me about various forms of magic,” Snape said, “so how would you feel about trying some yourself? Here. You can try to use my wand.”

He reached into his pocket and placed his wand into Harry’s palm. Curious tingles began to run up his arm; it was a strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one.

“I don’t know any spells,” he said softly.

“That’s not a problem,” Professor Snape said. “I’ll teach you an easy one to make red sparks. All you have to do is point the wand and say the word. Try it now - not at me, that’s dangerous, over there… Here, let me show you.’

He moved Harry’s arm and manipulated his grip until the wand sat far more comfortably in Harry’s palm.

“Perfect,” he said approvingly. “Now, repeat after me - vermillious.”

“Verminius.”

“Ver - mill - i - ous,” Professor Snape said slowly. “Make sure you emphasise the second syllable. Go on, try again.”

“Vermillious.” 

Nothing happened. Harry stared at the wand, disappointed. 

“The spell needs to have intent,” Snape explained. “Try it again. Put some energy into it.”

Harry pursed his lips and stared hard at the wand, trying to summon up every ounce of want from a sparkling well deep inside of him. He didn’t want to be scared - he wanted to do magic, like a proper wizard. 

“Vermillious!”

Harry jumped slightly as red sparks exploded out of the wand like a firework. His face lit up. “I did it!”

“Well done,” Professor Snape said, displaying a rare smile. “That's a first-year spell - it's impressive that you have the power to do it at your age.”

“Could I maybe do more magic?” Harry asked uncertainly. “I'm allowed? It's really okay?”

The brief look of approval on Snape's face fell away, to be replaced with something sadder and angrier. “Of course it is. You're a wizard. How could there be something wrong with a wizard doing magic?”

“Right,” Harry said slowly. He could sort of see Snape's point, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been saying their piece for a lot longer. It was hard to unhear the shrieks of freak that made up the soundtrack of his entire childhood. 

But Harry had always thought the Dursleys to be quite stupid people, anyway. Professor Snape was obviously miles cleverer than Vernon and Petunia, and a wizard to boot. If he said that doing magic was okay, then it probably was. 

“I will teach you another spell - on one condition,” Snape said, voice suddenly growing stern.

“Yeah?”

“You never let yourself believe that there is something wrong with performing magic ever again,” he said, hands clenched into fists. His black eyes were stormy. “You are a young wizard, and magic is a part of your nature. You might as well try and stop breathing, for all the good suppressing it will do. Understood?”

Harry nodded vigorously. 

“Good,” Snape said, briskly brushing down his robes. “Now, before we continue, I have something else I think you might like to see.”

Harry watched closely as Professor Snape reached into the pocket of his black robes, which he pulled a photograph out of. He placed it on the table. 

The photograph contained the slight brown tint of an older picture, and was a little bit torn at the edges. Fascinatingly enough, the people inside of it moved. 

“How is it moving?” Harry asked eagerly,

“If you develop a photograph in a particular potion, that happens,” Snape said. He began to prod at the crowd. “Move over, come on… and there.”

Snape tapped his finger at two people in the back of the crowd who had shuffled to the front. It was two grinning teenagers, wearing the black Hogwarts uniform alongside the rest of their friends. The girl had long, red hair and bright eyes, while the man with an arm around her had untidy black hair and a roguish grin. He looked like an older version of Harry.

“This is Lily and James, back in their sixth year at Hogwarts,” Snape explained a moment before it occurred to Harry.

He didn’t respond. Harry was too busy staring at the photograph, drinking in every feature of his parents. His mother was quite pretty, he thought, and his father looked radiant and happy.

“Where did you get this?” Harry whispered.

“A library archive of products from the Photography Club,” Snape explained, somewhat reluctantly. “That’s the best I could find.”

“It’s perfect,” Harry said softly, tracing his finger over the photograph. Several other students ducked out of the way, shooting rude hand gestures at Harry as they went.

“You can keep that,” Snape added. “I’ve enchanted it to remain preserved, so it won’t wrinkle or tear.”

“Thank you.” Harry picked up his photo and held it to his chest, trying to imagine what it would be like for the people in that photograph to hug him.

“Your mother and father were extraordinarily skilled at witchcraft and wizardry, Harry,” Snape said abruptly. When Harry met his gaze, he realised that Snape still looked deeply worried about something. “I imagine you will be, as well. Do not let that Muggle ignorance prevent you from reaching your full potential when they’re simply too narrow-minded to appreciate your talents.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised, feeling strangely solemn. “Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon don’t actually know that much about a lot of things, I think.”

“Oh, you’d be right about that,” Snape growled. “In fact, they strike me as extraordinarily stupid people.”

Harry snickered, imagining the look on Uncle Vernon’s face if somebody he couldn’t bully into submission said those words to him. It felt good to have Professor Snape agree with him about that.

“Now,” Snape said, clapping his hands, “you’re going to do what all young wizards are supposed to do, and carry on practising magic. How does that sound?”

Harry smiled. “It sounds amazing!”

Chapter Text

Now, precisely how was Severus going to murder Albus Dumbledore?

He was going to do it. That much had been set in stone the minute Harry had his incident of accidental magic. The question was merely how his death would take place. The Killing Curse wouldn't cut it - no, it was too quick. He wanted the wretched old codger to suffer. Perhaps a poison that made him feel as though his bones were ablaze… or should he actually light Albus on fire? Or should Severus make him the key actor of his own demise with a chemical agent that would drive him to tear his own flesh off…

“Professor?”

Severus shook himself, jolted out of murderous musings by the small boy next to him.

“Yes, Harry?” 

He found himself wondering yet again why using ‘Potter’ suddenly felt so unnatural and wrong.

“How long are you going to be away?”

“A few hours at most,” Severus explained. “I have some shopping to do.”

Harry frowned. “Can't I come? I promise I'd be helpful.”

“No. You cannot come,” Severus said brusquely. “Now, what were my rules for the library?”

“Stay in there until you get back,” Harry recited, “Do what Madam Pince tells me… oh, and be polite to her.”

“Correct. Remember that.”

Severus wasn't particularly keen to leave Potter with Irma, who as a rule preferred books to people, particularly children. Unfortunately, he was left with minimal babysitting options. It was Christmas Eve, and any staff member with a family had left the castle to go and see them. The ones who had stayed were not exactly the type that Severus wanted to leave Potter with, either. Sibyll was doubtlessly at least two bottles of sherry in by now, Hagrid was similarly inebriated somewhere in Hogsmeade, Aurora was practically nocturnal and Argus would certainly scare the wits out of the boy, particularly after their confrontation last week. Severus was only left with the irritable librarian.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Can I learn another spell today?”

“Of course,” Severus said immediately, grinding his back teeth as anger set his blood aflame. If he had his way, he would teach Potter every spell up to O.W.L. level just to spite that cow Petunia Dursley and her brutish husband. His own father hadn't exactly been a fan of magic, but his mistreatment had never driven Severus to the level of terror that Harry had displayed after his accident.

There were few things that made Severus angrier than enforced magical suppression. He remembered the years of poverty that he had endured because his father was too stubborn and proud to let Severus’ mother use magic for their clothing, or food, or anything that he claimed his wages should be good enough for. Tobias Snape refused to allow his wife to provide in a way that he couldn’t, and the three of them had suffered for it. 

Harry’s situation was even worse than Severus’ had been, by a significant margin. If Severus hadn’t been suspicious before, he was now all but certain that Petunia and Vernon were hitting him, judging from the boy’s body language. He’d been terrified of Severus in a manner which he hadn’t been since the day they’d met after shaking those bookshelves.

Admittedly, Severus was becoming frightened of what might happen if somebody didn’t intervene. These were the situations in which Obscurials were made… but typically, Obscurials were the children of authoritarian Muggles who didn’t understand the strange things that happened to their children. Petunia knew exactly what caused her nephew’s accidental magic, and she was still making him suppress it. Oh, he loathed that foul woman…

If Severus had one mission for the five days between today and Albus’ return, it was to squeeze every flicker of fear out of Harry. He wasn’t too far gone, by any means; in fact, Harry adored magic. It was obvious every time that Severus performed a spell, or whenever Harry saw some enchanted aspect of the castle. His eyes practically glowed with joy.

But the terror when he’d performed accidental magic… even now, when Severus was teaching him basic Charms, Potter would still jump when the wand responded, and would glance at Severus, body tense, checking for a reaction. 

Severus couldn’t believe he’d been driven to listen to the ridiculous advice of Pomona, but it seemed her oozing praise was actually the type of thing Harry needed. Even the tiniest bit of positive reinforcement made him grin from ear to ear, so Severus found himself commending the boy on even the smallest of sparks that he managed to produce from the wand. Typically, Severus only saved his praise for the most high-quality brews, but he knew that approach wouldn’t work here. Harry needed to be whacked over the head with blunt praise if Severus was going to have any effect on his attitudes towards magic. 

Next to him, Harry opened his mouth - knowing him, to ask yet another question - when Nearly-Headless Nick flew through the wall.

“Afternoon, Professor Snape!” he said cheerfully, nodding his head, which wobbled dangerously upon his severed neck. “Are you feeling the Christmas spirit?”

Severus, who didn’t think that such a stupid sentence deserved a response, simply glowered at the ghost.

Nearly-Headless Nick chuckled. “Cheer up, professor - at least the festive season will be over soon!”

He laughed and dove back through the wall, and Severus noticed that Harry was staring at the space the ghost had just occupied with his jaw slack.

“Hurry up, Mr Potter,” he said impatiently.

“How did that man go through the wall?” Harry demanded, jogging slightly to catch up to Severus. “Can I learn to do that?”

“As you are not a ghost, no.”

“Ghosts are real?!” 

“Obviously.” Severus sighed again, and prayed for patience. The boy couldn’t help his ignorance. “That was Sir Nicholas, the ghost of Gryffindor House.”

“Who are the other ghosts?” Harry asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Can I meet them?”

“If they deign to reveal themselves, then perhaps.” 

With that, Severus launched into a detailed explanation of the various Hogwarts ghosts and their backstories - naturally, Potter took a macabre fascination with the circumstances surrounding Sir Nicholas’ execution - until they finally reached the library. 

Severus was barely two paces in before he ran into Irma, who looked just as pale and irritable than usual. Still, when her eyes landed on Harry - or, more accurately, on the scar on his forehead - the barest glimmer of interest brought some life back to her sunken face.

“This is the Potter boy?” she asked briskly.

Severus nodded. “I’ll be back for him in a few hours. Thanks again, Irma.”

“Bye, Professor Snape,” Harry said, casting a nervous, sidelong look at the stern librarian.

As Severus whirled on his heel and stalked down the corridor, he felt the barest twinges of… something, somewhere in the depths of his stomach. He was being ridiculous, Severus scolded himself. The boy would be fine with Irma. He’d only been coexisting with the chaos that was Harry Potter for a week or so; there was no excuse for getting sentimental.

But sentimental he was, given the purpose of his trip into Hogsmeade. Severus tried to tell himself that this needed to happen, anyway - he had to replenish his ingredient stocks - but in reality, only the need to buy a gift for a certain green-eyed brat was motivating him to cope with the Hogsmeade Christmas Eve bedlam. 

Severus had bought a Christmas present once in the last decade. He had been strong-armed into participating in the staff Secret Santa in his first year of employment at Hogwarts, before he had the confidence in himself to refuse participation in such stupidity when he realised that Albus wouldn’t throw him into Azkaban for a single misstep.

As a rule, Severus thought that Christmas was a ridiculous, overhyped, consumerist hellscape of a holiday and he wished that he could bypass the event entirely. But Potter’s confession that he’d never received a Christmas present… Well, he was staying with Severus for the day in question, so would it really hurt to buy him a small, token gift? Really, he was just doing it out of spite. Petunia would hate it, and anything that made her miserable was a worthwhile contribution to society at large. 

By the time he reached Hogsmeade village, however, Severus was starting to think the boy would have to remain content with coal. There was barely room to move throughout the choked, heaving streets, snow was whipping through the air and stinging Severus’ exposed face, and the carolers on the street corner were abhorrently off-key. He would take a prolonged stint under the Cruciatus Curse over this unique torture…

The apothecary was mercifully empty, although the clerk had some inane Christmas pop playing through the Wizarding Wireless that set Severus’ teeth on edge. Ingredients in hand, Severus emerged back into the masses traipsing Hogsmeade to deal with his more difficult purchase. 

What did one buy for a nine-year-old anyway? From what he’d gathered so far, they didn’t strike him as all that different to the younger years, but even the children Severus taught often seemed like alien creatures to him…

At first, he wandered vaguely near Zonko’s Joke Shop, before wheeling around and heading straight back in the direction he’d come from. Harry’s childhood might have been depressingly bleak, but he’d be damned if he gave the progeny of James Potter his first tools to start playing pranks. 

Instead, Severus decided to take a step into Honeydukes, which was heaving with last-minute shoppers. Most of the shelves had been cleared out, but he managed to snag a box of Every-Flavour Beans for the boy, as well as a bar of Honeydukes Finest Chocolate for himself. Perhaps the sugar would give Severus the energy he needed to endure this nightmare. 

While a square of chocolate melted on his tongue, Severus stumbled out of the sweetshop and found himself face to face with a pop-up Christmas shop. A few towering Christmas trees marked the entrance, bowtruckles clicking in the branches, and the fairies in the string lights were dancing and smiling at the crowd crossing beneath them. Enchanted wrapping paper scrolls stood up in a large wooden bucket, being poked at by cloaked witches and wizards.

If anybody saw him entering this place, his reputation would be ruined. Severus drew the hood of his cloak further over his head and stalked inside.

A beaming young woman with honey-coloured hair pulled back beneath a red santa hat immediately flocked over to him. “Welcome to Bobbin’s Christmas Emporium! Can I help you with -”

“No,” Severus growled, stalking away from her and into the mass of shelves. It was packed shoulder to shoulder in the place, as people dawdled by the stock, trying to avoid the screeching children running around in everybody’s way. Severus very nearly punted a straying toddler through the window in his haste to find something to buy in under two minutes.

Finally, he found it - a respectable gift that Potter might actually use to learn something. Severus shuffled over to read the description.

TOY WANDS! 

Get your young witch or wizard one of our state of the art practice wands to express that magical spark before they hit school age! Our unicorn hair technology caters to every child’s magical temperament, and allows them to perform up to twenty spells, and our new range provides wands in black, pink, red or green…

Steering away from the ridiculous colour schemes of the toy, Severus snatched up the more respectable black model and rushed to the checkout. After waiting in a ridiculously slow queue, he threw three Galleons at the cashier and fled the store.

The freezing winter air was a relief - Severus was finally free. He began to trudge in the direction of Hogwarts, feeling quite troubled. He was not going soft, Severus told himself fiercely. This present was really for his own benefit - he needed something to occupy the boy with during the day, after all, and the fact that the purchase just so happened to coincide with Christmas was a complete coincidence. He needed to keep Harry entertained somehow… taking care of a nine-year-old was exhausting.

On that note, Severus decided it was high time to stop by the Hog’s Head for a pick-me-up, only to groan in displeasure when he was met with the ‘closed’ sign on the door. It just served as a cruel reminder of the situation Severus found himself in, where he was forced to clean up Albus’ terrible custodial arrangements for his Boy-Who-Lived…

Really, what had Albus been thinking? Severus could have told the man that Petunia was a magic-hating cow without Harry needing to endure eight years of abuse… really, Severus had to wonder how the blasted Headmaster expected Potter to cope at Hogwarts if he’d been taught that all magic was freakish and evil.

Severus would be damned if he let that sort of treatment continue on his watch. There would be people lining up to take in Harry Potter - why leave him in the clutches of a pair of magic-hating Muggles? There were evils in this world outside of homicidal Dark Lords. Blood wards or no, this couldn’t continue. He wouldn’t stand for it.

Severus suddenly jolted upright as a realisation struck him. Harry reminded him of somebody, and that person wasn’t Lily Evans or James Potter. No, Harry reminded Severus of himself.

Severus had grown up with an oaf of a father who hated all things, including the magic his wife and son possessed. Harry hadn’t verbally confirmed it, but Severus could read between the lines; his uncle was probably quite similar to Severus’ own father in terms of temperament. As for Petunia… Well, the emotional scars the boy possessed from her mistreatment clearly ran deep. In just a few days, Harry had come out of his quiet and withdrawn shell to reveal his true personality; a bright and curious boy whose sense of joy had been quashed by his bitter aunt. 

Severus understood how it felt to grow up in a household like Harry’s, and it was miserable. But Harry still had a chance at the happy childhood that Severus had lost. He had always wished that somebody could have helped him as a child, so perhaps this could be the chance to right the wrongs for somebody else in the way that nobody had for Severus. If that aid came in the form of a toy wand and a box of Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans, then so be it.

He quickened his pace as he approached the castle entrance, wanting to retrieve Harry. It had been two hours, now, and he hated to think what trouble the boy might’ve gotten into, even under Irma’s hawk-like supervision. 

When he rounded the corridor, Severus heard the sound of laughter drifting down the hallway… a sound he typically abhorred. He did prefer Harry laughing, in all fairness, but Severus couldn’t actually conjure up a scenario in which Irma Pince, of all people, would be chuckling over something. When he rounded the doorway, he was proven right, as the woman in question was sitting at a desk and glaring at a point hidden to Severus by a bookshelf.

“Voices down!” she hissed. “This is a library!”

“Sorry!” said an alarmingly familiar voice - or pair of voices, Severus should say. It seemed that Harry had found the Weasley twins.

He strode over to Irma’s desk and grimaced. “I am quite sorry if he’s being loud -”

“Not to worry, Severus,” she said softly. “That Harry is actually keeping them distracted. I hate to think what those boys were going to do to my library before he gave them a better source of entertainment!”

“Entertainment?!”

Alarm rose in Severus like floodwater as he contemplated the hundred or so ways that the Weasley twins might have maimed or disfigured his young charge. He still remembered the Ever-Powdering Glitter Bombs they’d cooked up and thrown into his Potions classroom back in October… or, more accurately, he couldn’t possibly forget if he wanted to, as Severus was still finding clumps of gold glitter in his classroom and quarters. 

When he finally rounded the corner, it appeared that the twins’ amusement came from a far more mundane source; a Colour-Changing Charm. Harry, whose hair was currently a brilliant pink, received a tap on the head from George Weasley’s wand, turning his messy locks sky blue.

Truth be told, Severus was rather impressed - that magic was significantly beyond the capabilities of a typical first-year - but as the magic in question came from one of the Weasley pranksters, he could show nothing but disdain.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for using magic in the library,” he snapped, causing all three boys to start guiltily. “Each.”

The twins looked slightly cowed, but nowhere near as nervous as they’d previously looked as wide-eyed pupils in their first Potions lesson. It was alarming, how much three months’ difference could make in a healthy bit of teacher-inspired terror…

Harry, of course, seemed petrified of his stern demeanour. For some reason, this made something squirm uncomfortably in Severus’ gut.

“Come along, Mr Potter,” he said, gesturing to the exit. 

“Bye, guys,” Harry said quietly, hurrying after Severus.

Once they were out of the library, Severus fixed the boy with a quelling glare. “You’ll do well to heed my instructions, next time - best behaviour. That is a library, not a playground. Act accordingly.”

“Sorry,” Harry said softly, eyes glued to his shoes.

Severus sighed, residual irritation fading. In all fairness, Harry was alarmingly well-behaved for a nine-year-old. It was high time for him to be getting into some mild mischief, particularly when Severus had kept the boy reading in the corner of his laboratory for a week…

“Now, onto tonight’s spell tutorial,” he said briskly, trying to move the conversation onto lighter topics. “Professor Flitwick typically quizzes his first-years in your first month of Charms by getting you to create some multi-coloured bubbles. How would you like to try that?”

Harry shot him a confused look. “But I was bad in the library.”

“And? You are a young wizard, and I am a teacher. You’re not getting out of a magic lesson so easily, Mr Potter.”

His eyes widened. “Is it really fine?”

“Yes, it’s really fine - as evidenced by my earlier comments. I do not tend to speak for the pleasure of hearing my own voice, but rather to communicate some information I believe you should be privy to,” he said snidely. “Good grief, Potter…”

Finally, the boy smiled. “Right. Sorry.”

Severus pushed open the door to his quarters and gestured to the sofa. “Now, shall we get started?”

Potter nodded eagerly and sat down next to Severus, who quickly began to explain the correct gestures and incantations.

It was such an inane and ridiculous Charm… who needed rainbow bubbles, of all the stupid things? As he watched Harry’s face light up after managing it for the first time, however, Severus thought he could finally see some purpose to the otherwise useless bit of spellwork. If magic could bring a little bit of spark into Harry’s eyes, then that was what really mattered. 

Chapter Text

Harry awoke on the morning of December twenty-fifth to the smell of cinnamon in the air and the sound of Professor Snape shuffling around in the kitchen. He rose from his sofa-turned-bed and padded into the kitchen, where Professor Snape was already awake and active. He had a cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, and briskly nodded to Harry.

“Happy Christmas, sir,” he said with a grin, tucking into his own plate of eggs. 

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Snape replied gruffly, shaking his head to himself.

As Harry wolfed down his breakfast, Professor Snape was engaging in one of his favourite activities - staring at Harry. This time, however, he didn’t look worried, or upset, or angry. Instead, he was tapping a finger against his chin with an eyebrow raised thoughtfully. Try as he might, Harry couldn’t make sense of this new expression.

“You appear to have missed something by the fireplace,” Snape said abruptly.

Harry frowned. “Oh?”

“Why don’t you go and take a look?”

Curious, Harry placed his fork down and walked back into the living room, Snape following closely behind him. Now that he was paying closer attention, Harry noticed two packages sitting near the hearth, wrapped in shiny, green and gold paper that reflected the crackling firelight.

“I believe Father Christmas has paid you a visit.”

Harry, who had been rather preoccupied with staring at the gifts in shock, still had to turn and mutter, “He’s not real, you know.”

Professor Snape quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? What gives you that idea?”

“Everyone knows that,” Harry said nonchalantly, having not known it for certain until earlier that December when George Mitchell told the entire class. Before, part of him had still assumed that his terrible behaviour had landed him permanently on the naughty list, like Aunt Petunia always said. Harry had still had some doubts until that confirmation, though; he might keep making mistakes, no matter how hard he tried to be good, but Dudley was leaps and bounds more badly-behaved than Harry, and he kept receiving about a dozen gifts from Santa each year. 

“Perhaps Muggle children believe that he doesn’t exist, but that’s simply because Santa Claus is a wizard,” Professor Snape said, sitting in a green armchair near the fireplace and lacing his fingers together. “He only visits magical children.”

“Well how come he could never find me at my aunt and uncle’s, then?” Harry asked sceptically.

“Because it was a Muggle residence.” Professor Snape’s jaw had hardened almost imperceptibly. “Father Christmas uses the Floo Network to travel.”

“The what?”

“The Floo Network. It’s a system of travel used by wizards,” he explained. “You throw a bit of powder into a fireplace, shout out your location, and travel through a series of chimneys until you reach your destination. That’s where the Muggle myth about Santa coming down through the chimney originates, you know.”

Harry stared at Professor Snape, wide-eyed, not knowing what to believe. It sounded a bit far-fetched, but Harry was currently in a magic castle full of elves and ghosts. Santa Claus’ existence didn’t actually seem that unrealistic under the circumstances.

“Now, are you going to simply stare at the gifts, or are you actually going to open the things?” Snape prompted.

“I can open them?” Harry echoed disbelievingly.

“Packages bearing one's name on the label are generally intended to be opened by that recipient, Harry.” Professor Snape rolled his eyes. “Go on.”

Not needing to be told twice, Harry rushed over to the hearth and knelt down. He picked up the smaller package first, which rattled slightly as Harry moved it. Unlike Dudley, who ripped through his wrapping paper with reckless abandon before instantly throwing his toy aside to move onto the next gift, Harry unwrapped his present with excruciating care. He peeled the tape off of every individual corner, trying to keep the beautiful wrapping paper pristine. 

“Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans?” He read the label aloud.

“It’s a popular confectionery enjoyed by children your age,” Professor Snape said. “It truly does mean every flavour. Try one.”

Harry opened the container and popped a yellow bean in his mouth. His eyebrows furrowed. “Is that… parsnip?”

“As I said - every flavour. Be warned, some can be unpleasant.”

Harry understood what the professor meant after sampling a couple more. He got bubblegum, seaweed, honey and petrol, a flavour that made the spluttering Harry place the beans to one side to move onto his second gift. He opened it just as carefully, revealing a box containing a wand.

It wasn’t quite like Professor Snape’s, which was made of a dark, smooth wood, but the black wand was modelled similarly. 

“I thought you said I couldn’t get my own wand until eleven!” Harry said, removing the device from its packaging and carefully holding it in his palm. He felt the magic tingle in his fingertips, and smiled. 

“Well, this is just a toy wand. The spell capabilities are limited to the ones listed on the back of the packaging.” Snape gestured to the box. “I assume it will keep you entertained for a few days, at the very least…”

His eyes were fixed on Harry, and there was a dark undertone of nervousness simmering in the depths of them. Suddenly, Harry realised that the Father Christmas stories really were a front, after all. Professor Snape had obviously bought Harry these presents, even though he blatantly refused to take any sort of credit for it. 

Something warm and pleasant began to hum in Harry’s chest as he stared up at the prickly man. He wanted to thank Professor Snape, but couldn’t quite find the words without deconstructing the ruse that the man seemed so attached to. At the same time, Harry had to do something. Last year, he’d gotten a coat hanger from the Dursleys, and no matter what Aunt Petunia tried to tell him, that didn’t count. This was Harry’s first real present, all from a man who owed him nothing, but had done what he could to give Harry something for Christmas in spite of all of that.

It meant the world, and Snape needed to know that. Harry couldn’t find the words to say it, though, so all he did was rush over to the green armchair and throw his arms around Snape.

As soon as he made contact, Snape stiffened beneath him. Harry jumped back, remembering himself. Where had that come from? What was Harry thinking? He thought back to how Aunt Petunia had reacted when Harry had tried to hug her once, shoving him away with a look of pure disgust. He'd never tried it again.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said uncertainly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Don't be,” Professor Snape said. There was something fiercely sad and angry in his eyes as he reached down and wrapped his arms around Harry again. “Happy Christmas, Harry."

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Harry stood frozen in place for a moment, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t remember the last time an adult had hugged him, excluding a vague memory of a teacher from long, long ago. Harry wasn’t sure what he was meant to do, now.

Professor Snape waited for him to figure it out, and didn’t remove his arms until Harry decided it was time to break away. Something unusually gentle was disguised in Snape’s regular scowl as he looked down at Harry.

“Now, shall we finish breakfast before you spoil your appetite with those sweets?” he asked, brushing down his robes and rising to his feet.

“Can I take the wand with me?”

“If you wish.”

He followed Snape back into the kitchen, wand clutched in his hand, beaming. Harry thought he could actually take off and float into the sky from the sheer force of his happiness.

The dungeon hallways were a lot less intimidating than they had been when Harry had first set foot in Hogwarts. The addition of tinsel and baubles helped, but not so much as the professor to his right. Harry didn’t have to fear anything jumping out at him from the shadows; he wholeheartedly believed that Snape would protect him from anything.

“Now, I shall be at the staff table, but feel free to sit at any of the four house tables,” Professor Snape said as they made their way up the stairs. “I’m certain they’ll be friendly.”

“Okay,” Harry said, trying to hide his nervousness. He didn’t quite know what to expect from the other students at Hogwarts, few though they currently were due to the Christmas holidays.

All of his worries were banished, however, as he entered the Great Hall. It was like something out of a dream; not because of the enchanted ceiling, or the humongous Christmas trees, but because of the food. Harry had never seen this much in his entire life, laid out on golden plates from top to toe of the four long tables, all available for him to eat without any vindictive Dursleys to steal it out from under him. Best of all, it smelled delicious. There was turkey, roast potatoes, carrots, Christmas pudding…

“I will see you soon, Potter,” Snape said quietly, breaking away from Harry’s side to stride towards the front of the Great Hall.

Harry remained frozen, staring anxiously at the tables. He didn’t know where the right place to sit was…

Then, he spotted some familiar red hair, and grinned. Harry had spent a very pleasant afternoon with Fred and George Weasley in the library after Professor Snape had left him under the care of Madam Pince. He’d been about ready to die of boredom before the twins had shown up to keep him company.

He’d also had to contend with the new experience of being treated like a celebrity, of all things. In his lifetime, Harry had already endured a few strange interactions with funnily-dressed people who insisted on bowing to him or shaking his hand, but this had been the first time Harry had understood the why behind it all. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, and that meant even seemingly normal people like the Weasley twins were prone to gasp and flick their eyes up to the scar on his forehead.

The twins all beamed as they set eyes on Harry walking over.

“Good to see you, Potter!” Fred said.

George patted the bench next to him. “Come and sit with us.”

Harry nodded and hurried over, swinging his legs over the side of the bench. As he did so, two older redheads stared at him curiously. Harry had been briefly informed about the many siblings of Fred and George Weasley, but not in much detail, as they, “aren’t as interesting as the two of us!”

One boy with horn-rimmed glasses Harry thought to be Percy, the boy who Fred and George seemed to always be at odds with. The other was a much older boy with muscular arms and a friendly smile, who reached out to clap Harry on the shoulder.

“Charlie Weasley,” he said. “You must be Harry Potter. My brothers mentioned you last night. Welcome to Hogwarts!”

“Harry Potter?” Percy glanced up from his plate with interest and stuck his hand out. “The name’s Percy Weasley. Pleasure to meet you, really.”

“Er - nice to meet you, Percy,” Harry said, stifling a giggle as he shook the boy’s hand.

“Simply splendid, I should say,” George said in an overly posh voice.

“Absolutely spiffing!” Fred actually got up and dipped into a deep bow, freckled nose nearly touching the floor. By now, Charlie and George were falling about laughing, while Percy had returned to his dinner with a scowl on his face and rather red ears. 

Harry quickly loaded his plate up with food while the four boys watched him closely. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a little bit like an animal in a zoo exhibit.

“So, what brings you to Hogwarts so early?” Charlie asked, cocking his head. “You’re a bit young still, right?”

“Er - yeah, a little,” he admitted. “I got here on accident. One minute I was running from my cousin at school, and the next I was in Professor Snape’s cupboard.”

Fred grimaced. “Couldn’t have picked a worse professor…”

“He’s not that bad, Fred!” Percy scolded. 

“Oh, yes he is,” George muttered darkly. “He gave me a month of detention back in October - a month!” 

“You glitter bombed his classroom,” Percy pointed out in a long-suffering voice.

“He didn’t need to stick me in detention with Filch for that!” George said indignantly. “I’ve still got blisters on my hands from scrubbing the floor of the second floor toilets…”

“And he didn’t do a thing when a Slytherin sabotaged Bill’s potion back in his fourth year, so he was stuck bald for a month,” Charlie added. “Sorry, Perce - you won’t win this one.”

“Well, what does Harry think?” Percy asked loftily. 

As all four boys turned to stare at him, Harry shoved a roast potato into his mouth to buy himself some time. He wanted to say that Professor Snape was very nice - far nicer than Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, anyway - but didn’t think that was the best idea, especially since it wasn’t strictly true. Professor Snape was really quite grumpy, as a matter of fact, but Harry preferred him that way.

Instead, he simply replied, “He’s been teaching me magic.”

“Dark magic?” Fred asked, exchanging a meaningful look with his brother.

“I don’t think so,” Harry said. “He helped me make red and green sparks, and bubbles. I can almost do Lumos, too!” 

“Oh.” Fred looked slightly disappointed. “Well, I guess he wouldn’t teach his evil spells to someone your age…”

“Enough about Snape,” Charlie said dismissively. “Tell us more about you, Harry! Where have they been hiding you all these years?”

“Has Dumbledore been training you himself?” George asked eagerly. “That’s what I heard.”

“Don’t be stupid, George,” Percy grumbled, although even his eyes were gleaming with curiosity.

“It’s more boring than all that,” Harry admitted. “I live with my aunt.”

“A Muggle?” Fred asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I’ve not got anything special happening there, really. It’s actually quite boring. I didn’t even know about magic until I ended up here.”

“Wow…”

“I can’t imagine not knowing about magic!” 

“Our parents can both do magic, so we grew up around it,” Charlie explained. “Our dad is actually a bit obsessed with Muggles - I bet if he met you, he’d start quizzing you about all that weird stuff.”

“He’s collecting, er - batteries, I think, at the minute,” Percy said, stumbling over the word. “It’s driving Mum spare.”

“Well, Muggles aren’t really that interesting,” Harry said impatiently. “What’s it like growing up with magic? Tell me everything!”

He listened attentively as Charlie, Percy and the twins filled him in on what their family home was like. Harry heard about the orchards behind the Burrow, which were perfect for flying in, the ghoul that lived in the attic, and about all of the Weasley siblings who weren’t currently attending Hogwarts. There were the two youngest, Ginny and Ron, who were about Harry’s age, and the oldest, Bill, who had just moved to Egypt that year to work as a Curse Breaker. The rest of the Weasleys were visiting him for Christmas while they all stayed at school.

“Mum’s still furious that Bill left home, especially to go somewhere so distant,” Fred remarked. “She misses him loads.”

Charlie laughed. “If she had it her way, we’d all live at home forever!”

Harry smiled, and tried to imagine what it must be like to have a mother around who wanted him to stay with her so desperately. He knew Aunt Petunia felt that way about Dudley, but she’d certainly be kicking Harry out of the house the moment he was old enough…

Shaking that slightly melancholy thought off, Harry went back to listening to the tales of the Weasleys, who had started describing a particularly fierce pickup Quidditch match they’d had that summer. After all, there was no point in wanting for things he’d never have.

When the food on the golden plates had finally been consumed, Professor Snape caught Harry’s eye and nodded towards the doors. Harry bade the Weasleys goodbye, and met the professor outside.

“I see you’re becoming quickly acquainted with the entire Weasley clan,” Snape said silkily, scowling in the direction of the Great Hall.

“Yep!” Harry said happily. “They were telling me all about their magic house - they have a ghoul in their attic! I didn’t know ghouls were real!”

“Seeing as you discovered the existence of magic itself barely a week ago, I’m sure it is not outside the realm of possibility for you to assume that there are many aspects of magic which you do not yet know of,” he muttered.

“What other magical creatures exist?” he asked eagerly. “Charlie mentioned something about dragons - can I meet a dragon?”

“It is not as fun as you are surely imagining,” Snape said, pulling a face. “They are remarkably foul-tempered creatures. If you are lucky, you’ll never meet one. At any rate, you’d have to go abroad to find them. The only native British dragon is the Welsh Green.”

“So there are different types?” Harry demanded, fascinated. “What ones? Where can I see them? What do they look like?”

Snape pulled another face, then sighed loudly. After a moment, he began in on a full explanation of various dragon breeds, all while Harry beamed at him. The Weasleys didn’t know what they were talking about when it came to Snape. Grumpy or not, he was pretty brilliant.

Later that night, when the food and excitement of the day had left Harry tired and unable to stifle his yawns, Snape immediately banished him to bed. As he settled in, however, Harry was still fighting to keep himself awake. This had been the most fun day of his life, and he didn’t want it to end prematurely for something so inessential as sleep.

He tried to keep himself awake by staring at Snape, who was sorting through the books on his shelf and muttering to himself. After a few minutes, he seemed to feel the strength of Harry’s gaze and turned around.

“Yes?” Snape said exasperatedly.

Harry smiled again. “Thank you for today.”

“If you’re truly thankful, you’ll lie down and go to sleep,” Snape grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “Some of us are exhausted.”

Harry quickly obeyed, even though lying down made it significantly harder for him to fight off the sleepiness. 

“I love it here,” Harry whispered, shifting under his blankets. “Can I stay a bit longer? Please?”

Professor Snape stiffened, his lips drawing into a thin line. After a moment of silence, he sighed. “You are still under observation after the accident with your potion. At the very least, we will wait a few more days, and I will discuss your situation with the Headmaster.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered, trying to temper his disappointment. At the very least, he had bought himself some time, and that hadn’t been a downright no…

He would still hold out hope, Harry decided. It wasn’t like the Dursleys wanted him, anyway. If they both mutually agreed to be rid of one another, then who was around to complain?

And in a perfect world, he’d live with Professor Snape forever.

Chapter Text

Today was the day. December twenty-ninth, the day that Albus Dumbledore returned from his overly-long getaway with his brother. Ever since he’d found Potter in that corridor, Severus had been eagerly anticipating its arrival. On that glorious day, he’d at last wash his hands of the whole situation, and leave the mess to Albus…

But when the calendar had finally hit that date, Severus was feeling something more akin to dread.

“Wingardium leviosa,” Harry muttered, staring at his toy wand. When it didn’t work, he shook it and said more loudly, “Wingardium leviosa!”

“Elongate the ‘o’ in leviosa,” Severus murmured, casting a brief stasis spell over his cauldron to supervise the boy more closely. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of Severus’ laboratory, staring at the feather that Severus had conjured for him with immense focus.

“Wingardium leviosa!” 

The feather wobbled off the ground a couple of centimetres, before drifting back down. Harry stared up at Severus, eyes sparkling. “It worked!”

“Indeed. Carry on practising, and see if you can lift the feather any higher.”

Harry nodded and went back to muttering under his breath, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Severus felt something in his chest twinge unpleasantly. Was he really going to send this boy back to a world where magic was utterly reviled, when even simple spells like a Levitation Charm brought him such joy? It seemed cruel.

Well, hopefully Albus would see sense and place Potter in a more appropriate household for the remaining time until he began at Hogwarts. It was clear that the Dursleys treated him dreadfully, and it couldn’t be allowed to continue for any longer. Harry had to be removed, and the Headmaster was the person with the power to make that happen. 

Unfortunately, Albus seemed to be taking his time returning from his Christmas retreat. Severus spent most of his evening on tenterhooks, waiting for the fireplace to come alive with green flames, but the grate remained stubbornly absent of irritating Headmasters. Why was he taking so long to get down here? Severus had left him a note about Harry; he’d have expected to be Albus’ first priority upon his return…

He had just sent Harry to bed and had retired to his office for the night when the Floo at last activated. Albus stepped forward, wearing flowing robes of a deep maroon and a smile on his face.

“Ah, Severus! Good to see you.”

“Albus,” he muttered. Severus scowled furiously as the Headmaster conjured a squashy blue chair to sit in across from his desk, completely sidestepping the far more sensible ones he had set up. 

“You chose an extraordinarily bad time to go away,” Severus said sharply.

“Well, Severus, you seem to have managed things admirably in my absence,” Albus said cheerfully. “Including, I presume, the Harry Potter situation? How did that come about, precisely? You didn’t mention it in your note.”

“He had a bout of accidental magic and wound up in my classroom cupboard,” Severus explained with a sigh. “He then proceeded to wander the castle for three days until he got into my ingredients and caused his accident.”

Albus tutted. “Quite the situation… he’s safely home now, I presume?”

“Well… not as such, no.”

Albus stiffened, eyes widening with alarm. “His injuries were that severe?”

“No, he has recovered from the accident,” he said quickly. 

“Then why haven’t you returned him to Petunia?” Albus frowned. “I am certain his family must be quite worried -”

“I highly doubt that, as a matter of fact,” Severus said through gritted teeth. He glared furiously at the Headmaster. “Do you have any idea of what is going on in the Dursley household? How often are you checking in on Harry, precisely?”

“Well, Arabella babysits him, and she keeps me updated -”

“Not well enough, it seems!” Severus said loudly. “They’re dreadful to him, Albus! They don’t treat Harry like a member of the family at all!”

Albus sighed tiredly. He removed his half-moon spectacles and began to polish them lightly, his voice heavy and monotone. “I had my fears that things wouldn’t be perfect - but not being a part of the family is nothing in comparison to what Lord Voldemort would do to Harry without those blood wards. There are far more terrible dangers in this world than an unhappy home.”

“Are there?” Severus challenged. The anger in his core was starting to boil over. “You truly are oblivious! Shall I fill you in on the emotional damage that their abuse has already wrought on that boy? Believe me, there is a lot I could tell you from the time I’ve spent in Harry’s company!”

Albus was silent for a moment as he slid his glasses back on. “I can speak with Petunia, and advise her to ease up -”

“Are you genuinely that stupid?!” Severus shouted, completely losing control. “That will only make things worse, you fool! You forget how well I know Petunia Dursley - such intervention will only anger her further, and that’s to say nothing of her brute of a husband!”

“Harry must return to Privet Drive, Severus,” Albus said, shaking his head. “The blood wards are simply too important.”

“No!”

The door to Severus’ office exploded open. He resisted the urge to groan as his eyes met Harry’s. Just when he’d thought that things couldn’t get worse… his shouting must have woken the child up. The look of betrayal on Harry’s face made something squirm unpleasantly in Severus’ middle.

“You're sending me away!” Harry cried.

Severus winced. “Potter -”

“But what did I do wrong?” Harry demanded. “I tried so hard to be good! I can do even more, I swear - I'll be quiet, I can do all your housework, and I don't take up that much space at all, I promise! You can put me anywhere, and I’ll never, ever disturb you, just please let me stay!”

“Harry, come on,” Albus said gently. “Surely you miss your family?”

“No! I love staying here!” Harry protested. “The Dursleys hate me!”

“But they’re your family, Harry!” Albus’ eyes crinkled. “Why would you prefer to stay with a near stranger to your aunt and uncle?”

“Because they don’t even want me around!” Harry’s eyes had grown glassy. “Professor Snape is so nice to me! He feeds me breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I get my own bed instead of the cupboard. He lets me use magic and doesn't ever lock me up for it, and he doesn't hit me at all, even after I wrecked his classroom!”

“Instead of the cupboard?” Severus demanded, horrified beyond words.

“Please don't send me back!” Harry begged, rushing forwards and burying his face in the side of Severus’ robes. “Please, please, please!”

“The cupboard, Harry?” he prompted again, struggling mightily not to sound too angry. Now would be a terrible time for the child to clam up. “What do you mean by that?”

“That’s where I sleep,” he mumbled into Severus’ side. “The cupboard under the stairs. That’s what I mean, I really take up no space at all. You can put me anywhere.”

“I’m not going to make you sleep in a cupboard, Harry,” Severus said, clenching his hands into fists. He was so disgusted that he couldn’t even look at Albus for fear of what he might do. “Now, this conversation is not your concern, and you ought to go back to bed. It’s late - come on…”

But the boy wouldn’t move, not even when Severus tried to prise him off. Harry kept his fists firmly latched into Severus’ robes, like sheer force of will could prevent his removal from Hogwarts. Severus prayed for patience, and looked back up at Albus. He was intending to give him a certain exasperated glance - one that transmitted the message of now look what you’ve done - but faltered slightly once he met the Headmaster’s eyes. They were wet with tears, which spilled down his crooked nose as he stared at Harry’s small, trembling form. He looked like somebody had punched him in the gut.

“Do you see what I mean?” Severus said through gritted teeth, gesturing to the child attached to him. “You truly intend to return him after that series of confessions?”

“Severus,” he said hoarsely, “I did not know the extent. You must believe me…”

Albus turned his face away and stared at the floor. Severus didn’t speak. He could see the conflict written all over the old man’s face; being confronted with the consequences of his poor decisions was truly affecting him. Harry’s situation was sitting on a knife’s edge. 

Severus, who was too scared to put a foot wrong and potentially wreck everything, took a moment to reach out and carefully lay a hand on the back of Harry’s head. The boy was still trembling, holding fast to Severus like a koala in a tree. He made a mental note to lecture the boy about eavesdropping; this situation wasn’t one that Severus would have wanted him to walk in on. Still, Harry’s untimely interruption might have been the push Albus needed to change his mind. Having the product of your bad decision making in tears and terrified tended to be rather persuasive…

Albus was still silent, face crumpled. He was staring at Harry, still. Severus decided now would be the time for another nudge in the right direction.

“It’s been eight years, Headmaster,” he said softly. “This isn’t the world it was when you dropped Harry off at Privet Drive. The world is not full of roaming Death Eaters seeking vengeance, and the Dark Lord is gone.”

“I wish he was, Severus, but we both know that isn’t true.” Albus glanced down to Severus’ left forearm and sighed.

“He’s as good as,” Severus said vehemently. “His followers all believe him to be dead or powerless, and the Dark Lord himself is trapped as an incorporeal wraith, roaming somewhere on the continent far from here. The wards don’t matter when there are evils in this world outside of him, Headmaster - evils more pertinent to our current situation.”

He cast a significant look down to Harry.

Albus nodded slowly. He looked every one of his many years.

“Do you want an Obscurial on your hands?” Severus finished. “Because it’s getting to that point. Drastic intervention needs to be taken, Headmaster. Please, I beg that you listen to me before it’s too late.”

That, it seemed, was the final straw. Albus’ shoulders slumped, and he ran his weathered hands over his face. After several more moments of silence, during which he recomposed himself a little, Albus’ eyes dropped from Severus’ face to the back of Harry’s head.

“I am very sorry, Harry,” he said hoarsely. “When I left you to your aunt, all those years ago, I… well, I had harboured the hope that she would treat you like a second son. It seems that I was bitterly mistaken.”

Harry slowly raised his tearstained face, but kept his fists knotted in Severus’ robes. “Please don’t make me go back to them, Mister Dumbledore. I promise I’ll be good if you let me stay.”

Albus flinched as though struck. Harry’s luminous green eyes stayed fixed on the Headmaster’s face. Severus knew from personal experience how damn hard it was to say no to that earnest face…

And it seemed that green gaze had the same impact on the Headmaster, whose wavering resolve cracked straight down the middle.

“I am sure you’ll be very good, Harry,” Albus said, voice catching slightly. “And… if you have no desire to return to your aunt and uncle, then I see no reason to implore you to do so.”

You’d have thought the sun itself dawned within Harry as those words were spoken. “Really?”

Albus nodded. “Really.”

Harry finally let go of Severus’ robes and began bouncing on the balls of his feet. Severus wouldn’t have been shocked to see him actually leave the ground and begin to levitate.

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

Without further ado, Harry rushed forwards and flung his arms around the Headmaster, face buried in the man’s long, silver beard. Albus chuckled lightly, and the lost twinkle in his electric blue eyes finally regained a little of its spark as his hands came up to pat Harry on the back. 

“You have nothing to thank me for, my boy,” he said gently. “Quite frankly, it’s the least you deserve.”

Harry jumped back, face still glowing. “I really get to stay with Professor Snape?”

Severus winced, finally comprehending the misunderstandings at play. “Harry, I don’t know if that’s -”

“Well, Harry, since you and Professor Snape have been getting along so swimmingly, I don’t think it would be a bad idea to see how things pan out, hmm?”

Severus’ jaw dropped. “Headmaster! I really don’t think -”

“I do,” Albus said merrily. “We can discuss the details later.”

When Harry isn’t present, they both left unspoken. Severus regarded Albus with one of his fiercest scowls possible. He just couldn’t stop meddling, could he?

Harry, of course, registered none of this tension. He was bouncing off the walls. “Thank you so much!”

“Stop jumping about like that,” Severus said irritably, rubbing at his temples with two fingers. “You are entirely too excitable for this time of night. To bed, Harry. You should already be there.”

“Alright. Night, professor!”

Harry managed one last happy little hop before dashing away through the office door. When it closed, Severus finally thought to cast several privacy wards at the thing so that the boy wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on anything else before whipping around to glare at the Headmaster.

“Really, Albus?!” he snapped. “I never agreed to that!”

“Well, he has to stay somewhere,” Albus replied calmly.

“So send him to quite literally anybody else! Half of wizarding Britain would be lining up to take in the Boy-Who-Lived!”

“One of the many reasons I sent Harry to his aunt was so that he could grow up outside of such influences,” Albus said. “You are one of the few people I trust to treat Harry like a child, not the Boy-Who-Lived. You are also a powerful wizard, one capable of protecting Harry of arising threats inside and out of the castle."

“And are you forgetting why I am in this castle?” Severus demanded. “For my job? I can’t supervise Potter all day long!”

“I imagine that the hours during which you will be teaching would line up perfectly with the hours that Harry would be away at primary school, hmm?” Albus’ eyes twinkled infuriatingly. “I am certain that our colleagues would be more than happy to babysit while you attend to Head of House duties. I would certainly be willing to offer my time up, if you needed the help, and I don’t doubt that Minerva or Pomona would be thrilled to have Harry around!”

“But did you ever consider actually asking me before telling Potter he can stay? What if, shockingly, I do not feel like caring for a nine-year-old?”

“Potter, is it now? I heard you calling him Harry, earlier…”

“That is besides the point,” he said, feeling a bit flustered. “What makes you think that I, of all people, am qualified?”

“Magic brought him to you, Severus,” Albus said with a wry smile. “Harry could have ended up anywhere in Hogwarts - anywhere in Britain, as it seems - but he ended up in your classroom. That is no coincidence.”

“Albus, I shouldn’t,” he said again, reaching up to knot his fingers in his hair. “I am absolutely unequipped for this!”

“I notice, Severus, that you say you shouldn’t, not that you won’t.” Albus laced his fingers together. “You two have grown attached, it seems.”

“I have not!” Severus protested indignantly, knowing that he was a liar. “And shouldn’t you find a proper family to send him to before that attachment grows? He’ll only get hurt!”

“Try it, Severus,” Albus implored. “Give it a month. If you find that after that month has concluded that the situation is not working for you, then I will look for other options. Are you amenable to that?”

He should have said no. He should have continued to remind Albus of his long list of disagreeable qualities…

“Why are you so insistent on doing this?” Severus asked instead. He felt entirely wrong-footed. “I know you have some secret reason for insisting I take care of him…”

Albus smiled at him. “Because I happen to think you’ll be very good for each other.”

Severus scoffed. “You came to that conclusion after witnessing a five minute interaction.”

“Call it a hunch.” Albus rose to his feet, vanishing the gaudy armchair with a flick of his wand. “Now, perhaps you ought to attend to your young charge? I somehow doubt he’s asleep.”

“You’re probably right about that…”

“You’ll do a fine job, Severus.” Albus nodded his head. “We’re here if you require any assistance.”

“I notice you still haven’t actually asked if I want to do this!” he said irritably.

Albus, who had started his journey to the fireplace, paused and turned around. “Are you saying no, then?”

Severus didn’t respond. He should say no, he really should…

Well, Albus had made a couple of fair points. Anybody else would take Harry in, treat him like the Boy-Who-Lived, and he’d come to Hogwarts with a head even more inflated than that of his unfortunate father! Severus couldn’t allow for that in all good conscience, right?

And he liked Harry’s company. He was polite, and curious, and had made Severus realise how bitterly lonely his self-enforced isolation was. He could imagine how nice it would be, after an arduous day of teaching students who hated him, to come home and spend time with a child who actually enjoyed Severus’ presence, and whom Severus rather appreciated in return. 

If you wanted something done right, you ought to do it yourself, Severus had always thought. How could he leave the situation in Albus’ hands after the disaster of the Dursleys? No, Severus might not be perfect, but he knew enough to hopefully manage a nine-year-old’s needs without Harry expiring under his care. Someone had to stop shirking their responsibilities and tossing the child about like a hot potato…

And if Harry really had his heart set on it…

“I’ll try your month, if you truly insist,” Severus muttered.

Albus beamed. “I’m proud of you, my boy! We’ll hash out the details tomorrow.”

He threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and vanished back to his office, leaving a slightly horrified Severus to stand alone and truly reckon with what he’d just taken on. He felt faintly like a Hippogriff was sitting upon his chest. Had he really just agreed to become Harry Potter’s guardian?

After taking several minutes to compose himself and calm down, Severus decided that his extensive list of concerns could be shelved for the time being. Many of these things were issues that could not be reasonably dealt with until tomorrow, anyway. There was one thing that Severus could do - he could go into his quarters, make sure Harry was sleeping, and then go to bed himself.

Surprising no one, Harry was not asleep like Severus had been so desperately hoping. Instead, he was sitting bolt upright on the sofa, practically vibrating. Severus did his best not to groan, thinking that might send the wrong message.

“Harry, if you refuse to sleep, at least lie down and try,” he grumbled, summoning a vial of Headache Reliever. Severus would have a fully-blown migraine by the end of the night at this rate…

“Who’s the Dark Lord?” Harry asked.

Severus finally gave in and groaned aloud. “It’s another name for the man who killed your parents.”

“Oh - Voldemort, right?”

Severus hissed. “Don’t say it!”

Harry ducked his head. “Sorry.”

Severus downed the Headache Reliever, praying for patience. Really, what had he just taken on? Was he experiencing a flight of his mental faculties?

“Why does a school headmaster get to decide who I live with?”

“Because he’s also a very powerful wizard who has far too many assorted jobs and titles.” Severus scowled. “Why aren’t you lying down?”

 Harry shuffled further under the pile of blankets, still watching Severus closely. He frowned. “You’ve been out here sleeping for too long, I think. I’ll set about Transfiguring you a bedroom of your own tomorrow.”

If he had been intending to make Potter sleep, that was the wrong thing to say. His eyes grew to the size of saucers. 

“I get my own room? Really?”

Severus bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, trying his utmost to resist sarcasm. It would not land well, given that Harry had every reason to believe he wouldn’t have a bedroom. The cupboard under the stairs, indeed…

“Yes, really,” Severus said quietly. “And you can decorate it however you’d like.”

As Harry beamed at him, the anxiousness and exhaustion plaguing Severus seemed to abate for a moment, replaced by something softer. He was abruptly reminded of the reasons why he was doing this…

Harry simply deserved better than what he’d had. If Severus was the one to give him the childhood that he'd been deprived of so far, then so be it. 

“Good night, Harry.”

Surprising even himself, he reached out a hand and placed it briefly on the boy’s forehead before using his wand to flip off the lights. 

“Thanks, professor,” Harry whispered.

Under the cover of darkness, he felt comfortable exhibiting a small smile. “You have nothing to thank me for, Harry.”

After all, Albus was right. Harry had been good for Severus. In such a short time, Severus could already tell that he was changing for the better.  

I hope I’ll do you proud, Lily, Severus thought as he slid the door shut. He might not have you anymore…

But I’ll do my utmost to be the next best thing.