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Chapter Text

Harry Potter knew he was in for a real treat the moment he stepped back into the dreadfully familiar house.

The disgustingly plain walls of peach and salmon pink seemed to make him even more nauseous than he already was, stepping onto the welcome matt of the Dursleys. His eyes hesitantly trailed to the cupboard under the stairs then quickly averted his gaze as if it had burned him to even glance at the nightmarish place.

The smell was the same as always - a sickeningly sweet stench of flowers and an ocean fragrance that was from a candle his Aunt Petunia had bought recently. It would have been comforting, really, if he hadn't been caught in beatings throughout his life in rooms where the scent was most palpable, forced to smell the overwhelming stench while choking on his very own blood.

His point was, he was trying to stare at anything but the purple faced Vernon in front of him and Cornelius Fudge.

Oh, he could practically imagine the end of the cane splitting closed wounds back open on his back, the sharp sting of pain hitting him like a whip every time.

Petunia was behind Vernon, her lips pursed as she stared at Harry with a look of pure hatred and utter disgust reserved only for him. Dudley was in the living room, bowl of chips on his lap, crumbs all over him while the telly played at full volume - a stupid program Harry never really cared enough to listen to the name of.

Fudge tipped his hat in greeting, feeling the tension spark in the air. "It has come to the attention of the ministry of magic that Harry here, had performed some accidental magic on.." he pulled out a sheet of paper from his black robes. "..Marjorie Eileen Dursley some months ago, correct?"

Vernon, fuming, had the bare minimum of restraint to not throttle the boy right there and then. "Yes! Correct! He did some freaky magic on her, sent her through the damn roof and flying in the sky!"

Fudge nodded. "Yes, yes, quite unfortunate indeed. While this is hardly Harrys fault here. Accidental magic is in the name - a slimy thing to control when and where it happens. Harry didn't-" "Are you saying the boy shouldn't get any discipline?!"

Oh yes, Vernon was a very ugly shade of purple by now. The sight almost familiar to Harry.

"No, of course not Mr. Dursley. In fact, I was just about to propose Harry here needing a firm hand and a whack to his behind. Not for the accidental magic, of course - but for running away when such dangerous wizards are after him!" Fudge finished with a large huff, giving Harry a pointed look.

Harry paled almost immediately. Of course Fudge wouldn't understand. A firm hand in the Dursley language meant a litter of bruises and immobility for at least three days. Maybe even starvation for an extra week for performing freaky magic in a quote on quote, normal place. What scared him even more was the look of satisfaction that had painted across the oafs face at Fudges words. "Oh yes - a firm hand indeed. Don't you worry, he'll get the discipline for running away."

Harry knew in reality, the Dursleys couldn't care less about him running away. In fact, they'd be delighted if there was a way to completely give Harry up. It was the accidental magic they were so pissed on, for performing it on a Dursley.

He felt himself start to tremble, nausea threatening to take over as he stumbled over his words. "W-Wait-"

Fudge cut him off with a tutt. "Enough now, boy. You have caused enough trouble for today, haven't you think so?"

Harry was on the verge of tears now. "Yes sir.." he whispered quietly, face down towards his scuffed shoes; the only pair he had for the past five years.

He could practically feel Petunias smirk on him. Damn horse faced woman.

"Well then- I'll be on my way now. You lot take care." Fudge nodded in goodbye, turning around to leave, appariting almost immediately.

The second Fudge had left, Harry felt two strong bulky hands on his shoulders, barely having time to register the sharp pain as he was thrown further into the hall near the small table, jabbing the sharp corner on his right bicep. He fell to the floor with a thud, restraining any noises that would give Vernon the feeling of pleasure.

His uncle lifted him by the back of his shirt, not caring about the way Harrys leg twisted painfully in the process. "You dare use your freaky magic in my house, on my sister?! Just you wait boy! After I'm done with you, you'll be begging for death!"

Another loud thud was heard as Vernon threw Harry onto the cold, hard floor of the hallway. "Petunia, bring me my belt." The oaf grunted out, his tone changing like silk the moment he addressed his wife.

Almost in glee - Petunia disappeared upstairs and came back shortly with the horrifying belt in hand, the one Harry has grown up to hate with all his being. Some small blood stains on the outer leather were faintly visible from past beatings, not being able to wash it away completely when tried.

The moment his uncle had it in hand- Harry tensed and shut his eyes as he heard the buckling of the belt and finally, the slap of the monstrosity as it slashed down on his back with a searing hot pain he was acquainted as old friends with.

He couldn't help but let out a quiet whimper of pain.

It was pathetic, honestly. With how many hits he'd endured all these years from the belt- surely he must be accustomed by now? But as the next sickening crack of the belt rained down on him again, he let out another yelp. Louder this time.

He could faintly feel the old healing cuts on his back reopen and the wet feeling of blood soak through his only clean shirt. But the thought was overshadowed by a burning pain as the belt hit him again, and again, and again.

It was a constant tug of war between crying out and wanting to stay silent to not give in to Vernon, every blow harsher than the last. Eventually, Vernon got bored and let the now bloody belt rest by his obese side; watching as Harry shook on the floor, fists balled up so hard that his nails dug in his skin. His back was a mess of blood, the shirt torn open by the sharp hinges of the belt.

Petunia tched behind him. "Bloody boy, getting my floor dirty! Vernon, do something!"

Harry hardly felt the rough hands manhandle him up and on the stairs, busy fighting against the black dots dancing across his vision. It felt like his limbs were being pressed against hot coals, every twitch of his body sent a world a pain through him.

He vividly felt someone throw him into his pathetic excuse for a bedroom, and the groan and creak of floorboards beneath him as his worn out body roughly hit the floor. He was so, so tired.

That exhaustion was stripped away when he felt a twist in his arm and a sharp, gruesome scream ripped out from his throat. Hot waves of pain hit him like a freight train, making something wet roll down his face in large, frightening amounts.

Oh dear Merlin. He hasn't cried in years. Not since.. well, he didn't want to think about that now.

Pathetic sounds of pain and sobs mingled together, paired alongside his hiccups.

He barely heard the sound of his uncle leaving his barren room, the sound of numerous locks being closed back up. He could only feel the torment of every twitch of his arm; the agony.

Harry gave up fighting the black sludge that edged across his vision, the pounding of his head seizing to a dull throb and finally - nothing.

His tears stopped dripping and his sobs turned into soft hitches and quiet breaths as the boy who lived passed out, slumped across the floor in a puddle of his own blood. Unloved and hated.

And the worst part? Harry never wanted to be the boy who lived.

Chapter Text

When Harry opened his eyes, he expected to see the blank, depressing excuse of a room from 4 Privet Drive, graciously lended to him during his first year due to their fear of "being watched by the wizards".

But the sight that greeted him was far, far from that grueling house full of bastards.

A single Lily laid planted into the floor, its creamy white petals being shown off with it's ochre stemen comprised of 6 filaments and a central pistil in the middle. It was a stark contrast to the blank white void all around him. Harry stared at the silky flower with some sort of awe in his emerald gaze.

He'd never seen a Lily before, and yet, somehow knew the name of the flower like it always there- in the back of his mind, hidden from sight. His Aunt Petunia despised any type of flower even resembling a Lily, so Harry never had seen one while doing yardwork on hot, torturous summer days.

...It almost seemed to taunt him as its soft petals fluttered in the nonexistent wind, and Harry had the sudden urge to touch it. Would it feel soft like Hedwigs winter feathers when she'd molt them during cold Junes? Or would it feel rough and clammy, the beautiful display being a facade set in to lure innocent people? It kind of reminded him of himself.

Or maybe it was just poisonous. Killing him as soon as he touches it, like the Dursleys

Despite all the raging thoughts trampled together, Harry felt an unexplainable urge of confidence, that the Lily was safe. Something he'd never have the privilege of. He crouched down to reach out a hand to one of the petals, and when he'd thought he finally touched the smooth surface: the Lily moved forward.

Now, the leaves seemed a bit dry, and the stem was more of a dark green than the vibrant one before. Harry felt his heart clench at the sight, and he didn't know why.

He got up and walked a few steps closer. But when he blinked, it had gone further up again into the endless void.

Frustration simmered beneath Harrys composure, he wanted to scream or punch something. But strangely enough, nothing would leave his throat. He couldn't make noise, he couldn't do anything but walk forward. And with every step, his pace increased. More and more until he was full on running, every pant and gasp for air making the flower travel further and further away from him.

When Harry felt his legs start to tremble and cramp beneath him, he finally stopped. Now though, the Lily was far from healthy.

Its beautiful white petals wilted into a sad gloomy white tint with an aroma of vomit yellow. Its stem was completely dead-a dark green that reminded Harry of trees in the forbidden forest at Hogwarts, and the stemen, oh the stemen.. it was being covered by the dead petals, the once beautiful flourishing pistil in the middle being hidden by the part that cannot grow itself to be happy and healthy again, its depression covering the only vibrance of the plant.

For some reason, hot tears streamed down his face as he stared at the flower infront of him. It hurt him. It hurt him to know he caused the wilting, caused the anguish of a once flourishing beauty of nature to crumble. While the tears left his eyes- he didn't produce a sound, couldn't. No sniffles. No sobs, and no crying out.

The more and more he stared, the darker the void around him became until it was pitch black. Then, faint soft hands planted themselves on his shoulders behind him, like a ghost. Harry immediately went for his wand in his pocket and turned around, only to realize with horror that his wand was nowhere on him, gone... But what frightened him more was the sight in front of him; his mom. Lily.

Lily.

Her face was one of anguish, her soft green eyes reflecting in Harrys. Troubled.

"Why did you do it?", she moaned out painfully.

"What?"

"Why did you kill me, Harry?"

Dread pooled in his stomach as the boy who lived tilted his head slightly to see the dead, wilted Lily from before. His mouth suddenly felt dry and his eyes stung terribly. "I-i didn't mean-"

His once beautiful mothers eyes wilted into a dead green, just like the flower. Her gaze was empty, with no care or emotion in them. The sight made Harrys gut twist painfully with the realization that his mother never got to really love him, cherish him. Her skin turned a pale white and her touch turned suddenly cold, making Harry involuntarily shiver.

"You killed me."

Harry wanted to scream out a denial, to cradle her dying body and hug her like never before. Not that he had ever hugged someone anyway, but he couldn't, his feet were planted into where he was and he couldn't tear his gaze away as his mother wept. "You ruined my life!", Lily repeated in a mantra as her loud cries echoed throughout the void.

The last thing Harry saw were Nymphaea caeruleas blooming throughout the once empty void, their vibrant overwhelming blue taking up the black pitch around him.

And finally, a flash of green with a gut crueling scream.

~

Harry woke up with a gasp, tears on his cheeks with his eyes blown wide. Every breath of cold air made his chest frantically rise up and down.

He could still vividly see the bright flash of green that stayed like a nightmare, tormenting his very being. His body hurt like hell, and he could see the pool of blood he sat in through his fuzzy gaze of tears. Every twitch of his muscles sent waves of agony through his already pained form and he couldn't stop the sobs ripping out of his throat. It hurt. He hurt. Why was life so painful?

A sudden pounding was heard on the door and a shrill, disgusting voice made him jump, hissing at the motion.

"Keep it down, you bloody boy! Or you'll have no dinner tomorrow!", Petunias voice was a stark contrast from his mother's sweet yet pained one. It almost made Harry cringe. Scratch that- it did make Harry cringe, horribly so.

As the footsteps trailed away from his door - one thing was clear to Harry.

Tomorrow, he would be leaving. Hopefully for the rest of the summer.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered weakly through the cracked, grimy window of Harry's room, illuminating the dried blood that still stained the floorboards. Harry winced as he pushed himself upright, his body aching in protest. The nightmare of his mother still haunted him terribly. Her face, her accusation, and the blooming blue lilies shook him to the core. Even now, as he sat clutching his knees to his chest, he could hear her voice reverberating in his mind: you killed me.

He shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of the memory. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. His mother had died, protecting him. Voldemort killed her, not him. But still...why did it feel so true?

Harry had barely slept that night. The raw, throbbing pain radiating from his back made every shift on the thin mattress unbearable. His body screamed for rest, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Lily. The accusations in her empty gaze haunted him. And the flower- the lily shriveling before him, reflecting everything he felt inside but couldn't say out loud. Almost like in the dream, where he couldn't speak.

Slowly, Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, hissing as the movement pulled at his wounds. The blood from last night had dried, sticking his oversized shirt to his back. Gritting his teeth, he peeled it away, his fingers trembling as he surveyed the damage in the mirror shard he'd hidden under the bed. Deep, angry gashes marred his skin.

Harrys eyes trailed back towards the shard, Sirius... maybe.. he could stay with him for the remainder of the summer? He quickly shook the thought off. ".. I don't know if I can handle being called James right now." He mumbled to himself.

Harry had thought out a plan before sunrise, using the lack of sleep as crucial time to organize his thoughts and emotions. Despite being riled up with anxiety from that brief agonizing nightmare, he made a pretty solid escape scheme, if he did say so himself. It was simple: find a barren alleyway, apparate to Diagon Alley, and hide out at The Leaky Cauldron. He didn't care if he had to deal with death eaters or whatever Dumbledore was so terrified on him encountering. It had to be better than this.

He'd take a death eater over this hell anytime.

The Dursleys didn't care if he disappeared, as long as he did so quietly and didn't disrupt their precious routine so he was bound to succeed. There was no way to screw this up. Harry glanced at Hedwig's empty cage and frowned. He had sent her to the Burrow days ago, figuring she'd be safer there. At least someone had a place to belong, even if it wasn't him.

After stuffing a few essentials into his battered trunk and cramming Hedwig's cage on top, he shrank the items and delicately placed them into his torn pocket. Harry made his way downstairs with expertise of knowing which floorboard would creak or not. The Dursleys were nowhere to be seen. Good. Harry grabbed a few stale-feeling slices of bread from the kitchen counter - his "breakfast"-and slipped out the front door.

The sun, for once, felt good. It wasn't battering into his abused back or burning him alive everytime he did yard work: it was just there. Following, almost looking over Harry. Is this what freedom felt like? It didn't matter, anyway. He couldn't grasp onto it forever, because once summer ended and he returned to Hogwarts, he'd have to return to this soiled place again next summer.

Harry treaded the area on the sidewalk for a good amount of time. He passed house after house, tree after tree, and yet he couldn't find a good place to apparate. He didn't have any muggle money to buy food, and Aunt Petunia was gonna send him grocery shopping today because the bread was spoiled, so his only source of food was total garbage.

About ten minutes into walking - or limping, really, Harry caught sight of a skinny, dirty crow pecking at the grass, seemingly looking for food.

Poor thing was thinner than him.

Harry looked down at the pieces of stale bread in his pocket. He wasn't hungry. He was used to hunger, so he shouldn't deprive others of it, animal or not. The boy who lived took out the three slices of bread he had stolen and ripped off the corner of one, throwing it towards the bird.

Startled at first, it had cawed and flew backwards a few feet. but when the whiff of food seemingly hit the bird, it padded back and clawed hungrily at the ripped piece of bread, its beak working to rip off pieces and digest them one by one. Once he had finished, Harry spent the next few minutes throwing more and more pieces until finally, he had nothing left. Satisfaction surged through his aching body as the crow groomed at his matted feathers, much more energized than before.

Harry then pulled out a shrunken water bottle that was halfway drunken and resized it to it's normal width. He opened the cap and delicately poured some into his hands, inching closer by a scoot.

The poor thing must've been dehydrated, because once it dipped its beak into his cupped hands, the water had been sucked off in seconds. He bit his lip, he himself needed water too.. "oh, fuck it." He murmured out, pouring the rest of the water batch by patch in his hands, watching with a small smile as the crow slurped it all up with.. joy?

Once it was all gone, the crow cawed at him as if to say thank you, and groomed its feathers once more before flying off with much more energy than it had before. A black, hard feather had floated down the sky from its body and landed besides Harry. Hesitantly, he picked it up and looked at it quietly.

His fingers tenderly stroked the plume, feeling the hard ridges under his fingers. It was so different, so unlike Hedwigs feathers which had been so soft and feathery. It was.. refreshing, for a change.

He had helped something. For once, he hadn't ruined anything. He actually did something.. right.

With a larger smile than before, he tenderly pocketed the feather and walked further down the sidewalk.

--

When he had finally found the perfect spot, he was exhausted.

Harry stumbled through the narrow, dimly-lit alleyway, his feet dragging against the cobblestones. Each step sent a jolt of pain up his legs, making him wince. The walk had worsened his injuries by time and he was terribly pained and tired, every muscle in his body ached, and his scar throbbed painfully as though echoing the torment he had endured.

Diagon Alley was his only refuge, the only place he felt somewhat safe other than Hogwarts. But getting there seemed impossible in his current state. He needed to apparate, but the fear of vomiting after was very much real. Harry had never been particularly skilled at it, but he didn’t have much choice now. The thought of spending another night at Privet Drive made him shudder.

His hands shook as he reached into his pocket for his wand. He was far too weak to cast a spell in this state. With a grunt of frustration, Harry leaned against the cold brick wall of the alley, closing his eyes as cold sweat dripped down his forehead.

He'd come this far. He couldn't stop. Not now. No doubt the Dursleys were celebrating his disappearance by now, so if he came back, the torment would be worse than the nightmare of his mother.

His mom.. Lily.

The thought sent a sudden surge of energy throughout his body and he could feel magic tingling from the tip of his wand.

With sudden determination, Harry pushed himself away from the wall and took a few cautious steps towards the end of the alley. He glanced around, making sure no one was watching him and took a deep breath of air, pointing his wand at the end of the alley and closing his eyes, muttering the incantation. Nothing happened at first. Harry felt a tug, a slight pull, but it wasn’t enough to transport him. He tried again, his voice a hoarse whisper.

This time, he felt a stronger pull, a twisting sensation, but it still wasn’t quite right. He could feel the destination calling to him, but his magic wasn’t responding.

Oh Merlin. What would his parents think of him? Not able to do a simple spell. He was an utter and worthless disappoinment.

Just as Harry was about to turn around to find another place to stay at, his magic spiked up and a cold breeze brushed past him, and he felt the familiar sensation of his body being drawn through the magical currents as he tightened his grip on his wand and willed himself to complete the journey. With a final, desperate push of magic, Harry felt the world shift around him, and he found himself standing in the heart of Diagon Alley.

True to his fears, he had stumbled forward and onto his hands and knees, retching onto the pavement below. It was sickening, he had always hated the method of transportation with a pure hatred right next to Voldemorts. Once the hell was over, Harry opened his tears stung eyes and gazed disgustingly at the bile before him - it wasn't even real vomit. It was pure, clear liquid of nothing digested other than filthy sink water. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of Dudleys old shirt and limped up, spitting on the floor to help alleviate the bitter taste in his mouth.

Thankfully, his little scandal hadn't attracted any unwanted attention towards himself as he gazed out at the bustling streets with witches and wizards going about their business. The familiar sight of wizards going on about their days caught his eye, and Harry felt a small ghost of a smile tug at his lips. It was good to be back among his kind, even if he was too tired to fully appreciate it at the moment.

With a shuddering breath, Harry collected himself and made his way towards the Leaky Cauldron, hoping to find a quiet corner to rest and hopefully, an unclaimed room at the pub.

~

Severus Snape sat in Dumbledores office, the flickering fire casting long, menacing shadows across the stone walls. His black robes billowed slightly as he moved, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the arm of his high-backed chair. The letter from Dumbledore had arrived earlier that morning, a cryptic missive sealed with the familiar Hogwarts crest. He had read it carefully, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed the contents of the cryptic message. Harry Potter, once again, was at the center of another storm surging.

The two often sent letters that would be pure babble towards others who read it. Though, it did hint at the message they wanted to say. They never knew when Voldemort or his followers could intercept one of their letters and if that happened, Severus would be doomed. Better safe than sorry. It had been barely past sunrise when Dumbledore had asked, well, ordered him to come up so they could have a.. chat. The silence was oppressing, and Snape had liked it better than hearing the old mans voice. But alas, questions were on the tip of his tounge. "You're telling me- that Harry James Potter, the Harry Potter , left the Dursleys and appirated to merlin knows where? This is a dimwitted move, Albus. Even for a Potters descendant." Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "A danger indeed, my boy. Without the wards protections, Harry is out like meat being waved in front of a starved lion, vulnerable. Heaven forbid he runs into a death eater, or worse." The word hung in the air, not needing any extra information to know who Dumbledore was implying. Him. "I'm afraid, Severus, that the burrow right now is unable to care for Harrys presence, neither Granger or her family.. this only leaves one person -" "Absolutely not. " Outrageous. This old codger thinks he was just gonna waltz in and take Potter, and care for that brat? Oh, what a joke. This could be Ravenclaws new riddle to enter the common room.

"Severus, you are, in fact, the best person for this task. And despite your... personal grudges, I believe you know this as well as I do."

"The best person ?" Snape spat, his voice dripping with incredulity. "Surely the list of candidates includes anyone else—anyone who does not wish to throttle him daily for his reckless disregard of common sense!"

"Harry requires protection, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted gently, though his tone carried a weight that brooked no argument. "He has lost the wards that shielded him and must now be under the care of someone capable of keeping him safe—not only from outside threats but also from his own, shall we say, Gryffindor tendencies. This is not permanent, my boy. It is only until we figure out the Dursleys situation and get him back in place." Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with maddening calm, a sharp contrast to the fire now simmering in Snape’s own glare.

"And how long may that be, headmaster?" Severus spat.

"The rest of summer."

"The rest of- Merlin-"

Dumbledore swiftly cut in with the one thing he knew would make Severus agree. His triumph card, manipulation of guilt. "Oh, but you surely must remember your promise to Lily?"

"Do not," Snape hissed, his eyes snapping open, "bring her into this. This is a punishment, Albus. Some perverse test of my patience and sanity. Do not utter of her name in hopes of achieving your goal."

That same twinkle in Dumbledores eyes that had faded away, came back. That look, that he knew he won. "Yes, of course my boy. I apologize. Back to the matter at hand, I estimate his stay in your care to be no more than the rest of the summer, two months, Severus."

With gritting teeth, his nails dug into the soft cushion of the seat underneath him as he spat out, " I will not coddle the boy. He will learn to act appropriately and do his studies accordingly. I will not indulge in meaningless activities of his type."

"Of course not, Severus," Dumbledore replied, his voice laden with faux innocence, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I would expect nothing less. Discipline, structure—these are things Harry may well benefit from in your care."

Snape let out a derisive snort. "Structure? Discipline? The boy is as wild as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. This is not a mere child we are speaking of, Albus, but a reckless, arrogant menace who seems to believe the rules of life do not apply to him."

"And yet," Dumbledore said lightly, "you have kept him alive for many years, Severus, despite everything. I have no doubt you can manage two months. If not, you would've never been a teacher."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. He was going to need a good numbing potion after this with the headache that was forming. A scowl overtook his face and he rose abruptly from the chair. His robes flared dramatically as he turned toward the door, his voice sharp and clipped. "I will collect the boy. But mark my words, Albus: if he so much as breathes improperly, I will personally deliver him back to you to find a new guardian." "Of course, Severus." He grit his teeth at that sickeningly sweet voice before striding out of the office without another word. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him, the echo reverberating through the stone halls of Hogwarts. If that boy uttered a single arrogant word taken by James, or plainly defies his rules, it would be a nasty summer for them both. It's time Potter learned his actions have consequences.