Chapter Text
The first time Molly Weasley had any inkling that her only daughter's fate may be even slightly entwined with that of the Boy Who Lived, was on a Thursday evening in late October 1986. The sun had set and a storm was on the horizon, already she could see the trees waving faintly in the breeze from her youngest son's bedroom window in the attic.
Ron had gone to bed with little complaint despite the early hour; she had taken her two youngest out most of the day scouring the landscape for wild fruits and berries as they started to ripen on the trees and hedgerows and both of them had been exhausted by the time they made it home. Ginny had taken a little more convincing that really she should go to bed and she didn't have to stay up any longer, but a mug of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows floating in the foamy top was good incentive to get in to bed.
Molly closed the door softly and made her way down the stairs to her youngest, reminding Fred and George who were about to go bounding up to their own room to keep it down and not wake their siblings. She pushed the door open to Ginny's room to retrieve the empty mug and frowned at the sight that greeted her.
Ginny always slept on her side, so it was a surprise to see her flat on her back, even more concerning was the staccato nature of he breathing, shallow and fast and wheezy with mutterings. She stepped further into the room and put her hand over her daughter's face. There was no temperature, she was obviously just having a nightmare.
Ginny's eyes snapped open and she stared sightlessly at the ceiling.
“Bad men are coming. Save Harry Potter.”
She blinked slowly and Molly tried to not look as disturbed as she felt.
“Night mum,” she said in a much more normal voice, looking as thought she was just on the edge of drifting off again.
“Goodnight Ginny,” she kissed her daughter on the forehead and went to firecall Dumbledore.
**
The first time Dumbledore knew something was seriously wrong was September 2nd 1996. It wasn't even 2 days in to term and already he found himself giving an audience to one of his students and when this particular one visited, he knew something bad was about to happen.
He poured himself a cup of tea and offered the pot to his young guest which she refused politely while she clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap.
“What can I do for you Miss Granger? It isn't often you visit me.” He tried to gauge what sort of information she was about to impart to him but she was unreadable. He could try legillimency but she would come out with it eventually on her own.
“Sir, it's about Harry.”
It was always about Harry. If the boy was having visions again he was going to have to ask Severus to start giving him lessons again and hope the results were slightly less explosive this time.
“About before he came to Hogwarts.”
Severus might be safe, he thought to himself as he took a sip of his tea, mulling over the idea of sweet flavoured teas. Maybe a sherbert lemon one. He hummed in acknowledgement and put on a comforting expression.
“Sir I think he was abused.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Abused?”
She nodded. “He's always been a bit tetchy, but something he said last year, sir I did some research when I got home and there were police reports-”
“Miss Granger,” he raised a hand to stop her. “Magical children often come to the attention of the police, it is not unusual in the slightest for accidental magic to get out of hand before one is properly trained.”
“But sir-”
“I checked on him several times as he was growing up, I had a member of the Order just down the road from him, if there were anything beyond a normal level of discipline or childish exuberance I would have been alerted.” He put on his most grandfatherly tone to try and appease her. Every year one of them suggested to him that maybe Potter shouldn't be going back to Privet Drive but there was no evidence for their accusations and weighing up the benefits of the protection the blood wards gave, it was more than worth the risk that he might occasionally receive a smack.
“Sir, I found this.”
She was holding out a printed piece of paper to him, not parchment but muggle paper, printed upon rather than written, slightly crumpled around the edges as though it had been read over and over again.
Intrigued he took it from her and felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. This was not good at all.
**
The first time Severus knew he was going to hell was a cold January evening in 1996. Dumbledore, in all his wisdom, had insisted he teach the boy occlumency so he didn't have any more visions. Dumbledore had therefore ensured that he would have to subject himself to all of the nonsense inside the boy's brain.
“Potter, leave your bag by the door and stand in the middle of the room.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the boy dropped his bag to the floor with a thud and left it there, didn't even attempt to push it up against the wall.
“Has Dumbledore told you anything of what you will be doing here?”
Potter shook his head. Of course he hadn't.
“I am going to attempt to break into your mind, Potter. We are going to see how well you resist. As you have already shown some aptitude in resisting the Imperius, this may come naturally to you. Or it may not. Brace yourself.”
Potter shifted his feet on the floor, looking as though the might be getting ready to physically fight him and he snorted softly. “Legillimens.”
A softly simmering cauldron, Umbridge, Weasley winning at chess, blackness, Lupin, the Order headquarters, the closing door of a bathroom stall- He stopped the spell, he had no desire to watch Potter use the bathroom.
“Clearly not.” Potter looked as though he had run a marathon, sweat was dripping down his face and he was panting hard.
“You need to clear your mind Potter, take everything you don't want me to see and hide it.” He allowed the cruel smirk to glide across his face, nothing like a bit of fear to jolt the mind into action.
“Ready?”
“What? No!”
“Legilimens.”
Potter was panicking, trying to push a memory at him, one of him flying laps around the quidditch pitch, and interesting tactic but not one that was going to work, he pushed it aside and rifled freely through the memories the boy didn't want him to see. He was expecting to see him sneaking into the kitchens with his constant shadows, maybe sneaking out after curfew under his damned invisibility cloak, but not this.
Potter on he knees in the bathroom, a seventh year Slytherin cumming on his face, Potter on his back in an abandoned classroom, Victor Krum fucking him viciously, Potter on a thick plush rug, seemingly tiny in front of the giant of a man who fed his cock into his mouth and praised him, called him a good boy, Potter being spit-roasted by more men he didn't recognise, Potter on his knees, on his back, sitting astride-
He jerked himself from the boy's mind and had to take a step backwards to steady himself. “Potter, what in the...?”
“See something you like professor?”
Severus gaped and it took the two seconds he was temporarily speechless for Potter's entire demeanour to change. No longer cocky and arrogant, Potter was sleek and graceful, stalking towards him like a predator as he dropped his robes, one fluid motion onto his knees before him and he didn't even manage to get out an objection before the boy's hands were on his robes, tugging open buttons, pressing against his erection he didn't even realise he had through his trousers and suddenly the pressure was gone and he was blissfully free and it was hot and wet and Potter had his cock in his mouth.
Potter had his mouth on his cock.
His cock was in Potter's mouth.
Oh God he was going to Hell. Dumbledore was going to kill him, Lily would kill him again when he died. Half the wizarding world would be lining up to execute him if anyone ever knew about this. He put his hand on Potter's head to push him away but the boy did something with his tongue that almost made his knees buckle and instead he found his hand gripping the boy's hair, using it to pull him closer, fucking his mouth and Potter was moaning like a Nocturn Alley whore even as he pulled harder and thrust faster, there was no way he was breathing properly as Severus' cock slid past the back of his mouth and down his silky soft throat and he came suddenly with a cry, holding Potter's head in place as he exploded down the boy's throat.
It was only when Potter tapped him lightly on the leg that he thought to move and not kill the Boy Who Lived.
There was cum running down the corner of Potter's mouth as he withdrew and that incredibly talented tongue darted out to lick it up. Potter looked like the cat that had got the cream, he was grinning up at him and Severus wanted to throw him over his desk and fuck him until he couldn't grin any more, until he was a sobbing, loose, mess, begging for his cum.
His cock twitched and Potter's grin grew. He was most definitely going to Hell.
**
The first time Harry felt wanted was a stormy Thursday evening. He knew it was Thursday because Thursdays were his favourite days. Thursdays they got to visit the library. Only now the joy of free reign over all the books he wanted, or all the ones he could read at any rate, was quickly fading as the driving rain dripped down the back of his neck and into his shirt. He didn't have a coat, the Dursleys had said they couldn't afford to get him one, Dudley had got one because he was more delicate, he would get ill more easily. Dudley had been picked up over an hour ago, to go to a friend's house to play Playstation and eat turkey dinosaurs. Harry's bus had been cancelled.
The next one was half an hour away, he would be home after dinner time, but it wasn't like he'd get much to eat anyway. He wished he had a friend he could go home with and have a hot meal, a friend whose parents could pick him up and save him from the cold. He shivered to himself and wrapped his arms around his chest, hoping to keep in some of his own heat.
“Harry?”
He looked up to find his English teacher staring at him from the car park, a box balanced on his hip as he opened the boot of his car.
“What are you doing? Why are you still here?”
“My bus was cancelled, Mr Hindley.”
“Why isn't Dudley with you?”
“Dudley went to a friend's house, his friend's dad picked them up.”
“Do you have your uncle's phone number Harry? We'll give him a call and get him to come pick you up.”
Harry shook his head. “He'll be busy, I'll just wait for the bus.”
“I'm sure he'll be worried, you should be home by now.”
Harry shook his head again. The Dursleys were never worried about him, they barely even noticed he was there a lot of the time, unless he hadn't done the washing up before they got up in the morning, then they noticed him.
Thomas wasn't about to leave a 6 year old in the freezing rain and summoned Harry over, helping him into the passenger seat. The child was tiny, barely even the size of his own 4 year old and the clothes he was wearing were hanging off him, the water drenching them and weighing them down making their size even more apparent. He frowned to himself as he walked around to the driver's side, wondering what exactly was going on with the boy.
“Do you know your way home Harry?”
Harry nodded and directed him across town to Privet Drive as he basked in the warm air from the heater vents. Mr Hindley had laughed gently and turned up the heaters so a hot breeze was blowing past him, warming him through, evaporating some of the freezing water from his uniform.
They talked about the most recent book Harry had been reading, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, and Mr Hindley asked him what he thought of it, whether he would want to read the rest of the series.
“There's more of them?”
“There's seven of them in total, the series is called the Chronicles of Narnia, and the one you're reading is either the first or the second depending on who you ask.”
Harry frowned. “How can it be either?”
“It was written first but The Magician's Nephew, which was the 6th to be written, is set before it.”
“So I should have read that one first?”
“I don't think it really matters Harry, I think you should read them in whichever order you like.”
Harry's internal glow lasted all the way until he reached number 4 and his uncle's furious purple face came to the door.
“Where have you been boy?”
“Mr Dursley, I'm-”
“I don't care who you are. Where have you been?”
“My bus was cancelled,” he whispered, wishing he could vanish into the ground.
Vernon seemed to be fighting the urge to smack him in front of someone else and instead he growled at him to get inside and take off his wet clothes immediately.
Harry went, scrambling into his cupboard as fast as he could, trying to listen to the conversation at the door, but it slammed shut before he could hear anything.
“What was that about Vernon?” His aunt's voice came from the kitchen.
“Potter's teacher brought him home, seemed far too interested in the boy. Probably a nonce.”
Petunia laughed and the door closed behind Vernon, leaving Harry alone in silence. He shrugged out of his wet clothing, the heat from the car was seeping quickly from him, and wrapped himself in the threadbare blanket on his bed, reaching for his book bag. At least he was free to read now, maybe he could get Mr Hindley to find him the next one.