Chapter Text
Severus quite liked apparation. The act of simply vanishing from one place and appearing in another was very satisfying to him. Potter, however, did not seem to share this view. The child would have fallen over if Severus hadn’t shot an arm out and caught him by the back of the shirt. He looked positively green as well. Deciding that it would be best to not have the boy keel over, the professor gave him a few moments to recover. Even after the boy had steadied himself, Severus did not remove his hand from his back. Just to make sure he wouldn’t suddenly fall over again, of course.
After a full minute of heaving and unsteadiness, the boy stopped looking like he was going to collapse, so Severus stood back to his full height and started towards the house. Typically, he would check to see if Potter was actually following him, but this time, he didn’t have to. He had felt a tug on the back of his shirt, and he really didn’t need to turn around to know that there was a 12-year-old boy gripping it. The professor did not bother scolding him. It was natural for him to be afraid of the place where he had suffered so much abuse. If Severus hadn’t spent years and years erasing all evidence of Tobias Snape from Spinner’s End, he would be afraid to approach the place as well. And that bastard had been dead for almost a decade. He couldn’t imagine how terrified he would be to return there if the man who had made his childhood hell was there waiting for him.
Severus marched up to the house, with Potter trailing behind him. The boy said nothing, breathed quietly, and overall seemed to try to disappear. Again, the man could not really blame him.
“Potter, save the disappearing act until you’ve gotten that infernal Invisibility Cloak that I know Albus has to give you. Don’t lag behind.” He commanded.
The boy made a small noise, but not much else. Severus sighed and momentarily abandoned the issue. They were at the front door. Without much ceremony, the man raised his fist and pounded on the door. Potter startled, yanking on his shirt. Severus turned and raised an eyebrow at the child, who quickly released him with a look of shame and mild fear on his face.
The professor would have taken a few seconds to assure the boy that he did not mind him holding on when faced with kresent circumstances, if not for the sound of the door unlatching and swinging open. He snapped his head back to the doorway and instantly forced himself inside, hardly acknowledging Petunia along the way. He would not have even bothered to speak to her at all during the visit if he hadn’t suddenly heard her shrill voice from behind him. It was not a nasty insult or jab at him, though. It was directed at Potter.
“Boy! What are you doing!? And…where did you get those clothes?!” She shrieked, then brought up her hand. The boy flinched. “You’ve been stealing again!”
Petunia did not slap him, though. She hesitated, glanced at Severus, then slowly brought her hand back down. At that moment, Potter’s whale of an Uncle came lumbering in.
“What is it, Pet? What’s going on? Should I go get the-” The man froze when he saw Severus. “You! What are you doing here again?”
He glanced down at Potter, who quickly averted his gaze.
“Oh. You’ve found the brat.”
The “brat” flinched at the name.
“Pet, why don’t you make our guest some tea in thanks for finding our…nephew. I’ll take him up to his room. Dudley has been so bored without him…” The whale spat the title of ‘nephew’, then twisted his face into a smile that was likely meant to be normal rather than evil, then took the boy by the back of his neck.
Potter was marched away and up the stairs like a man being led to his death. He looked just as horrified as well. Severus knew he needed to act quickly.
“Actually, he is not here to stay. We are here to collect his belongings.”
The two Dursleys glanced at each other. Then, Petunia spoke.
“Vernon, dear, why don’t you and Dudley help Harry with his things? Severus and I will have a talk in the kitchen about what is to be done with the boy.”
If any other person had been speaking, Severus would have assumed that they were worried about where their nephew would be saying. But the professor knew better. So, he followed the sour woman into the kitchen, determined to get whatever stupid conversation he would be having with her over with before her husband decided the boy needed a belting.
— — — — — — — —
Harry could not help but feel like a lamb to the slaughter. Uncle Vernon’s hand was on the back of his neck, propelling him up the stairs, and he was already turning red.
“I don’t know how you got out, or what you’ve told that freak downstairs, boy, but you’ll regret every moment of it!” He hissed as they made it to the top of the stairs. He then shoved the boy inside his tiny room and locked him inside. “You better hope that I can convince that freak to keep you, otherwise I’ll be up to deal with you later.”
Harry stumbled back from the force and fell to his bum. For a moment, the only sound that accompanied him was the clicking of locks. Then, silence. He couldn’t hear his uncle going downstairs. He couldn’t even hear the conversation between Petunia and Snape from the kitchen below. If it was that quiet, that meant that nobody was yelling, and if nobody was yelling, then it meant that Snape and his relatives weren’t fighting. Harry swallowed down a wave of disappointment and panic. What else had he expected? Snape hated him. Of course he would be getting along with his relatives! The healing and all the other stuff was…ugh, Harry didn’t know. Maybe he had done this in some ploy to get on the Dursleys’ good side? So they would let him in on the Summer Torture of Harry Potter? It certainly seemed like something they would do.
Harry didn’t have time to spiral further into this horrid train of thought, because at that moment, the door swung open. The boy looked up, hope sparking in his heart that it was Snape, come to help him get his things and take him away from there. That spark was instantly extinguished. In Harry’s doorway, in all of his pig-faced glory, was Dudley Dursley. And he looked rather gleeful to see his favorite target again.
— — — — — — — —
Severus Snape had never been in a house so deplorable. It was spotless, smelled of bleach and strongly artificial flowery scents, and held countless portraits of the ugliest little boy he had ever seen in his life on every part of the light pink walls. Seeing it a second time was somehow worse than the first. Before, he had hardly glanced at anything, his search for Potter at the forefront of his mind. This time, though, he was forced to take everything in as Petunia guided him to the kitchen.
The harsh creaking of the stairs, along with a distinct feeling of having holes glared into his skull, told Severus that Mr. Dursley had returned from the upstairs, effectively boxing him in. The professor resisted the urge to scoff. Morons.
“Mr. Dursley. I thought you were going to help your nephew pack?”
The man did not reply. He simply followed Severus and Petunia to the kitchen. Petunia did not even bother to put the kettle on.
“Right.” Severus huffed. “You’re wondering what will happen to Potter, ye-?”
He never finished his sentence. The red-faced whale of a man plowed right over him.
“We don’t care. Take him. Take him and never bring him back. He’s been nothing but a nuisance and a problem ever since we got him, and we would be glad to be rid of him.” The man’s red face grew darker and darker until it was almost purple as he spoke.
Severus gritted his teeth as to not let loose several curses upon him.
“Vernon. We cannot let him go. Without him here, those protections that keep us safe from..from the freak that killed Lily disappear.” Petunia hissed from behind him.
Severus saw an opportunity, and, like any good Slytherin, snatched it immediately. He grinned.
“The boy will be leaving this house, Petunia. Those wards that keep you safe? They’ve just been shrinking and shrinking. In fact, they are almost gone. The Dark Lord’s followers are not likely to attack this house unless Potter is here, and with the wards failing, that means that keeping him is far more dangerous than just letting me take him.”
Both Dursleys paled.
“What? Failing?” Petunia whispered.
“Yes, they are failing; shrinking down farther and farther, until they will no longer protect anyone. The magic-” Petunia scowled at the word. Vernon turned purple. “-that protects this home is one based off of blood, yes, but it cannot sustain itself when there is a deficit of love. And I would wager that beating the child and locking him in the shed did not foster a feeling of affection for you.”
Petunia opened her mouth to retort, to say something that would likely send Severus into a fit of rage.
“Silence. I know what you have done.” He hissed. “You have tortured and abused that child for his entire life. You have done nothing but hurt him. It’s a mystery for the ages why the wards did not fall before now.”
Even as he said it, Severus knew that was a lie. He was fairly certain that he knew exactly why the Potter boy still considered this his home. The boy still childishly vied for their love, even though he knew it would never come. Before Hogwarts, it was unlikely that the boy had ever even experienced such a thing. At least, not after his parents died. So, as far as Severus could tell, he had done the same thing the professor had done with his father: sought after any and all scraps of love and care and kindness he could find in his relatives. Only… it wasn’t quite the same. Severus had his mother and Lily as a child. Potter had… no one. No wonder he attached himself to the youngest Weasley boy and the Granger girl like his life depended on it. He had no one else. Severus grotted his teeth.
“Potter is coming with me, and he will never return. If you receive a visit from Albus Dumbledore, you will not tell him about me, or I will change my mind about delivering a slow and painful death to the both of you.”
Severus was snarling by the time he finished with his threat. Petunia was trembling. Vernon looked pissed. The professor sneered at him.
“An objection, Dursley?”
The whale opened his mouth to speak, but Petunia tried to stop him.
“Vernon. Vernon, don-“
She was unsuccessful.
“I will NOT be bossed around in MY OWN HOME by a FREAK!” He shouted.
Severus was just ready to start cursing him into oblivion, but a thud and a soft cry of pain instantly transformed his boiling rage into fierce concern. With a quick sticking charm on both Dursleys to keep them in place, he beelined to the bottom of the stairs.
“I’ll be back for the two of you.” He said over his shoulder.
He then rushed upstairs.
— — — — — — — —
Harry had tried to be quiet when Dudley had started hitting him, he really had! But getting slammed into his rickety desk had elicited a yelp of pain. Harry was a tough boy, but getting his spine jammed into the corner of a wooden object was painful enough that he couldn’t keep his lips locked.
Pain had exploded up through his spine and into his neck and head. It was so harsh that he hardly even felt his body hit the floor. The pain only increased as Dudley got on top of him and started punching him in the face. Harry didn’t know why Dudley was so angry. He was almost never this violent, except when his friends were around. In his wondering, Harry hardly recognized that both his nose and his glasses had been broken. He didn’t have much more time to wonder, however, because in the next second, his fat cousin was being yanked off of him.
Harry covered his head and curled into a ball, knowing that the only reason Vernon or Petunia would stop Dudley was to beat him themselves.
A man’s voice snarled at him.
Vernon, then. And so soon after the last belting. That fact alone made Harry want to cry. He couldn’t, of course. It wasn’t allowed. So he just whimpered out as many apologies as he could think of.
For the first time in his life, Harry wished that Professor Snape was there. That he had stayed. That he hadn’t been talked into leaving him there. Then again, nobody hated Harry more than Snape did. Why was he surprised?
Hands touched him, and he instinctively recoiled. He waited for the blows to come, for the pounding to begin, but… it never did. The hands didn’t hurt, bruise, or strangle. They instead gently pulled his arms from over his head. Harry didn’t dare open his eyes to look. He was hallucinating. Or unconscious. Or dead. That’s the only reason any one of the adults in the house would be touching him gently.
The voice hadn’t stopped speaking, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to what it was saying. The pain that was still radiating from his spine made his head hurt. On top of that, his whole body hurt. It made it very hard to think.
“Harry! Answer me!” The voice cut through the fog.
Harry’s eyes snapped open instantly, and were met with a lot of black. Black clothes, black hair, black eyes. Snape.
Before he could turn away and apologize for his childish behavior, the man’s slender fingers were wrapped around either side of his face, holding him in place.
“Professor…?” He asked in a tremulous voice.
The man did not respond, instead opting to inspect every inch of Harry’s face. Eyes, nose, teeth, and glasses; nothing went unchecked. When the man seemed satisfied, he released Harry with a sigh.
“We’ll treat your injuries when we get back to my house, alright?” He said in a quiet voice.
His house? He was really not going to be left at Private drive?
“Harry. Verbal response please.”
There it was again. The use of his first name. It was still shocking to hear it come from Snape’s mouth, though, which spurred Harry into a response.
“U-um, yessir.”
“Good.”
Snape stood and held out his hand for Harry to take. Harry took it, and was pulled up as Snape straightened to his full height.
“Where is your trunk?” He asked.
Harry blinked a few times, still feeling a bit lightheaded.
“D-downstairs. In m’ cupboard. In th’ cupboard under the stairs…” He mumbled in reply.
Snape gave him an odd look, then released him.
“If there’s anything in your room you wish to take with you, please get it now and meet me downstairs. We will be leaving shortly.”
Harry nodded fervently. Snape just watched him for a moment, then crept back down the stairs. The boy quickly shut the door after he had gone. After all, he didn’t want anybody to see the loose floorboard where he kept his most important possessions. He knew that he wasn’t lucky enough to never end up back at Privet Drive again, so that was one secret he didn’t want anybody knowing.
— — — — — — — —
Severus was still seething. How DARE that little pig of a boy attack Potter while he was just downstairs! Did he really think he could just get away with it?! That brat was lucky that he got away before Severus could do worse than a stinging hex. Entitled, pompous little…
Several things were on Severus’ mind as the Potter boy quietly closed his bedroom door to retrieve what little he possessed in peace. Added to the man’s fears and worries were the astounding number of locks on the door and the cat flap that sat at the bottom. The family did not own a cat (Petunia was allergic), so it was unclear what its use was. It couldn’t be anything good, though. Any theories that came to mind had Severus Occluding hard and willing himself not to lose his temper and raze the house while the boy was still in it.
Then came the cupboard. It blended in perfectly with the rest of the house, but… something about it was wrong. The padlock on the door was the most obvious thing that was off with it. Why were Potter’s school things locked away?
As Severus leaned down to spell the lock off, his keen eyes caught something else. Dips in the pristine paint. As if it had been scratched away, then painted over…
Surely not. Anything but that. Surely they hadn’t forced-
The door creaked on its hinges as he opened it, fueling the sense of dread he felt about what he would find inside. With a slightly trembling hand, he reached for the cord hanging from the exposed lightbulb in the center of the cupboard and clicked on the light.
As expected, the boy’s school trunk was there, with an extra padlock on the latch, for good measure. But that wasn’t the only thing he found. He found the most horrific scene he had every come across. Worse than anything he had seen in his Death Eater days, worse than any other abuse case he had investigated, and worse than seeing Lily Evan’ dead body on the nursery floor.
There was a small mattress pushed up against the far corner of the room, smaller than a twin sized bed, covered in a ratty and worn blanket and a flat pillow. All of the items were dotted with bloodstains, both old and new.
A lineup of broken tin soldiers marched across the top shelf, standing proudly despite their missing limbs and faces.
Most heartbreaking of all, there were little drawings taped to the wall, snapped crayons sitting neatly in a box beneath them.
One depicted what seemed to be spiders, their circular purple bodies each surrounded by eight black lines. Every one had a name written beneath it, with the caption of “My friends” at the bottom of the page. Severus felt a sharp pain in his chest. But that was nothing, nothing compared to the pain he felt when he ran his fingers over the small drawing beneath it.
“Harry’s Room” was all it said. The words were in the simple handwriting of a child, in a pretty shade of blue. A wave of sickness washed over the man.
Just what horrors had this child faced? Just what kind of childhood had he endured? How was it possible that Dumbledore let his golden boy suffer even more than Severus had as a child? If Severus didn’t know any better, he would have thought he felt a tear roll down his face.
But that was ridiculous. He hadn’t cried since the night Lily died.
Lily.
Beautiful, radiant Lily, who he had promised, vowed to, to protect her son. And he had failed. Oh he had failed. The child- Harry- had suffered unimaginable torture for his entire life, and Severus had not bothered to check on him once. He had foolishly assumed that he would be a pampered little brat, and moved on. Never once did he follow up on his promise. The boy could have easily died in this house, and Severus would have done nothing.
Carefully, reverently, he pulled each toy soldier off of the wall and slipped them into his pockets. He then gently unstuck every drawing, folded them along ancient creases, and tucked them in his pockets as well. He didn’t know if any of the items were precious to Potter, but it was best to leave nothing behind. The professor then reached out and took hold of the boy’s trunk.
My cupboard. That’s what the boy had said. The drawings on the wall had proclaimed the place as his room. He had considered that awful place his own. Possibly the only thing he was allowed to claim. It made Severus sick.
Determination overtook heartbreak as he withdrew from the small room. It was his fault that the boy had suffered so. As such, it was his duty to fix it. And fix it he would.
Rage, white hot, stronger than ever before, flushed into his system.
Yes, he would fix everything. Starting with sorting out those monsters that dared do all this to the boy.
The killing curse.
It was a curse that required true intent, true malice, and true hatred of the target. Severus had never been able to cast it before. Never truly desired to do it. But then, at that very moment, he, Severus Snape, had the curse on the very tip of his tongue, absolutely vying to use it.
He would have done it, too. He would have killed man, woman, and child, with absolutely no regrets, if it hadn’t been for the small tug on the back of his shirt.
All of that boiling rage slowed to a simmer as he turned to face the too-small-for-his-age boy trying to hold him back.
“Potter. Release me at once.” He hissed.
“No! Please, professor! Please don’t kill them!” The child pleaded.
Severus halted. Why? Why would Potter not wish death and destruction on those who had hurt him continuously for almost 13 years?
He finally looked down, into the boy’s face. His eyes, Lily’s eyes, were looking up at him with abject terror. Severus felt as the last pillars supporting his preconceived notions about Potter crumbled. He was terrified of what Severus would do to those who had tortured and abused him. Harry Potter had grown up with nothing and no one and yet, he had not gone down the path of bitterness and hatred. He was good, and kind, and so full of care for everything and everyone. He had not nurtured feelings of malice towards his relatives like Severus had for his father. He did not wish to see them wiped from the face of the Earth.
As much as Severus desperately wanted to slice them up and burn the pieces, he did not particularly want the boy to go running in terror into the clutches of Sirius Black. So, he took several moments to take deep breaths and Occlude.
When he was finally calm again, he holstered his wand and let out a sigh.
“Fine. I will not harm them. Do you have your things?” The man eyed the bag in Potter’s hands. The boy nodded. “Good. We will leave immediately.”
Severus flung open the door, letting the doorknob make a nice dent in the wallpaper, then ushered Harry outside. He then shrunk the boy’s trunk and stepped outside. He briefly considered undoing the sticking charm he had placed over the two adult Dursleys, but decided that he would rather come back later to deal with them. And oh he would. The thought of Harry’s abusers getting what they deserved made him feel a bit lighter.
Together, the two of them walked off the property. Severus held out his arm for Harry to take, and, after a moment of hesitation, he did. The professor cast one more glance over Harry, who had his eyes screwed shut, then apparated out of Privet Drive.