A/N. So I've had this idea in mind for a while now. It feels good to have finally put it down on paper. I would really appreciate feedback! Thanks and enjoy! :)
Oh, I almost forgot: J.K. Rowling owns everything except for this particular plot. There are two bits marked with *. These are not my creation, they are taken either from the Harry Potter books or movies.
Some things to bear in mind when reading this: 1) Harry Potter is actually Harriet Potter (female). 2) The narrative takes place before the beginning of 6th year.
Chapter One: The Brat-Who-Lived
It was a rusty summer evening. The bright orange sky diffused into a watery purple as the last bit of sun disappeared into the horizon. The unbearable heat of the day was somewhat subdued with the first evening breeze, as the last little boy playing outside Number Four Privet Drive was called in by his mother for supper.
As if reading her mind, a loud, groused sound came from Harriet's stomach. Choosing to ignore the noise she was so accustomed to, she re-focused her eyes on the darkening horizon and tried to think of absolutely nothing. Placing her forehead on the window-pane, she readjusted her glasses and wondered just how on earth she was supposed to survive the next couple of weeks with the Dursleys. This summer had been particularly bad. Apart from the customary chores she was expected to do around the house in no time, Harriet Potter had also found herself on the receiving end of Vernon's wrath. Even Petunia seemed to avoid him around the house since he had been made redundant, a fact that Harriet was openly blamed for every other day. You ungrateful brat, we took you off the streets, put a roof over your head and you repay us by infesting our lives with your freakishness? And a few weeks later it got worse. Aunt Marge was on the way to see the Dursleys when she crashed her car into a tree and died later in hospital. It so happened that Harriet had been in the vicinity of the living room when Vernon hung up the telephone. It's not enough that you financially crucified us, no; you had to go ahead and kill Marge with your aberrations, just like you blew her up last time! You're not worthy of breathing the same air as us, you filthy little monster! She tried to run when Vernon started undoing his belt, but his hand clenched in her hair and effortlessly dragged her upstairs to shake the freakishness out of her. Harriet could still feel some of the angrier welts on her back and thighs and she still flinched when she sat down. But despite all this the summer had gone by rather quickly and in two weeks she would be back home.
And yet, her approaching departure to Hogwarts did not enchant the customary sparks of happiness within her. There would no letters from him this year. No packages, no hope that maybe next summer she would live with somebody that actually cared about her. The nightmares had also been significantly worse since the incident in the Department of Mysteries. They tended to start off with Cedric falling dead, but quickly metamorphosed to Sirius falling through The Veil, over and over each night in a sadistic replay of painful memories; then came the screaming, the kicking and sometimes even Vernon's backhand if she screamed particularly loudly and woke him up. Eventually, the lack of proper food and much water ensured that she was too weak to scream or cry too loudly.
It was all her fault that Sirius had died. If only she had kept Voldemort out of her head, if only she had tried harder at Legilimency, he would still be alive and she would not be an emotional mess. But she knew she deserved the sadistic pain she was enduring. She deserved every single tear to burn through her cheek and into her soul. They had all died because of her. Her parents, her godfather, Cedric; Harriet couldn't help but wonder with dread who would be next. Ron? Hermione? She swallowed back a mortified sob as Hedwig gave her a sorrowful look, followed by a hungry screech.
"I'm sorry Hedwig….you know I can't!" whispered Harriet. "Two more weeks and we'll be free," she said not quite sure if she was talking to the owl or to herself.
Severus Snape brought his goblet to his lips with calculated accuracy. Far too sweet, he thought as Dumbledore, who was sitting at his office, smiled at the clearly disgusted look on his face. "Ah, my dear Severus," he said lightly, "I take it you are not accustomed with Mead," he said cheerfully, finishing his goblet in two sips. "Fabulous muggle drink; fermented honey is a delight of the heart, or as some call it, nectar of the gods."
Severus wanted to say something rather dissimilar about delights of the heart but abstained, maintaining a neutral expression and hoping that Dumbledore had not summoned him at such a late hour simply to acquaint him with his bizarre taste in beverages. A certain number of painted previous headmasters and headmistresses eyed Dumbledore a little skeptically as his goblet refilled hastily. Just when Snape thought he would be offered a lemon drop, Dumbledore's expression became rather somber and far too serious for his liking. "I'm afraid I have some rather bad news, Severus," he said seriously, pouring himself another goblet of Mead. Snape simply raised his eyebrows in a questioning glare as if Dumbledore was merely making a comment about the weather forecast. He was far too accustomed to bad news to be surprised by the Headmaster's increasingly customary somber voice and wondered what on earth the old man would get him into this time.
"It has come to my attention earlier today that the blood wards at Number Four Privet Drive have unexpectedly fallen sometime last week," said Dumbledore gravely.
Okay, this, he had not expected. This was actually serious because it meant that once again, the ungrateful brat was in trouble and therefore Snape had to do something about it. If he had known that James Potter's spawn would cause so much trouble he would have castrated the idiot himself.
"And what, pray tell me, could have possibly led to that, Albus?" asked Snape in an acrimonious tone that did not betray his distaste of any subject revolving around the famous girl who lived.
"My guess is a drastic change in Harriet's emotions about her living situation," replied Dumbledore, his black hand stroking his long beard pensively.
"So the brat simply decided that her living situation is suddenly inadequate?" he asked in enraged disbelief. Oh the cheek the girl possessed. After all the sacrifices other has made for her she suddenly decided, out of her stupid thirst for attention, that she just didn't want to live there anymore?
"Now, now Severus, you know as well as I do that blood wards only work if Harriet considers Privet Drive her home. Something quite drastic must have occurred for such a change to ensure."
"Yes, her enraged thirst for attention," he spat. "She probably views that muggle dwelling unfit for someone as famous as she!" said Snape no longer attempting to conceal his anger and disgust at the news.
"I'm sure that if you took time to get to know the girl your prejudiced opinions about her would change quite drastically," said Dumbledore with a slight smile as though he could see something that Snape did not.
"My opinions are not prejudiced! She is just like her dear father! In fact", he said as his voice became silkier, "she is far worse. She possesses no measurable talent, her arrogance rivals even that of her father and she seems to relish in her fame*." Dumbledore was still smiling by the time Snape finished his sentence, an observation which made the latter's eyebrows furrow in annoyance.
"Perhaps, my dear boy, what you are about to be assigned will change your rigid view of Harriet. She really is quite lovely once you get to know her."
"And what would that be?" he asked in a sardonically polite voice.
"It is obvious enough that Harriet would be in grave danger should she remain at Number Four Privet Drive while the blood wards are down. Naturally, the safest place for her is here at Hogwarts. Lemon drop?" he asked extending a small bowl to Severus who declined with a scornful "No, thank you."
"They really are quite nice," said Dumbledore as he took his time to chew the sweet while Snape's patience was really beginning to run short. "I want you to collect Harriet from her relatives and bring her to Hogwarts," he finally said matter-of-factly as Snape clenched his jaw almost audibly.
"Why can't the wolf do it?" he spat angrily. What did Dumbledore take him for, the brat's personal escort?
"I'm afraid our dear friend Lupin has taken Sirius's death rather hard. He is quite distracted at the moment." Snape wanted to say something not too nice about their dear friend Lupin but decided against it.
"Why not, then, a member of the vast Weasley family? Surely they are better suited—"
"I already made up my mind, Severus. There is no one better suited than you. Besides, it is my wish for the girl to continue her Occlumency lessons before the start of the new school year."
"As you wish," said Snape coldly hoping that his duties would end there.
Oh but no.
"I also believe that the girl should not be staying alone in Gryffindor Tower during the remainder of the holidays. I already instructed a house elf to prepare the spare room in your quarters," he said quite simply. Within seconds, Snape was on his feet, his black eyes drilling holes into Dumbledore's forehead, his hands metamorphosing into fists.
"No," he said in a silky, poisonous voice.
"I did not ask for permission, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "Now please sit back down and let us continue this conversation in a civil manner," he said as Snape's goblet filled once more with Mead. Severus shot the Headmaster a murderous glare as he sat back down.
"We both know that this is your duty—"
"It is not my duty to live with Potter's spawn!" he spat bitterly.
"But you must, Severus. I will be away from Hogwarts on some rather important errands. She would not be as safe in Gryffindor Tower by herself as she would be in your quarters where you can keep an eye on her. You know she has a tendency to fall in harm's way."
"I beg to differ, Albus. She has a tendency of deliberately finding trouble!"
"Perhaps," agreed Dumbledore, "but this simply reinforces my previous point. You must ensure her safety for the duration of the summer holidays. You owe this to Lily," he finished as Snape's features erupted in pain for mere seconds before adopting the customary mask of neutrality.
"Don't!" he said warningly. "She has nothing to do with this."
"My dear boy, but she has everything to do with this. We are discussing her daughter after all. Surely you can overlook her striking resemblance to James and see that part of Lily lives on in Harriet's green eyes."
"She is nothing like Lily," spat Snape as if his beloved had been insulted.
"She is more like Lily than you would like to admit, Severus," said Dumbledore patiently. "You promised to keep her safe. We must ensure that Lily's sacrifice was not in vain."
Snape said nothing more of the torturous task he had been given by Albus, who was not eating another lemon drop. But Dumbledore did not, could not, understand the agony he felt every time he saw the eyes of his beloved piercing at him from the hated face of his worst enemy, his rival. "Very well," he eventually said in his customary cold voice as he stood up and made his way towards the door of the Headmaster's office, his black cloak giving him the appearance of an overgrown bat. "But I must warn you not to expect her to receive any special treatment from me. She will follow my rules and should she break them there will be consequences. I will not put up with her arrogance or her cheek."
"I knew you'd come around, Severus," said Dumbledore in a pleased tone. "But you must try to be at least a little gentler with her. She has been a little shaken by her godfather's sudden death."
"With all due respect Albus, but if you wanted someone to be gentle with the brat, you should have taken her in yourself," he said in an ear-blistering voice that hinted slight impatience. Dumbledore said nothing more, but his eyes twinkled ever so slightly behind his half-moon spectacles as Snape disappeared out of the office with heavy steps.
Petunia Dursley's unexpected shriek made Harriet jump out of her skin. The bread knife she was vigorously trying to scrub dug into her palm and the sink acquired a few drops of crimson red. She barely had time to swear under her breath when her aunt walked briskly into the kitchen ordering Harriet to "Go and pack! Someone's here to collect you!"
"Who?" she asked as she bandaged her injured hand with an old napkin as Petunia gave her a revolted look.
"Watch out with that blood! I don't want you contaminating the house!" she spat and, turning on her heels, departed from the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to Harriet's question. Heading out of the kitchen herself, Harriet peeked at the hallway, but there was no one there waiting for her. She did not fret however. After all, she knew the Dursleys would never voluntarily welcome a witch or wizard into their home. So as quickly as she could with a bleeding hand, Harriet shoved all her belongings into her Hogwarts trunk, took hold of Hedwig's cage and headed downstairs. Without a second thought, she opened the door positively beaming at the thought of her premature escape from Privet Drive when she saw him.
"Snape?" He was facing the other way, tall and dark as ever, his hands behind him. Upon hearing his name, he abruptly turned on his heels to stare at the brat with a mixture of sternness and annoyance.
"Potter," he snapped. "Late as always."
"Why are you here?" she asked abruptly, not attempting to hide the contempt in her voice. Snape simply raised an eyebrow at her interrogative question.
"I am escorting you back to Hogwarts," he said coldly, his black obsidian eyes taking in her appearance. Far too thin, he thought as he contemplated upon her heavy eye bags for a moment.
"Back to Hogwarts?"
"How very perceptive you are, Potter," said Snape with a faint sneer. "Yes, back to Hogwarts where you will remain until the start of term."
"Why?" Harriet asked thoroughly confused. Why would Dumbledore not send her to the Burrow instead, where she could be in the company of people she actually liked? "Why didn't Dumbledore come to collect me? Why you?" she said suspiciously as Snape took a few irritated steps towards her.
"Not that it is any of your concern, but Professor Dumbledore is away on important errands. Now cease this nonsensical questioning and take my arm!" he snapped, extending his arm towards Harriet.
"Take-take your arm?"
"Unless you wish to splinch yourself in an attempt to apparate alone, and believe me I would be very sympathetic if that were the case, then stop wasting my time with your senseless comments and do as you are told!" he snapped in an ear-blistering tone as Harriet hurriedly grabbed his arm.
Within seconds, Harriet found herself being pressed hard from all directions in a bottomless, black vacuum. To her horror, her hand squeezed that of her professor even tighter as she felt her lungs being compressed and deprived of air. Just when she thought she was close to being condensed to death, her surroundings materialized, her lungs filled once more with air and the compression ceased. The nausea, however, did not, as she found herself on all fours, throwing up the very scarce content of her stomach.
"Charming, Potter," said Snape sourly as his eyes pondered inquisitively for a few seconds upon Harriet's lack of dinner content.
"You could have warned me!" she said reproachfully as she stood up wobbling on her feet, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. Snape simply smirked as he said: "Yes, I could have," and without further ado, he started making his way towards the castle, gesturing for Harriet to follow him. She did so, wishing that looks could kill. Just this once.
"Hey, why are we going to the dungeons?" she asked when the corridor became darker, the stairs steeper and the temperature colder. At first, Harriet thought Snape would not dignify her question with an answer, but to her surprise, he responded in his customary impassive voice. "It is the Headmaster's belief that it would be safer for you to remain in my quarters as opposed to Gryffindor Tower until the commencement of term."
"Live…live with you?" she asked seemingly oblivious to the fact that her feet stopped of their own accord. She simply started at Snape's black cloak in shock.
"Yes, Potter, that is what I said," he responded without turning.
"No. No bloody way!" she snapped. Snape abruptly turned on his heels, looking at the spawn-who-lived with a mixture of annoyance and humour. Of course she is bound to make a scene, he thought.
"Language Potter!" he reproved, but Harriet's eyebrows only furrowed together even more. This cannot be happening, she thought in annoyance. Why would Dumbledore of all people make her stay with the greasy bat? She was almost certain that battling a Hippogriff with her bare hands would be simpler than living with Snape for two torturous weeks. "No!" she repeated in annoyance, feeling very much betrayed. "I will not live with you."
"Believe me, this is certainly not my ideal situation either. However, given the circumstances there is, regretfully, no alternative." His black obsidian eyes bore into Harriet for a moment as he pondered upon the gravity of the situation. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became with the four eyed copy of James Potter. He furrowed his eyebrows as the girl showed no sign of remorse. How very typical, he thought, so much like her father.
"What are you talking about? What circumstances?" she asked forgetting her annoyance for a minute as she eyed him in confusion. "Why can't I just stay with the Dursleys?"
"Do you take pride in your ignorance, Potter?" he asked in a sour voice that sent chills down Harriet's spine. Her confusion simply increased. Snape seemed to imply that the situation she found herself in was her own fault and yet she could not recall having done anything that would necessitate her removal from her Dursleys. Unless Dumbledore and therefore Snape knew what Vernon did, a thought which made her face a few shades paler. When she did not respond, Snape continued in an ear blistering tone. "Or are you so self-absorbed that you find yourself unable to account for your actions? After everything others have done for your safety, this is how you repay them? By endangering yourself out of your cry for attention? You selfish girl!" he snapped and for the first time that night looked positively livid. Harriet instinctively took a step back, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushing red. "What was it this time, Potter?" continued Snape, closing the space between them by taking a step in her direction. "What stupidity did you engage in to make the blood ward collapse?"
"The blood wards collapsed?" she asked shakily, wandering green eyes searching his face for some sort of answer. But Snape's eyebrows only furrowed together more, the permanent line between them seemingly becoming deeper. "I didn't do anything!" she added when his facial expression spelled out I-will-chop-you-up-and-boil-you-in-your-own-cauldron.
"Yes, you are as innocent as your swine of a father ever was!" he snapped and, getting hold of her arm, led her briskly into the dungeons without another word.
Harriet would never admit that a room in Snape's quarters could ever be described as nice, but truthfully, it really was. There was a single bed, an enchanted window with a view of the Dark Lake, a desk and a wardrobe. The customary stone floor was covered by a green rug and her school trunk was neatly placed next to the bed.
Snape has said nothing else once they arrived in his quarters. He simply dismissed her to her room with a gesture of his hand and retreated to his vast library. So Harriet had been sitting on the edge of the bed for almost an hour and a half, pondering upon the peculiarity of the evening. She did not fully comprehend the magic behind Dumbledore's blood wards, yet she had a fair idea as to why they had collapsed.
While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort.* That was what Dumbledore had told her, anyway. So in a sense, Snape had been right. It was her fault that the blood wards at Privet Drive had collapsed because she could no longer pretend the place was home. Not after this summer anyway. But she thought she'd rather die than give Snape yet another weapon to use against her. Knowing the man, he would probably smirk in her face if he found out of Vernon's treatment of her. Finally somebody who sees you for who you are, she almost heard him say.
Barely six minutes later, Harriet groaned at the heavy knock on the door, followed by "Dinner, Potter. Now!" Careful to avoid giving the man any further reason to snap at her, Harriet quickly made her way into Snape's dining area and sat down at the table, a vague expression of hunger flashing upon her face. Dinner with the devil, she thought and almost recoiled at how much Snape's draconian expression befitted her thought. With a bit of luck, the dinner could pass without the exchange of snide comments or even in the absence of conversation, she hoped. But then again, it wasn't as if she had ever conversed with the bat. The few times they exchanged words, Harriet had found herself at the receiving end of his ear-blistering remarks and reproving comments.
But when had Harriet Potter ever been so lucky as to get her way?
"What happened to your hand?" asked Snape, giving her napkin bandaged hand a suspicious look.
"I cut myself accidentally when doing the dishes," she replied knowing full well what Snape was about to say. Three, two—
One. "So your serious lack of concentration extends beyond the Potions classroom," he said with a faint sneer. "How surprising."
"Actually," replied Harriet's mouth before her better judgment had time to step in, "If your greasy hair wouldn't have reduced my aunt to shrieking, I would not have been startled when handling the bread knife and my hand would now be okay. So to prevent such accidents in the future, I suggest you wash your hair more often!"
Oh shit, thought Harriet as the realization of what she just said started to sink in.
"How very much like your beloved father and godfather you are, Potter. They too were sentimental children blaming others for their mistakes and their stupidity, unwilling to account for their foolhardy actions." Harriet's stomach turned upside down at the mention of Sirius and she wished nothing more than to hide under a rock and let the emotional tornado that was to form pass without noticing her. As it was, she found herself into the company of her most hated professor, having to account for things she did not particularly want to think about. "Let me see," commanded Snape as his obsidian-like eyes fell once more upon her hand.
"It'll be fine, I don't need your help," said Harriet sourly, taking her injured hand out of Snape's view and fidgeting with a corner of the bloodied napkin under the table, trying to ignore the tingling protests of her injury.
"As you wish. I'm sure the wizardry world will think no less of the Chosen One if she were to lose a hand," replied Snape with a cold smirk.
"It's not even infected!" protested Harriet in an agitated voice as Snape's words metamorphosed into disturbing images in her head.
"I beg to differ. Your jaundiced skin, the sweat on your brow and I presume your fever too, tell a different story.
"Fine!" she snapped, placing her hand once more onto the table as if it were a diary she did not want Snape to read.
"Temper Potter," he reproved as he started undoing the napkin bandage with, to Harriet's shock, surprisingly gentle hands. He frowned a little at how deep the bread knife managed to cut into the girl's skin. Just as he thought, the small amounts of yellow pus located at the corners of the cut indicated the commencement of an infection. "This will sting," he warned coldly as he rubbed a generous amount of cleaning balm onto the cut. Harriet did not flinch, or acknowledge the pain in any way. She simply watched Snape work hastily onto her palm, applying various salves and making her drink a couple of bitter tasting potions. His ministrations had been those of a healer and the end result did not even leave the trace of a subtle scar.
"Err…thanks," said Harriet rather awkwardly. Snape simply nodded once as an uncomfortable silence loomed over them, only to be broken a few minutes later by the professor's sour "Go to bed, Potter!"
Harriet did not wait to be told twice. Grateful to escape from the bat's company, she hurried to her room and closed the door with a sigh of relief.