DISCLAIMER: All characters and anything you recognize, is property of the master herself: J.K. Rowling. None of it (save for the plot) is mine. I'm naught but a broke student, so please don't sue.
WARNINGS: Um...some abuse this chapter, could be considered graphic I guess. Slash in later (far later) chapters. It's totally AU. I've pretty much just borrowed details from the books and crafted my own timeline and happenings :)
A/N: Though I've been reading fanfics for nearly a decade, this is my first attempt at writing one. So any feedback and opinions would be greatly appriciated; I'm a big fan of constructive critisim so any input you have I would deeply value. I also need a beta, so feel free to contact me in that regard. That's about it I guess. Hope you enjoy!
Severus Snape stalked down the street that, with the rows of identical houses sporting the same manicured lawns & shining metal automobiles, practically oozed of muggle. Anyone passing him on the street would have averted their eyes & quickened their pace, the threatening sneer on his sharp features warning all away from making even the politest of casual gestures.
As he made his way under a disillusionment charm towards the Dursley residence, he yet again cursed Albus Dumbledore for his manipulating ways. When the man had shown up in the dungeons that morning, Severus knew with a dreadful certainty that he was not going to be at all pleased with the result of the ensuing conversation.
"Ah, Severus, I need to speak with you. Do you have a moment?" Albus had said as he entered the potion master's private lab. His garish orange and gold robes contrasted greatly with the dull gray backdrop provided by the lab. The clear blue eyes were void of their normal twinkle & held not a small amount of worry.
Scowling, Severus turned his attention from the cauldron, knowing as he did that all the progress he'd made that morning had been brought to a screeching halt.
"Of course Albus, I'm sure whatever has brought you is far more important than my research. Which you have just, for an unforeseeable amount of time, delayed," he drawled, banishing the now useless goop cooling in the cauldron and shifting his glare to the unfazed headmaster.
The corners of Albus' lips twitched in mild amusement at his potions master of six years. His brow creased and the slight humor he'd been feeling seeped out of him as he recalled the reason for his impromptu visit.
"I received a troubling floo some moments ago from Arabella Figg. She has agreed to keep an eye on Harry Potter while he's living with his relatives." Albus ignored the sneer that graced Severus' face at the mention of a Potter, and continued, "It appears that Arabella hasn't seen young Harry in a number of days and the last time she did he appeared rather unwell. She was in quite the state when she contacted me, insisting something was terribly wrong."
Severus' face remained a mask of cool disinterest. As he replied, he let a hint of the irritation he was feeling leak into his tone, "I trust there is a point to your ramblings, though I can't imagine what it could possibly have to do with myself."
Upon hearing that a bit of the usual twinkle leapt back into the headmasters gaze and Severus felt a sinking feeling deep in his stomach.
"Yes, yes well, I know you and James had your fair share of disagreements," here Albus was interrupted by a sarcastic snort from Severus', which he chose to ignore in favor of continuing his request, "but I would like you to put that aside and check up on Harry for me." A pointed glare accompanied his last remark.
Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to ward off the headache he could feel building behind his eyes. Several thoughts raced through his mind at the headmaster's statement, all of them arguments against his compliance, on why it should be anyone but him. Nevertheless, he recognized the order under the polite words (he did not survive spying on the darkest lord in a century purely on luck), and knew he had only two options. He could obey the headmaster's "request" and get this insufferable chore completed as soon as possible or he could argue and fight for Merlin knows how long, and still end up having to check on the brat.
Swallowing the protests fighting to be heard, he dropped his arm as he raised his eyes to meet the older man's. "As you wish," he acquiesced with a weary sigh.
"Wonderful!" Albus beamed, "You'll want to leave immediately."
"Indeed," Severus muttered under his breath as he compliantly followed the headmaster out of the dungeons and up to the entrance hall.
"Oh, and Severus," Albus paused at the top of the staircase leading to his office, "you'd do well to remember that you and Remus have already made your peace. Could it really be that hard to put the sins of a dead man in the past?" He turned and disappeared into an adjoining corridor, leaving Severus to storm from the comforting darkness into the mid morning light.
He almost missed his destination, so caught up was his in his mental scolding of the headmaster. Severus grimaced at his uncharacteristic lapse of focus, though to his credit the house was fairly easy to miss. There were no external indications that marked it as the home of the boy-who-lived. In fact, the only distinction from the boxes surrounding it was the gold plated digit by the door numbering it as "four", and the absence of an automobile.
Still under the disillusionment charm Severus strode up the lawn to the front window, peering into the room beyond. He could see little frames adorning the walls and the space above the mantle, an odd square box with a reflective black screen, a couch and several chairs, but no people. He moved to the door and popping it open with a whispered "Alohamora" he entered the home, taking care to shut it gently behind him.
He found himself in a small foyer, a set of stairs to his right, the room he viewed from outside was to his left, and straight ahead was another door which, judging by the sounds coming from within, led to the kitchen. He noticed that along the wall the stairs sat on was a small door secured by a padlock. Only mildly curious, he filed the information in the back of his mind to be examined at a later moment.
Severus stepped to his left to the entrance of the sitting room, his attentive gaze sweeping over the contents now that he had the chance for a closer look. While it was decorated quite offensively, the area was spotlessly clean and painfully orderly. Not a single frame, which he now saw held the non-moving photographs unique to muggles, was out of place.
He moved closer to the row of pictures on the mantle, noticing that every one held one or more of the same three figures. A corpulent, purple faced man with no neck and a thick walrus moustache; a tall, rail thin woman with narrow eyes, who wore an expression as if something foul were pasted to her upper lip; and a blond haired, watery blue eyed boy who was the size of a small whale. Severus' lip curled in disgust as he took in the numerous photos of the boy, ranging from infancy to present, growing larger as they progressed.
It wasn't hard to come to the conclusion that these were the Dursleys, but where were the pictures of the Potter brat? He scanned the photos again to be sure and found the same thing. Harry Potter was not in a single one. Brow furrowed at the enigma that he had been presented with he turned from the room and headed up the stairs in search of further clues, completely missing the faint whimpers that were struggling past the wood of the padlocked door.
Thin strips of light leaked into the cupboard from the hall beyond, doing very little to push the shadows from the cramped space. It didn't bother Harry though; he was quite used to it. In fact, he was rather fond of his little room under the stairs. Sure there were some spiders here and there, and wood dust would rain upon him whenever one of his massive relatives stomped their way downstairs to feed their face, but it was all his. Harry Potter had very little in this world that was truly his.
All the clothes he wore were first his Cousin Dudley's, which meant they were at least four sizes too big for little Harry. The few chipped blocks and torn picture books he had, were originally Dudley's as well. He had had to sneak them from Dudley's second bedroom one at a time while he was upstairs cleaning. Harry was only allowed upstairs to clean and use the bathroom twice a day. Even when they remembered to feed him, most of the food he received was left over from whatever meal the Dursley's had eaten.
These things should have bothered tiny Harry Potter, who at almost six looked to be no older than four, but they didn't; it was just how things were. He was a freak, and freaks didn't deserve, well, anything. He was just lucky that his relatives were kind enough to keep him after his parents died.
He tried to be a good boy, to not burden his relatives, to not be a freak. He did everything they told him to and did it the best he could, to show them that he's not the ungrateful cretin the accuse him of being. He needed to try harder, though, because no matter how much he tried, he always seems to mess up and make Uncle Vernon have to punish him. This always led to the situation Harry currently found himself in: lying on his thin mattress, his entire body throbbing in an all too familiar agony. As always it had started out like any other day for the raven headed boy.
"WAKE UP, FREAK! GET YOUR LAZY ARSE UP! "
Harry was woken, like any other day, by the shrill voice of his Aunt Petunia that was, as usual, accompanied by her bony fist banging on the door of his cupboard. He blinked the sleep from his striking emerald eyes as he sat up stretching his stiff body.
He was amazed that the stiffness was the only evidence of the beating he had received two days ago. That amazement was dampened by this further proof that his relatives were right; he was an obstinate freak. He frowned in guilt as he got up, free of pain, from his sunken bed and pulled on one of Dudley's old, faded shirts over the oversized pants he had on.
Uncle Vernon wasn't going to be very happy with him. He didn't like witnessing the evidence of Harry's freakishness, especially not before breakfast. On that thought, he rushed out of his now unlocked cupboard and into the kitchen, where luckily only his aunt was awaiting him. He entered just as his she had opened her mouth to shriek for him.
Harry flinched slightly as Petunia snapped her mouth shut audibly and glared at him with hatred. After a slight hesitation, he hurried over to the cabinets to pull out the cookware and then to the fridge to remove the bacon and eggs that he would need for the Dursley's enormous breakfast. His aunt just looked on for a moment, eyes narrowed in suspicion, to make sure he wasn't going to set the house afire, before leaving to make sure Vernon & Dudley were on their way down.
He could barely reach the stove, even with the stool that his relatives had provided for this task, and he often burned himself. Harry had learned early on that crying didn't help anything, ever. It generally made it worse. He knew that there wouldn't ever be anyone to comfort him when he was sick or hurt, to make it go away. Not like Dudley had.
He had already started the bacon and was getting the pan ready for the eggs when Petunia re-entered the kitchen followed by her husband and son. At the sight of his uncle, Harry tried to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. It wouldn't do for Vernon to see how extensively his injuries had healed in such a small amount of time.
"Don't you dare burn that bacon, boy, or I swear you'll barely live to regret it," Vernon threatened as he took his place at the head of the table, continuing to Petunia about an important client his company was ready to sign.
Harry didn't hear him, all his focus was on not screwing up their breakfast. He was used to his uncles far from empty threats, but they still frightened him. The various scars and bruises on his body could attest to what an angry Vernon could do. Harry put all of his almost-six-years-old concentration on cooking the food in front of him, desperate to avoid another clash with his uncle's fists.
Finally eggs were cooked, and the toast had popped from the toaster. Arranging the food on plates, he picked up one in each hand delivering a platter first to his uncle, then his cousin, before returning to pick up the remaining plate to serve his aunt. When all three plates were safely on the table, and his family had tucked in, he breathed a soft sigh of relief.
He returned to his stool by the stove to gather the dishes and dump them carefully into the sink to be washed. Being shorter than the average six-year-old, it was a lengthy process he had to complete in steps. By the time he had was to the point where the dishes were in the sink and he was ready to clean them, both his uncle and cousin would be finished virtually licking their plates clean.
Harry had to be sure to pay attention to when they were done, it wouldn't do to make them wait too long before he came and took away their plates. So upon seeing that they were finished, he hopped down and rushed to clear the table. Dudley had already disappeared back upstairs. At that moment Harry's stomach gave a vicious, painful growl, and as he twitched in reaction, the plates he was carrying slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor in a shower of glass.
Harry froze, not a muscle moving. His eyes were gaping in unadulterated terror; his mouth a tiny 'O' of dread as he stared at his fuming uncle. Vernon's face had become a fierce shade of puce and time seemed to stand still as he spluttered in anger, not knowing quite what to do.
His mind finally caught up to his body and his meaty fist connected hard with the side of Harry's face, sending him sprawling across the floor on top of the glass plates he had just broken. His face, his whole head ached with the impact, but he didn't have much time to process what had occurred as almost immediately Vernon grabbed him by the back of the neck and flung him back into the wall, narrowly missing the edge of the table.
"YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING FREAK!" he bellowed, accenting every other word with a kick to Harry's small body. "HOW DARE YOU?! YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF TRASH! " he continued shouting Harry's imagined sins and various insults of him and his parentage as he beat the young boy.
Harry had curled into a well-known ball as soon as he had landed on the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, not bothering to waste his precious breathe on "Stop!" and "I'm sorry!" Harry knew pleading with his irrational uncle would get him nothing but more blows. His chest ached every time he took a breath, and he didn't think he'd have enough for words even if they'd help. He tasted the familiar metallic tang of blood in his mouth, as a kick made its way through his defenses and landed in the middle of his face.
There was a pause in the blows to his body, but not in Vernon's angry roars, and even through his ragged breathing, Harry could hear the sound of his uncle's vast belt being pulled through the loops of his pants. He couldn't hold back the scream as the belt landed brutally on his already battered body. He felt the inky fingers of unconsciousness creep into the edges of his vision, and thankful of the reprieve, he let them take a hold of him and carry him into the blackness as Vernon's belt fell again and again.
Harry had woken in his cupboard to an intense pain unlike any he'd felt. He was unable to stop the whimpers that escaped his lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut praying that Uncle Vernon wasn't near enough to the wooden door to hear. He didn't think he could handle any more of his uncle's punishments this morning.
A single tear leaked out of his bruised, swollen eye, stinging the numerous cuts as it made its way down his face. He shifted slightly, clamping his lips together against the whimpers that fought their way up his throat, as he tried to find a less painful arrangement for his battered body. More silent tears followed the first, each one carrying the frequent wish that he had just died in the same crash that took his parents from him and left him with the hateful Dursleys.
Severus glided back down the stairs both irritated and confused, the latter not something he was used to dealing with. Not a trace of the Potter brat was to be found on the upper level of the home. If not for the visible proof of Lily's sister's family in the living room, he'd swear that Albus had given him the wrong address.
He headed down the hallway, scowl firmly in place, towards what could only be the kitchen in hopes that some evidence of the child's whereabouts could be obtained; he wasn't counting on it. He stopped abruptly as he neared the padlocked door he had noted earlier. Surely he hadn't heard what he thought he had.
Holding his breath, he waited, just to be sure. Nothing. He scolded himself for wasting his time on imagined noises, promising as he did that he would get out of the lab more often. He moved to continue his search when he heard it again. A soft, muffled sob from behind the door. He froze, staring at the slab of wood that blocked the opening.
Another gasped sob came through the door, prompting Severus into action. He was on autopilot as he whipped out his wand and cast a hurried Alohamora, ripping the door open almost before the lock had a chance to fall away.
The sight that confronted him nearly brought the stoic man to his knees. Laying curled on a paper thin mattress was a bloody mound, barely recognizable as a boy. His arm was at an awkward angle and the small chest was heaving in irregular patterns. Two emerald eyes ringed in violent shades of purple rose from the bloodied rags to Severus' own black ones.
The boy's eyes widened in fear as he scurried further into the corner, unable to stop the cries of pain his hurried movements brought to his lips.
"Please," he whimpered, swollen eyes glimmering with tears he refused to shed, "I'll be good. Please, don't hurt me. I'll be good." His split lip quivered as he begged the stranger to give him a reprieve from the constant pain.
A heart Severus wasn't sure he had anymore ached at the little boys words. He swallowed the foreign emotions building in his throat as he took in the sight before him. He felt a violent surge of anger towards the Dursley's, but pushed it out of his thoughts. That was to be dealt with after he made sure the boy was safe and away from this monstrous environment.
"Harry," he said in a tone that any who had had the Potion's Master as a professor would be shocked to hear coming from him, "I'm not going to hurt you, no one is ever going to hurt you again. I promise."
Upon hearing his name from the strange man, he reluctantly looked from the floor to a spot just over the man's shoulder. Eye contact was a privilege not granted to insolent freaks. He momentarily forgot this lesson in the hope that was sparked at hearing the black clad man's promise. He quickly looked away as more tears filled his eyes and shook his aching head in disbelief.
Seeing the boy's distress, Severus crouched down and entered the small space. He cautiously approached him and lowered himself further to the same level as Harry.
"Harry," he whispered, gently taking the boys swollen chin in his hand and turning his face to meet his. As the child viciously flinched at the contact, Severus bit back a snarl of rage at the obese tormenters.
"Harry," he repeated when the boy's shining eyes met his, "it's okay, child. I'm going to take you to hospital and we're going to get you all better. Then I'm going to make sure that no-one ever lays a hand on you again. Do you understand?"
His tone was calm, but Harry could see the truth in the man's obsidian gaze. He clamped his bottom lip between his teeth as another wave of pain tore through his tiny body. A few tears escaped the barrier of his lower lid as he shook his head in comprehension.
Severus' heart nearly broke as he read the desperate longing in the boys' eyes. He lightly brushed a stray tear from Harry's cheek as it fell. "I'm going to pick you up now, okay?" he explained, not wanting to startle the child.
Harry nodded and allowed Severus to scoop him into his arms as softly as he could. Harry gasped as his tattered body was adjusted in Severus' grip. "I wonder if having a mum is at all like this," he thought to himself as he closed his eyes against the pain and warmth.
He hugged the child as close as he dared, startled by the lightness he felt. His mental score against the Dursley's rose as he cradled the skeletal frame in his arms. As Severus felt the boy bury his head in the crook of his arm and a bony hand curl in his muggle shirt, he experienced a tightness in his chest he found he couldn't identify.
He hurried out of Number Four, Privite Drive as fast as he could without jostling the undersized bundle too much. As he rushed to the apparation point at the end of the street, he prayed that Poppy hadn't left to complete her summer rounds at Saint Mungo's.