3Summary: Professor Snape goes to check on Harry at the request of
Dumbledore, and what he finds shocks even him.
Author's Notes: I think Snape ended up being a little OOC, but he had to be for the story to work. Never fear, he's still his usual sarcastic, nasty self, I just don't think that he'd actually end up being as nice to Harry as he does. I must say that I found Beatrice's "Corruption of Innocence" a major inspiration for the dear Potions Master's character, and props to her for writing a magnificent tale that I am waiting on pins and needles for the end of.
Rating: PG-13 for abuse and possible mild language
__________
Degree of Fear
By OclelotKitten __________
Professor Severus Snape swore softly to himself as he stood on the stoop outside the little house at Number Four, Privet Drive. Why Dumbledore had selected him out of all the teachers to go and check on Potter was beyond him. The headmaster knew perfectly well that Snape detested the boy. McGonagall, being the head of Gryffindor house, or even Hagrid would have been a better choice. Actually, Snape mused, it was probably because Albus knew how he felt about the boy, and hoped that this might help them to get along a little better. That realization only made Snape's mood even fouler.
Impatiently, he rang the bell again, anxious to be out of this Muggle world, and back to Hogwarts. He should have been back there and back to his potions already, he fumed, but Dumbledore was worried about rumors he'd been hearing about the way Potter was being treated by his aunt and uncle. Snape sneered to himself. No doubt Albus was feeling guilty about leaving the boy with these Muggles after his parents had been killed.
Snape raised his hand again to ring the bell, but he let it drop as the door opened to reveal a rotund boy. This must be Dudley Dursley. His piggish small eyes widened in surprise at such a strange visitor. Forcing a moderately conversational tone, which still sounded like it could have frozen water, Snape said, "Good afternoon, I'm here to see Mr. Potter." The boy seemed about to speak, but just then Vernon Dursley pushed the door open the rest of the way, and sneered, "Oh, it's one of you . . . folk, is it? Well, I'm sorry, but Harry's not taking any visitors just now." He started to close the door, but Snape held it open with a flick of his wrist and a softly muttered word.
"I don't think you understand," Severus said silkily, "You don't have a choice in the matter. I am on official Hogwarts business, and I will see the boy." Dursley looked about to argue, but he apparently decided that discretion was the better part of valor, because he stepped aside, and waved Snape in. Quickly taking in the interior of the little house, Snape said, "Where is Harry?" Dudley giggled, and ran to bang on the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Snape was puzzled, until he saw a dusty and bedraggled Harry emerge from the tiny room. Harry's hair was even more wild than usual, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked as though he hadn't slept or eaten properly in weeks.
Dursley grabbed Harry by the collar of his tattered and worn shirt, and growled, "Straighten up, boy. You . . . we have a visitor." Harry's eyes widened in surprise when he saw Snape. The Potions master nodded slightly in greeting, "Potter." Suddenly, Dursley cuffed Harry on the ear, and snapped, "Go make the tea, boy. And be quick about it!" With a meek, "Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry scurried off to do his uncle's bidding. Snape was stunned. This couldn't be the famous Harry Potter. The same boy who had faced down Lord Voldemort three times, once when he was but a baby? The same boy who had faced a three-headed dog and a giant basilisk and lived to tell of it? Snape couldn't believe it.
Dursley cleared his throat and said with not a little scorn, "If you would like to wait in the living room? Tea will be served shortly."
"Thank you," Snape said coldly, and seated himself on the over-stuffed couch. He was left alone in the room as Dursley disappeared into the kitchen, no doubt to harangue Harry again. As Snape sat, he was chagrined to discover that his opinion of the boy was beginning to change. When he had attended Hogwarts, he had hated Harry's father James and all his pals, and now that Harry was at the school, Snape hated the son as fiercely as he had ever hated the father. Some of it was probably from good old-fashioned Slytherin-Gryffindor enmity, but Snape freely admitted that he felt Harry should be treated like any other student. He did his best to make sure that Harry never received any special treatment, even handing out extra penalties to discourage the boy from thinking that his fame would get him out of detentions and such. But some of it, and Snape would never have admitted this to anyone, was that . . .
Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass from the kitchen interrupted Snape's musings. There were a series of heavy thuds, and a lot of muffled shouting, and Harry emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of food. His left eye was swelling shut, and turning an interesting shade of purple. Fresh blood ran down from his forehead into the eye, obscuring whatever vision Potter might have had left. Snape started in utter shock as he saw the boy's condition. He tried to tell himself that he didn't care about Harry state of being, that the sheer suddenness of the injury caught him off guard, but it didn't seem quite convincing. Harry was about to speak when Dursley came back in and said, "I told you to go get cleaned up, Harry! Hop to it!" With a pleading look at Snape, Harry set the tray down, and disappeared back into the kitchen. Snape demanded, "What happened to him?"
"He dropped the teapot and slipped in the tea. He hit his head on the counter," Dursley snapped, "Besides, it is none of your business what the clumsy little fool does." Snape was about to retort when he noticed the splash of fresh blood on the other man's knuckles. Surprised, he said nothing, and Dursley went back into the kitchen. Shortly, there was yet more yelling, another thud, sickening crunches, and a cry of pain. Determined to see for himself what was going on, Snape strode over to the kitchen door, and swung it open. The sight that greeted his eyes stopped him cold.
Harry lay curled up on the floor by the sink, the water still running, one arm wrapped tight around his stomach, the other flopped at a strange angle on the floor. Dursley stood over him with his foot pulled back to deliver another kick, his back to the door. Dudley sat at the kitchen table, crowing with laughter, obviously enjoying the spectacle. "What is going on here?" Snape snarled, voice carrying through the kitchen. It was a tone of voice honed through years of calling down students and freezing them in their tracks. It did no less to Dursley, and when another kick was not forth-coming, Harry looked up to find out what had stopped the assault from his uncle. He saw Snape, and gave him a grateful look, with enormous pain evident on his face. Vernon recovered quickly and said, "I told you that it is none of your concern!"
Snape drew himself up to his full, imposing height and said coldly, "It is all of my concern. I was sent to check on him, and I have found these conditions unacceptable. I am taking him out of here." Striding past Dursley, Severus gently helped the boy to sit up while pulling his wand out of his robes. He tapped Harry's arm and said, "Ferula." Bandages and a splint spun into existence and wrapped themselves neatly around the arm. Snape helped him to stand and said, "Go pack your things, Potter." The look of gratitude on Harry's face was almost pitiful to see as he stood and went to his cupboard. Snape started to follow, but Dursley stormed over and poked the Potions master in the chest with one fat finger, "Now see here! You can't just go and take him!"
"Oh? Can't I?" Snape said sarcastically, folding his arms, "I believe that there are Muggle laws protecting children from abusive homes. And even if there aren't, I'm sure there is not a witch or wizard who would not want to protect Harry Potter." He brushed past Dursley, who was sputtering something that Snape didn't bother to listen to. Stooping down, he peered inside the cupboard. Harry was packing his few schoolbooks into a small bag. "Where is your owl?" Snape asked, looking around the little room.
"I asked Hagrid to keep her for me over the summer. I didn't want her here again," Harry said as he came out of the cupboard. He started to pick the bag up to sling it over his shoulder, but Snape saw that it would be difficult with his arm in a sling. "Let me take that Potter," Snape said, smoothly taking the pack. The look on Harry's face was stunned to say the least. Irritably pushing away thoughts of why he was doing so much to help this boy that he loathed, Snape strode over to the fireplace, and pointed his wand at the cold hearth. A simple charm of "Incendio," and a fire flared into life. Putting the wand away, Snape pulled a vial of Floo powder from a pocket in his robe. He poured a bit of the powder into his hand, and tossed it onto the cold hearth. Stepping into the fire, he intoned, "Hogwarts Infirmary." Harry limped up beside him, and the fire swirled and flared up around them. The last thing visible in Number Four, Privet Drive was Vernon's purple face, contorted in rage.
Author's Notes: I think Snape ended up being a little OOC, but he had to be for the story to work. Never fear, he's still his usual sarcastic, nasty self, I just don't think that he'd actually end up being as nice to Harry as he does. I must say that I found Beatrice's "Corruption of Innocence" a major inspiration for the dear Potions Master's character, and props to her for writing a magnificent tale that I am waiting on pins and needles for the end of.
Rating: PG-13 for abuse and possible mild language
__________
Degree of Fear
By OclelotKitten __________
Professor Severus Snape swore softly to himself as he stood on the stoop outside the little house at Number Four, Privet Drive. Why Dumbledore had selected him out of all the teachers to go and check on Potter was beyond him. The headmaster knew perfectly well that Snape detested the boy. McGonagall, being the head of Gryffindor house, or even Hagrid would have been a better choice. Actually, Snape mused, it was probably because Albus knew how he felt about the boy, and hoped that this might help them to get along a little better. That realization only made Snape's mood even fouler.
Impatiently, he rang the bell again, anxious to be out of this Muggle world, and back to Hogwarts. He should have been back there and back to his potions already, he fumed, but Dumbledore was worried about rumors he'd been hearing about the way Potter was being treated by his aunt and uncle. Snape sneered to himself. No doubt Albus was feeling guilty about leaving the boy with these Muggles after his parents had been killed.
Snape raised his hand again to ring the bell, but he let it drop as the door opened to reveal a rotund boy. This must be Dudley Dursley. His piggish small eyes widened in surprise at such a strange visitor. Forcing a moderately conversational tone, which still sounded like it could have frozen water, Snape said, "Good afternoon, I'm here to see Mr. Potter." The boy seemed about to speak, but just then Vernon Dursley pushed the door open the rest of the way, and sneered, "Oh, it's one of you . . . folk, is it? Well, I'm sorry, but Harry's not taking any visitors just now." He started to close the door, but Snape held it open with a flick of his wrist and a softly muttered word.
"I don't think you understand," Severus said silkily, "You don't have a choice in the matter. I am on official Hogwarts business, and I will see the boy." Dursley looked about to argue, but he apparently decided that discretion was the better part of valor, because he stepped aside, and waved Snape in. Quickly taking in the interior of the little house, Snape said, "Where is Harry?" Dudley giggled, and ran to bang on the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Snape was puzzled, until he saw a dusty and bedraggled Harry emerge from the tiny room. Harry's hair was even more wild than usual, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked as though he hadn't slept or eaten properly in weeks.
Dursley grabbed Harry by the collar of his tattered and worn shirt, and growled, "Straighten up, boy. You . . . we have a visitor." Harry's eyes widened in surprise when he saw Snape. The Potions master nodded slightly in greeting, "Potter." Suddenly, Dursley cuffed Harry on the ear, and snapped, "Go make the tea, boy. And be quick about it!" With a meek, "Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry scurried off to do his uncle's bidding. Snape was stunned. This couldn't be the famous Harry Potter. The same boy who had faced down Lord Voldemort three times, once when he was but a baby? The same boy who had faced a three-headed dog and a giant basilisk and lived to tell of it? Snape couldn't believe it.
Dursley cleared his throat and said with not a little scorn, "If you would like to wait in the living room? Tea will be served shortly."
"Thank you," Snape said coldly, and seated himself on the over-stuffed couch. He was left alone in the room as Dursley disappeared into the kitchen, no doubt to harangue Harry again. As Snape sat, he was chagrined to discover that his opinion of the boy was beginning to change. When he had attended Hogwarts, he had hated Harry's father James and all his pals, and now that Harry was at the school, Snape hated the son as fiercely as he had ever hated the father. Some of it was probably from good old-fashioned Slytherin-Gryffindor enmity, but Snape freely admitted that he felt Harry should be treated like any other student. He did his best to make sure that Harry never received any special treatment, even handing out extra penalties to discourage the boy from thinking that his fame would get him out of detentions and such. But some of it, and Snape would never have admitted this to anyone, was that . . .
Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass from the kitchen interrupted Snape's musings. There were a series of heavy thuds, and a lot of muffled shouting, and Harry emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of food. His left eye was swelling shut, and turning an interesting shade of purple. Fresh blood ran down from his forehead into the eye, obscuring whatever vision Potter might have had left. Snape started in utter shock as he saw the boy's condition. He tried to tell himself that he didn't care about Harry state of being, that the sheer suddenness of the injury caught him off guard, but it didn't seem quite convincing. Harry was about to speak when Dursley came back in and said, "I told you to go get cleaned up, Harry! Hop to it!" With a pleading look at Snape, Harry set the tray down, and disappeared back into the kitchen. Snape demanded, "What happened to him?"
"He dropped the teapot and slipped in the tea. He hit his head on the counter," Dursley snapped, "Besides, it is none of your business what the clumsy little fool does." Snape was about to retort when he noticed the splash of fresh blood on the other man's knuckles. Surprised, he said nothing, and Dursley went back into the kitchen. Shortly, there was yet more yelling, another thud, sickening crunches, and a cry of pain. Determined to see for himself what was going on, Snape strode over to the kitchen door, and swung it open. The sight that greeted his eyes stopped him cold.
Harry lay curled up on the floor by the sink, the water still running, one arm wrapped tight around his stomach, the other flopped at a strange angle on the floor. Dursley stood over him with his foot pulled back to deliver another kick, his back to the door. Dudley sat at the kitchen table, crowing with laughter, obviously enjoying the spectacle. "What is going on here?" Snape snarled, voice carrying through the kitchen. It was a tone of voice honed through years of calling down students and freezing them in their tracks. It did no less to Dursley, and when another kick was not forth-coming, Harry looked up to find out what had stopped the assault from his uncle. He saw Snape, and gave him a grateful look, with enormous pain evident on his face. Vernon recovered quickly and said, "I told you that it is none of your concern!"
Snape drew himself up to his full, imposing height and said coldly, "It is all of my concern. I was sent to check on him, and I have found these conditions unacceptable. I am taking him out of here." Striding past Dursley, Severus gently helped the boy to sit up while pulling his wand out of his robes. He tapped Harry's arm and said, "Ferula." Bandages and a splint spun into existence and wrapped themselves neatly around the arm. Snape helped him to stand and said, "Go pack your things, Potter." The look of gratitude on Harry's face was almost pitiful to see as he stood and went to his cupboard. Snape started to follow, but Dursley stormed over and poked the Potions master in the chest with one fat finger, "Now see here! You can't just go and take him!"
"Oh? Can't I?" Snape said sarcastically, folding his arms, "I believe that there are Muggle laws protecting children from abusive homes. And even if there aren't, I'm sure there is not a witch or wizard who would not want to protect Harry Potter." He brushed past Dursley, who was sputtering something that Snape didn't bother to listen to. Stooping down, he peered inside the cupboard. Harry was packing his few schoolbooks into a small bag. "Where is your owl?" Snape asked, looking around the little room.
"I asked Hagrid to keep her for me over the summer. I didn't want her here again," Harry said as he came out of the cupboard. He started to pick the bag up to sling it over his shoulder, but Snape saw that it would be difficult with his arm in a sling. "Let me take that Potter," Snape said, smoothly taking the pack. The look on Harry's face was stunned to say the least. Irritably pushing away thoughts of why he was doing so much to help this boy that he loathed, Snape strode over to the fireplace, and pointed his wand at the cold hearth. A simple charm of "Incendio," and a fire flared into life. Putting the wand away, Snape pulled a vial of Floo powder from a pocket in his robe. He poured a bit of the powder into his hand, and tossed it onto the cold hearth. Stepping into the fire, he intoned, "Hogwarts Infirmary." Harry limped up beside him, and the fire swirled and flared up around them. The last thing visible in Number Four, Privet Drive was Vernon's purple face, contorted in rage.