A/N; the obligatory Snape-raises-Harry fic. Enjoy.
Snape got to his feet the moment the floo went off. Obviously, his idiot leader had once again been hoodwinked by Voldemort; why else would Dumbledore call him at such a vital time? Racing over, he met Dumbledore as he stepped into the parlor in his home, holding a child in his hands.
"This is Harry Potter," Dumbledore said gravely, handing the child to Snape cautiously. "He's barely holding on. You know the prophecy; if people knew he was going to die, all hope would be lost..."
Snape scoffed. "So you wish to pretend he'll live through this?"
"Do what you can," Dumbledore told him seriously. "I will have a pureblood family raise a substitute. We will drop Harry off on the Dursley's doorstep."
Snape frowned, but complied. He had no power over what Dumbledore did; he owed the man his life. Without anything he could do, he resigned himself to said fate and rushed to his potions lab to treat the young saviour.
The plan went flawlessly. Harry Potter was left on a doorstep to die, loathe as Snape was to do it, and a replacement was adopted and quickly coddled by the pureblood community, traded around countless times. Severus retreated into silence, holding a silent fear in his heart that his Lily would never forgive him for his actions with Harry Potter; but nothing could be done against the ever-famous authority of Dumbledore. He became quietly inconsolable; he would never forgive Dumbledore for forsaking Harry Potter.
So, when six years later he found himself wandering the muggle world, he didn't think he'd find him.
Harry was tenderly favouring his side, sucking in his breath to stop himself crying or groaning; he didn't want to anger Vernon more than he had to. He knew if he cried, and anybody heard, he would be hurt again, Vernon would yell, and he'd loose more meals than he dared to let go uneaten.
He heard, then, the lock opening. Strange how this happened; every once in a while, the lock would open randomly, as if someone was looking out for him. It was night-time. He hadn't realized, but it must be by the darkness. He needed to get out and get a decent meal.
Rising from his cupboard, he grabbed his things and snatched the money Vernon left on the counter for Dudley's sweets, racing to the door and willing it to open. He sighed in relief at the soft click, opening the door and running out, racing along the road without looking back.
And ran headfirst into one of the most terrifying men he'd ever seen.
Harry's picture of fear was Vernon, hulking, neckless and blond, ready to blow up at you every moment of the day. This man, despite being long-necked, thin and black-haired, was equally as intimidating, his hawk-like gaze peering down at Harry in surprise.
For a moment, they stared at each other. Then Harry cleared his throat and said carefully, "I'm sorry, sir, I was running too fast. I'll never do it again, I swear, sir..." he trailed off as the man raised one hand, signalling for silence. Harry waited, not daring to get to his feet before the man recovered.
Much to his shock, the man got down on one knee, his long, black robes falling onto the sidewalk as he reached out for Harry's face. He flinched away; he'd done something wrong again, probably something freaky, and now this man would punish him. He just hoped this man was more lenient than Vernon.
Severus stared at this boy, this obviously magical boy who was so fearful, so weak, and saw himself, a mirror of himself and who he might have stayed had he never met Lily. The boy had jet-black hair, like him, but his eyes... those eyes were a forest green, a green like Lily's. He felt his heart melt and then fix itself into rage as the boy flinched away, as if Severus's touch could burn the boy's skin.
"Stay still," he barked, and the boy complied, shuddering but remaining where he was as he inspected the boy's face. Scars, scars everywhere, scars on his chest from just a brief look; scars on his spindly arms and legs, scars on his naked, blistering feet; scars on his face, a few of which were open and bleeding. He obviously came from a damaging home, a painful home like his own.
He saw, then, a chance to redeem himself; if he could save this boy, then he could forgive himself. He could change; he could rescue this child so much like him at that age.
He could save him.
In an instant, Severus reached out and lifted to boy up, light as the child was it was barely an effort. He was quick to soothe him as the child let out a cry of fright, as if he'd never been lifted before.
Despicable.
"Come now," He said quietly, "you can talk to me. Tell me, child, where did you get those scars?"
The boy shivered, but asked, "Which ones?"
With a painful wince at the nonchalance in the simple but disturbing question, he began to point at them, one at a time.
Each answer was worse. One from his aunt, one from his uncle, his cousin, the boys at school, his uncle again, a burn from cooking, a scrape from being pushed off a structure at school, a nasty-looking scar from a 'car crash' which looked much more to Snape like a curse scar; someone had been torturing this child, both with physical means and magical ones. He was outraged, but knew nothing of muggle law; all he knew was that he would be justified in taking this child away.
He peered into the mind of the boy gently, trying to sort fact from fiction until he realized it was all true and fell into a solemn silence as he retreated from the child's mind.
"We are leaving," he announced at last, ignoring the quiet gasp from the child. "These people are obviously not good to you, if they believe you to be a freak. I'm not letting anyone live through that." He held the child close and continued, "Keep your head low, and your body still. You will feel a lurching in your stomach; please remain still nonetheless."
The boy nodded, and he apparated away.
Harry felt woozy, like the contents of his empty stomach had been thrown around. Whomever this man was, Harry liked him a lot more than the Dursleys, even if he made his stomach woozy. He was gentle and kind, though a bit purse-lipped, like he didn't know how to talk; Harry knew what it was like not to know how to talk, though, so he was fine with that. As he sat in the man's arms, feeling slightly tingly in his chest, he wondered why the man took him away. He didn't actually care much; he just wanted away from the Dursleys. It seemed, as he was carried into the house, that his life's wish was finally granted.
If he could manage it, he'd never go back to the Dursleys ever again.
"Stay here," Snape ordered, sitting the boy gently down on the sofa. "I'm going to gather some things. Do not move until I return." He swung his robes close and paced out of the room, trusting a boy like him to follow orders. He went into his potions room and immediately grabbed some healing potions, quickly going over in his head what he needed to do.
The boy was obviously going to need healing for the curse scar and the other damages he'd sustained, the healing potions would do well in that, and he wasn't friends with Madame Pomfrey for no reason - he knew healing spells. The boy was also thin; he'd need to slowly ramp up the boy's food, and in particular make sure what little he could give him was good for him. He'd have to dispose of the sweets Dumbledore liked to stash here...
He glanced at his potions, decided it was enough, and made a mental note to stock up at the Apothecary later. Walking back in, he noticed the child sitting on the floor.
"Why are you on the floor?" He asked bluntly, startled out of his serene façade.
The boy looked up at him, dismayed. "I'm a freak, so I don't get to be on the furniture."
Snape put down the potions tenderly, quietly letting the words reach his ears. He walked over to the boy on the floor, picking him up and putting him back on the sofa. For once, he found himself at a loss for words. Instead, he gave in for once in his life and hugged the child, sitting on the sofa next to him.
He wasn't sure the boy understood why Severus was crying. He hoped the boy wouldn't remember.
When Harry woke up the next morning, half-expecting things to be a dream, he sighed in relief when he found himself on the sofa again, sitting next to the hawk-faced man. He realized that if he didn't get to work soon, he'd probably be beaten, so he hopped to his feet and quickly scoured the house. He found a broom, duster and mop in a closet, and checked all the rooms quickly.
There were two floors and a basement; the basement door was locked, and Harry had a feeling he shouldn't go down there, so he ignored it for now. The top floor had a bedroom and a few spare rooms, one of which had a flaring fireplace, and the bottom floor had a single bathroom, a kitchen, and a sitting room with a secondary fireplace. He took the duster and hurried to clean up; he swore the place had a layer of dust on every surface. He brushed down every surface he could get his hands on, until he could wipe his hands across it without any dust getting onto his fingers. From there he swept the floor, brushing the dust into the trash which he found in the kitchen, privately hoping that was an alright place for it to go. He was thinking about what to make for breakfast when the man woke up.
He froze in fear at the shocked expression on the man's face. Vernon rarely wore such an expression, but when he did, it was quickly replaced by blind rage. He cowered as the man approached, waiting for the hit that hadn't yet come.
"Child," he breathed, tracing a finger along the counter and staring at it incredulously. "Did, did you clean up? All by yourself?"
"Yes, sir," he replied, heart-rate picking up. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to put anything out of place, I-"
"Hush," the man responded. "it's... it's fine. You did well." He put a hand on his head. "I... well."
"Sir?" Harry inquired, not daring to move any closer as much as he wanted to. "Er... what do you want for breakfast?"
The man looked at Harry like he'd grown a second head. "What do I want? Don't you mean what you want?"
"I... I don't get to choose my breakfast, sir," he frowned. "I... I'm a freak. Why are you... asking..." Harry gasped. "I'm sorry sir! I didn't mean to ask questions!"
"No," the man said, "you're supposed to. You ask questions if you have them." He got up and reached out, gripping Harry's hand. "Listen, child. I'm not your aunt or uncle. I'm Severus. You live here now; I... will it help if I set out some rules for you to follow? So you know what to expect?"
"You would do that, Severus, sir?" Harry inquired, eyes going wide. "Just... just for me?"
Severus frowned. "Has nobody done something for you before?"
"N.. No, sir."
Severus sighed. "There's no more 'yes, sir, no sir' in this house. You're to call me Severus."
"Yes, si... um, Severus." He replied obediently.
Severus bit his lip. "Second rule," he continued, a hand on Harry's shoulder. "No... chores..." he gestured to the spotless house, "unless I give them. It's not right to have a boy your age doing so much work." Harry's eyes bugged out of his head.
"No... chores?" Harry murmured. "Then... what am I going to do? How will I earn my keep?" He shuddered but remained; he still didn't know if it was totally alright to ask anything.
"Learning," Severus replied idly. "Schooling. I'll have to teach you potions... I wonder if Pomona will let me have some plants under the excuse of potions-making..." he got up and paced around the room, muttering under his breath.
Harry steeled his courage. "Um... Severus? Si- Mister Severus?" he said fearfully.
"Yes?" Severus returned his attentions to Harry.
"What are potions?" He inquired, feeling rather dumb.
Severus paused. "Concoctions people make and drink to gain certain effects," he responded, not realizing Harry wouldn't have any idea what a 'concoction' was either. "You've reminded me; we'll need to apply some for those wounds of yours, and to get you back in shape. Stay here." He rather raced out of the room, returning with multiple bottles in hand. "Well then? Sit down at the table so I can get a look at you," Severus snapped, and Harry quickly placed the duster against the wall before hopping into the seat warily.
"This will sting, but it will be worth it," Severus told him, pushing up the boy's pant legs to get a look at his thighs and knees. He winced at the bruising and quickly opened a potion. "I'll need more of these... stay still," he ordered, and Harry complied.
The potion felt strange on his skin, like he was wiping mashed potatoes over it, but he stood still, like Severus asked. Soon the pain melted away, and while the wounds still stung when Severus wiped away the greenish mashed potato potion, the moment it wasn't being touched it felt fine. This continued for his legs, arms, chest and back, and finally Severus got to his face.
"We won't be able to apply this safely to your face," Severus said, disapprovingly. "That scar is in the way." He peered at Harry. "Child, I need your permission to do something which will likely hurt incredibly. It is vital, however, if you want a clean bill of health. Will you allow me to go under the procedure to remove the scar on your head?"
Harry gulped. "I... if you want to," he firmed his resolve. This man was nice. He wouldn't hurt Harry, he would've done so earlier if he wanted to hurt him. "um... yeah. Yes, yes Severus." He shuddered as Severus plucked him off the chair effortlessly and carried him into the basement.
The door flashed, and unlocked. Harry gaped for a moment before saying suddenly, "you unlocked the door! Just like I do!" He gasped and held his hands over his mouth, muttering, "I shouldn't... mention freaky things..."
Severus shook his head. "Stop calling it freaky, child," he admonished. "Anyone who does call it such are idiots and not to be trusted. Do you understand?"
"Yes, s-Severus," the boy breathed, barely believing his luck. "If... if that isn't freaky, then... am I normal? Am I not a freak?" This prospect lightened his mood considerably.
"Of course not," Severus replied. "You're special, just like... just like me. Don't worry; I will teach you, and soon, you'll be able to call upon those powers at will." He paused. "I will teach you how to do magic."
Harry was about to say that magic didn't exist, until he realized that if what this man said about his family - about people calling him a freak weren't to be trusted - then maybe... maybe he couldn't trust that information. After all, it was only the Dursleys who told him that. Maybe... maybe magic was real, and maybe he had it, and that was why the Dursleys were so terrified. Heck, he would be terrified... he was terrified. But... maybe it was alright. He would be alright, with Severus. Severus didn't punch him or whip him; Harry thought that was a very good reason to trust him.
So he did.
It was an hour later when the potion was finally ready. Severus had quickly checked to make sure there wasn't any potentially interfering magic residue or any other thing that could get in the way of the removal of the curse before casting a sleeping spell so that the boy wouldn't have to go through the worst of it. It would hurt like hell for the next twelve hours, and he didn't want the boy to experience any more pain than he had to.
The potion was a creation bought by the idiot, Albus Dumbledore. It was nothing short of genius; it could remove any spell from a wizard's body and into the potion itself. It had been intended for recently turned werewolf children before the curse spread to their nervous system; the Headmaster had used it to sever the magical connection in the Dark Mark Severs had had on his arm. Now he was using it to remove the curse in the child's head, which was substantially more dangerous.
He poured drops of the potion slowly on the wound, watching as it sizzled on the cursed skin and rippled in colour, turning a sickly green as it ate up the spell and turned solid. Pity, it was definitely a strong, dark spell; he'd have to burn it. Burning sounded like a good idea at the moment, though he'd rather it were the idiot muggles who did this to the boy who were burning, rather than the rising fever he was sure the child would have in the morning from his magical defenses being weakened.
He sat down and waited, waited until he needed to pour more. The potion dripped off the side of the boy's forehead; he tilted him so that the potion would flow off the side into the waiting charmed containment bucket. He would be here almost all day; he quickly flooed and called off his other appointments, claiming a private emergency had arisen. After all, he didn't want to tell anyone about the boy until he'd eradicated any signs of abuse. He knew it would be political suicide if they found so much as a hint of cruelty; he'd be in Azkaban, the boy would be in an orphanage - or worse, in one of Dumbledore's dreaded families - and all the work would be for nothing. So he kept the boy secret, at least for now.
A/N: A few things different in this story;
1. Harry's curse scar never became famous. Therefore, the classic image of a thunderbolt and glasses don't exist. For all the public knows, 'Harry Potter' is an auburn-haired, hazel-eyed boy-who-lived, passed around the pureblood families like a sick game of hot potato. We'll be meeting the impostor later on.
2. Severus used a newly developed potion of Albus Dumbledore's 'invention' (*cough purchase cough*) to remove the curse of the dark mark from his arm. He is not a spy, and instead remains allied fully to the side of the light, regardless of the fact that he has an intense dislike of Albus's methods of achieving 'the greater good'.
3. This is a Dumblebashing pic; however, Doubles isn't evil, just very, very stupid. Ignorant. Senile? Take your pick.
4. Severus, in this story, is different from canon in that he experienced six years of incredible remorse over leaving Harry to die. He was torn between rescuing Harry in his love for Lily and following Dumbledore's instructions; the living of the pair won out, but he carried that regret for six years. Later we'll see how deeply this affected him, but for now, assume he saw himself and had a desperate need to protect Harry in hopes it would redeem him morally after abandoning Harry on a doorstep.