Severus was downstairs in his lab, brewing up a pain potion. But even as he was busy with this, Snape felt his anger grow at the family who hurt an innocent child.
He wanted to march over and murder the people who did this to Lily's son. He was angry at Lily too, for having kept such a secret to the grave. Deep inside, he felt as though the blame lied solely with him.
He blamed himself for listening to Lucius' honeyed words and joining the Dark Lord. He blamed himself for that one irresponsible moment that brought Harry to life and he blamed himself for not going to Privet Drive sooner. But more than anything, he hated that he wasn't there for his son, that his son didn't know who he was.
The baby was afraid. He was terrified of people, of him, what they were capable of and the vast world they occupied.
Having inspected the boy, he'd seen the scars etched into his back, of varying severity. His left wrist had been broken in the past, left without treatment and to heal that way. On top of this, The child was dangerously underweight. After the brew, he would have to find suitable food for a malnourished child.
A goblet filled with the pain potion and a small bowl of soup in hand, Severus cautiously reentered the bedroom and seeing the empty bed, he panicked for a split second before spotting him on the floor, wrapped up in a sheet.
'What the blazes is he doing down there?' He wondered, baffled and setting his burdens on the nearby table.
Hands now empty, he knelt down and scooped the child up, gently placing him on the bed, covering him up to the waist.
He crouched so he could look into the boy's eyes, using the tone of voice he usually reserved for his homesick first years.
"Harry." his voice was soft, but still loud enough to wake him.
The toddler started badly, panicking as there was no corner he could back into. He flinched reflexively, trying to shrink into the covers out of fear.
Severus' heart throbbed, silent pain casting a dark shadow over his eyes, as he watched his son cower in fear of him.
He wanted to drop the bowl in his hands and pull Harry into his arms to hold him tight. He wanted to take that fear from his heart and lock it away. He wanted him to believe he'd never hurt him, that he'd rather die than lift a hand to strike.
But Severus restrained himself, afraid of further damaging the boy, further scaring him.
The boy looked at the bowl he held but didn't immediately reach out for it. Severus nearly cursed as he tried to imagine all the things that Harry had had to endure through his short life, but failed miserably.
At least now, he'd be able to slowly work on gaining his trust. It would take time and he wasn't known as the most patient man, but for his son, he would try. He would prove to him that he was safe, loved and that Severus would never cause him pain.
The soup was warm, so if Harry had any spillage, it wouldn't burn him. Severus placed the bowl and goblet onto a tray, setting it on the bed within the child's reach. He caught Harry's eyes, which were still looking at him warily.
"Eat this. When you've finished as much as you can, drink that. It will help make the pain go away. Afterwards, I want you to rest." He kept his voice as even and calming as possible. He was so used to his usual 'Dunderheaded' tones that he found it slightly difficult.
As soon as he finished giving instructions, Severus left Harry to his own devices, retreating to his sofa in the living room. Harry had some privacy, but Severus could still hear him if something was wrong.