Child of the Dark Moon

by Sw-0608

Fleeing from Dudley and the 'Harry-hunters' under a full moon, Harry Potter saves his hated cousin from a giant wolf and is nearly killed. Severus Snape comes upon the bloody body not ten minutes later and takes the child into his home, against his better judgment. Can Snape come to terms with the vulnerable boy and help him to adapt to being a werewolf? (Manipulative Dumbledore)

4. Chapter 4: The Freaks

Rated T for descriptions of child abuse

(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Doing it just for fun.)

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Chapter 4: The Freaks

Number 4 on Privet drive was as dull and 'muggle' as the identical houses all along the entire street. The picket fence was perfectly painted, the garden plants were primly cared for, and the porch … needed sweeping. The sun was setting, and the wind was brisk. A storm might be blowing up, actually.

Severus Snape tugged on the lapels of his dark coat before he shoved open the garden gate and marched up the path. The grass had been mowed recently, but the lawn needed a little bit of weeding. He could see dandelions poking their spiky leaves up here and there. Contrary to the various opinions of his students, he was very comfortable in muggle clothing. His dark suit was nice, but not too nice for a social call to a common little neighbourhood. He was suddenly glad that Dumbledore had insisted he come after hours. He was hoping that the Dursleys would all be home together, if the light from the front windows was any indication. Snape smirked to himself. With any luck, he would be interrupting dinner.

He checked that his wand was ready to be drawn from his sleeve holster at a second's notice, (it always was) and rang the doorbell. The chime grated on his ears and he grimaced. Petunia was still as tone-deaf as ever, he mused. He waited a heartbeat before he rapped the door smartly with his knuckles. His sharp ears caught the creaking, lumbering footsteps of a very large person approaching the door, and he wisely took a step back before the front door was yanked open.

"What do you want?" the red-faced, killer whale of a man demanded. His mustache bristled, his eyes narrowed, and even his enormous belly, not to mention his bulbous nose, seemed to jiggle with indignation.

"Good evening," Severus Snape said coolly. "I am from the Child Protection and Locating Services of Great Britain, and I need to have a word with a Mr. Vernon Dursley and his wife, Petunia. Would you be Mr. Dursley, by any chance?"

The fat man's red face grew purple. "You don't fool me, you freak!" the man snarled, his eyes darting back and forth as if watching for spies. "You're another one of that Dumbo-door's minions, I can tell! Well, I'm telling you what I told them: Get lost!"

Snape reached out a hand and stopped the overweight Dursley from slamming the front door in his face. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding, Mr. Dursley," the Professor said in a dark tone. "I need to speak with your family this instant; so, we can do this the civil way …" He drew his wand and held it casually in his right hand. "Or we can do it my way."

Vernon Dursley gulped, and his four chins contorted like an accordion. Mumbling uncomplimentary things under his breath, he stepped aside to allow the menacing wizard to enter.

Snape swept past the gigantic troll of a man, his lip curled in disgust when he had to tuck in his elbow to avoid brushing against Dursley's belly. Honestly, the man looked like his gut had been hit with an inflation charm. Vernon slammed the door shut and sullenly followed Snape through his own home. The Potions Professor noted two facts straight away: namely, that the house was meticulously clean, and the decorations were rather tasteless. It all looked like the owners were attempting to look wealthier than they were, which sounded like Petunia alright.

"Vernon?" the woman herself called out from a doorway just ahead. "Who was at the door?"

"Me," Snape smirked as he stepped out of the hallway into the dining room.

He relished the way Petunia's face drained of color at the sight of him. A strangled noise escaped her throat, but she seemed incapable of speech, sitting rigidly in her chair at the sumptuously laden table.

Severus Snape could not help the darkly sinister chuckle that escaped his mouth. "I'm touched that you recognize me after all these years, Tuney," he smirked. "Though, I didn't think you'd be so overcome at the sight of me."

"What are you doing here?!" the woman finally shrieked. "I know who you are! What you've done! What are you doing in my house?!"

"I'm here about Lily's son," Severus Snape replied, his voice taking on a dangerously icy tone. "I believe you know him?"

"Harry?" Petunia scowled fiercely. That was one thing she had shared with her sister, he mused. They scowled the same way. "That's all your lot has been haranguing us about all weekend!" Petunia shouted, clenching her fists in her tablecloth. "We've told you all, we don't know where he is! I'm the one who called the police, for heaven's sake! We didn't do anything to him, he didn't run away, and I'd think with all your magic tricks you'd know that!" Her voice became shrill as she got more worked up and Snape scowled, hoping he would not have to force a calming draught down the vile woman's throat.

"I know where Potter is," Severus snapped, dismissively waving his hand. "Stop getting so worked up, Petunia. I'm really here to interrogate your entire family about the manner in which you have been treating your nephew for the past seven and a half years!"

"You …what?" The muggle woman blinked in astonishment. "Your lot found him, then?"

"Not 'our lot'," Snape snarled. "I found him myself. But what I want to know is: why?"

"Why what?" Petunia demanded, sounding supremely irritated. But she obviously could detect the fury in the eyes of Severus Snape and edged unconsciously away from him.

The Professor's wand hand trembled at his side and he had to fight the urge to hex the stupid woman. "Why have you taken out your hatred of magic and your jealousy of Lily on a defenseless child?" he demanded.

"Oi! You can't threaten my wife!" Vernon Dursley started forward, but Snape merely flicked his wand at the lumbering oaf behind him. He didn't need to look to see that he had shoved the man into a chair and cast a silencing charm on his fat mouth. A sticking charm would keep his gigantic bottom firmly in that chair until he was done. The Dursley boy was watching everything with a wide open mouth, not daring to move otherwise. Smart kid, he thought sarcastically.

"Why, Tuney?" Severus Snape repeated in a soft, deadly voice.

Petunia Dursley's face color changed from pale to red in a matter of seconds. "What lies has that child been telling you?" she demanded venomously. "That ungrateful brat is a nasty, lying, sneaking little bastard …"

"Silence!" Severus hissed, with far more venom than Petunia Dursley could ever manage. He stepped forward and towered over the skinny, horse-faced woman, his whole body trembling with rage. "You are a disgusting, vile little woman, and I have no qualms about cursing you so creatively that not even Dumbledore will trace it back to me! Your nephew is a thin, undersized, bruised, terrified little boy who calls himself a freak!" He paused dramatically, glaring into her watery blue eyes. "Now why would a nine year old call himself a freak, pray tell? And is it just a coincidence that 'freak' just so happened to be your favorite nickname for me? For Lily?!" The cowardly little woman cringed under Snape's fury. "Well?" he snarled, barely suppressing his urge to scream at her. "Answer me, Petunia!"

"Seems like you think you already know the answers to that question, doesn't it?" Petunia replied shakily, tilting her chin defiantly. "I thought you hated Lily for running off with that Potter fellow. Why do you care about their brat?"

"Because," Snape said in a softer, more deadly voice. "A child was nearly killed by a werewolf, on your watch. And I want to know how it happened, and why. Who he is has nothing to do with it. If there is a werewolf on the loose in your neighbourhood, your son could be next."

Uneasy silence greeted his statement, and the Potions Master leaned back, satisfied that he had finally cowed Petunia's insufferable attitude. He silently summoned a chair to himself and sat down, toying with his wand and watching the Dursleys closely.

"Of course," the Professor said carefully, "I'm also here to find out just how much damage your family has inflicted on the boy. That errand is more … unofficial. So, who would like to start speaking first?"

Naturally, nobody twitched. Even Vernon Dursley under his silencing spell made no move to speak. Petunia folded her arms stubbornly and her son just kept staring at Snape with an open mouth. The Potions Master sneered at the boy until he closed his mouth and slumped in his chair. The clock chimed in the next room and still, the Dursleys were silent. Professor Snape sighed and crossed his legs at the ankles. He started to toy with his wand again, and kept his eyes on it as he began to speak. His mesmerizing voice could hold classes of fidgeting children absolutely still, and not one of the Dursleys failed to flinch at his voice.

"Have you ever heard of legilimency?" he asked casually. He didn't expect an answer, and didn't get one. "Allow me to explain: it is the art of correctly interpreting the thoughts, memories, emotions, and mental ruminations inside someone else's mind. Now …" he fixed Petunia with a cruel smirk, leveling his wand in her direction. "This mind-magic can be quite uncomfortable, even life-threatening, especially in the non-magical; but I assure you that a proper Legilimens will not leave you with any lasting harm."

"I'm not having you or any of you freaks mucking about in my head!" Petunia screamed, jumping off her chair and backing up against the wall.

"I am at my wit's end with you," Snape snarled, slashing his wand in her direction and relishing her flinch and the fear in her eyes. "Since you will not give me straight answers, I will be legilimizing all of you. If you cooperate, Tuney, and if your husband also cooperates, I will be very gentle with your son. Using this magic on very young children can prove … more than uncomfortable." The Professor gave the trembling, overweight child a predatory smirk. "It can even be somewhat … damaging. But!" he cut off Petunia's horrified exclamation. "If I am careful, I don't think your little whelp will be permanently affected. You do want me to be gentle with him, don't you?"

"You're a monster," the woman whimpered, fighting the tears that spilled from her eyes. "What do you want from us?"

"Tell me everything that you have done to your nephew," Severus Snape demanded. "And I do mean everything. I will confirm what you tell me using legilimency, so I hope for your sake that you tell me the truth. So start talking."

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Severus Snape stood in the moonlight on the sidewalk, gazing at the exact same street where he had found the boy only a few days ago. The blood was gone. Perhaps it had rained in Little Whinging this past weekend. The Dursley debacle had been a draining, but enlightening experience. He thought of the bruises he had seen on the boy's backside, and his heart clenched again. He had relived the awful Dursley man's memories of abuse, (as many as he could stand, anyway) and it left him feeling horribly unclean.

The man's glee and self-righteousness as he rained down blows on a small child for an imagined offense and his cruel laughter when the child was in so much pain that he could barely even rise from the floor. Tossing the helpless boy into a cupboard under the stairs and locking it from the outside. Mocking the little boy's cries and pleas to be let out. It made Severus sick. He may have been a bit rough with the man's mind before he obliviated him, but who was to know? And Petunia. Oh, Petunia. He just barely stopped himself from giving her something to remember him by. How could anyone feel such satisfaction telling her own nephew vicious lies and then making him cry just because she was annoyed, or out of sorts? Overworking the child, starving him, insulting and belittling him … The emotional abuse the child had suffered at the mercy of his Aunt was so much worse than the physical attacks he had undergone from his Uncle. Severus had never truly hated Petunia, but now, for the sake of Lily's only son, he hated that vile woman so much. She was a cruel, petty tyrant, and along with her husband, she had tortured and abused an innocent child for over seven years, for no other reason than that he happened to have his parents' gift of magic, and they didn't want to care for him. It made Severus Snape's own troubled childhood look like a romp through a daisy field.

Young Dudley's memories had been the most enlightening, and although Severus was upset to see that the fat idiot had bullied his small cousin relentlessly, he had watched the little terror's own father cheering him on and advising him how best to hurt the undersized boy. It was sick, but it wasn't completely Dudley's fault. The oversized brat was really just obeying his parents. Snape was sure that he had been careful not to hurt the boy, but young Mr. Dursley, along with his parents, would suffer from blinding headaches and nightmares for the next week or so. He figured they deserved worse, but they wouldn't even remember his visit anyway, so it made no difference. His obliviation had been thorough, and although he was not all that great with memory charms, he didn't think anyone would check with the Dursleys to make sure their story matched Snape's. He would come up with a suitable punishment later. Right now, he had his duty to the child to take care of.

The Potions Master stared at the familiar rickety fence across the street and mentally pieced the events together. Dudley and his two idiot friends had been walking down the middle of the street, hunting for their little victim, when the big brown beast had appeared over at the far end of the road where it led out to the motorway and some woods. The boys had assumed it was a stray dog and paid it no mind until they saw how big it was. Then they screamed and ran for the fence instead of the trees. The werewolf kept the three boys herded in a huddle, snarling and advancing slowly in a hunter's stalk. When Dudley fell over in his efforts to escape, the monster focused its attention on him, as the obvious target. The Dursley brat's so-called friends ran for their lives and Dudley thought he was going to die. But then, the insufferable Potter hero appeared. Apparently, the small boy had been closer to his hunters than they thought, but leaving his cousin to die a horrible death was not in Potter, apparently. He idiotically jumped out of hiding and screamed for Dudley to run, and then proceeded to throw a chunk of asphalt at the beast before he tried to run in the other direction. Dudley got to his feet and ran for home, not looking back, ignoring the horrible screams of agony behind him.

Snape shook his head in disgust as he finished his investigations. The Dursley boy was a coward, certainly. But it probably would have been asking too much for the child to run back and help his dying cousin, or at the very least demand that his parents go looking for him. By the time anyone came looking for Potter, he was soaking in Severus Snape's bathtub. What a strange and lucky thing it was, Snape thought, that he happened to be walking on that little street on that particular night, just at that time. A half-hour later, (or less) the boy would have died. The Professor's only regret was that he was held up by the muggle thug who tried to rob him. If that idiot had picked a different target, Severus would have been able to arrive on the scene in time to save the boy from the beast. But that was neither here nor there. He was already carrying too much guilt for one man. He ought to lay the blame where it belonged: namely, with Vernon and Petunia for their abuse of the child and encouragement of their son to be a bully as well, with Dumbledore for abandoning Potter with them in the first place and not adequately protecting him, and with the werewolf, for attacking the children in the first place. None of it was the fault of Severus Snape. He could not blame himself for that which was not his doing. He saved the boy's life, and he ought to be glad that he had. Dumbledore would have been far too late, and no one else really would have known what to do.

Severus sighed and decided that his investigations were done for today. Home, and a recovering child, was calling him. He turned on his heel and disapparated to Spinner's End.

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Harry woke up because he needed to use the bathroom. His mouth felt woolly and his joints all hurt and his bladder was almost painfully full. He blinked blearily up at the ceiling and wondered why it was so dim. He figured out at once that it must be late. The Professor had said he would come back after work to give him some broth, (and more nasty potions) but he didn't think there was anyone else in the room right now. Maybe he wasn't home yet.

With a little effort, Harry managed to sit up. His wounds immediately started throbbing when he moved, and he gasped at the pain. But it wasn't too bad. He'd had worse. He clenched his jaw and took a few deep breaths, telling himself that he could handle it. That time when his uncle broke his ribs and then threw him in the cupboard and broke his arm had been way worse. Even though his bones and his muscles hurt, and the gashes from the crazy dog-wolf were stinging and throbbing, and his backside still felt bruised from Uncle Vernon's belt, he felt alright enough to get up, if he was careful and didn't move too quickly. Slowly, he pushed back the quilt and carefully slid his legs over the side of the bed. His head swam dizzily and his wounds throbbed more. Harry's eyes watered at the pain, but he stubbornly blinked them back and slowly slid out of bed. His legs nearly buckled, but he held onto the bed until he could stand more or less by himself. He felt dizzy and weak and shaky, but he smiled in spite of that. He knew he was going to be okay.

Harry found the bathroom just down the hall from his room. It was easy to find, being the only other room with an open door on the landing. He moved slowly and held onto the wall, but he felt proud of himself for being able to make it all that way without falling down. His clothes were interesting. He didn't think he had ever seen a shirt like his before. It seemed like a shirt that was too big, but it was off. It felt odd and didn't fit right. It wrapped around him like a bathrobe, and only hung down to his knees. Still, it was better than nothing, he mused. The Professor had been quite nice to clean him up and give this shirt to him, and he ought to stop being ungrateful.

After he finished his business, Harry was mentally debating either going back to bed or maybe seeing if the Professor was back yet. He suddenly crumpled over the edge of the bathtub as a dizzying wave of pain and thirst assaulted him. He felt as if he was burning from the inside out, and if he didn't get into some cool water soon, he was going to die, he knew it. His injuries began to burn horribly, throbbing until they felt like they were on fire, and he could not remember ever feeling so horribly thirsty. He was shaking with the strain of keeping his screams firmly inside himself, but he managed to reach out and turn on the shower spray. He needed water. That was all he knew. He needed water and he needed it right now.

Whimpering and fighting tears, (they flowed down his face anyway) Harry jerked off his funny shirt and dropped it on the floor before he crawled into the tub, letting the cool water fall over him. He gulped at the water gathering on the bottom of the tub, and relaxed as the spray pounded his wounds, cooling the burning sensation. He sighed, feeling better already. His thirst was slated and the burning feeling was going away. He knew he was going to get in trouble, maybe, for using the Professor's shower without permission, but surely he would see that this was an emergency.

Lying curled up on the bottom of the tub, Harry tugged on the soaked bandages around his chest and shoulder, and the one around his leg. He shivered when he remembered them unwinding by themselves, but he shoved the word 'freak' away from his mind. The Professor said he didn't want to hear it ever again. He was glad, because he had always hated being a freak. But it would be hard to forget the word all the had heard it every day since he was too little to remember.

The man was so strange. He had a mean face and he scowled and snapped a lot, but he was really nice despite that. Maybe it was like that Roald Dahl fellow said in that one book: nice people didn't always have pretty faces, but you could tell when they were nice anyway. Harry recalled how the man's eyes had been so hard and empty at first, but later, his eyes had seemed concerned … and almost kind. He was so glad that the man had found him and saved him. Once he was better, he would show the Professor how grateful he was. Surely he would appreciate having someone clean the house and cook while he was at work teaching all day. The boy's eyes drifted shut as he wondered what the Professor taught. If he was a real wizard like he said, maybe he taught kids magic. Harry felt some excitement about that. He used to imagine that he was a Sorcerer's apprentice like the mouse on Dudley's cartoon; only he would be smart enough to leave the wizard's brooms alone. He would be a good apprentice and wouldn't cause any trouble, and maybe the sorcerer would teach him magic too.

Harry figured that the Professor must also be a doctor or something too, since he was able to save his life the way he did. The boy didn't know for sure how badly the wolf-thing had hurt him, but he knew that he still hurt all over, so it must have been really bad. Harry opened his eyes again and managed to sit up to get the bandages unwrapped. He sighed with relief once they were off and the cool water could fall on his naked body without any interference. It felt so good on his burning wounds, but he was getting close to his five minute limit. Back home, he had only been allowed to take five-minute long cold showers, and he was good at keeping track of the time.

Just one more minute, Harry thought pleadingly, turning his face to the water. I sure hope the cuts don't start hurting again the minute I turn the water off.

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Severus Snape slipped into his house through the back door. He spelled the lights on and moved to the stairs to check on his little patient. He didn't hear screaming, so that was good. But his sharp ears caught something else. Water was gurgling through the pipes. Snape paused and drew his wand. It could be that the boy woke up and felt well enough to use the bathroom, but the water kept on gurgling, so he couldn't be sure. Just as he put his foot on the first stair, the water shut off. Severus listened with his head on one side, but he couldn't hear anything else. As silently as a cat, Snape tip-toed up the stairs. The bathroom door was shut. He peeked into his bedroom, and sure enough, the bed was empty and the quilt pushed back. He felt annoyed that the boy had gotten up without permission, but he shoved it down. If Potter was feeling well enough to get up and wash his face or whatever he was doing, it was a good sign. Shoving his impatience down, Snape moved toward the closed bathroom, his fist raised to knock. There was a loud thump from inside, and he threw open the door, ready for … Well, he wasn't ready for the naked boy staring up at him from where he had apparently slipped in a puddle. Potter blushed a bright red and curled up to protect his modesty, staring up at him with big emerald eyes like a scared puppy.

Snape arched an eyebrow at the blushing boy and silently summoned a towel from the linen closet. "Did you slip?" he heard himself ask drily. He shrewdly eyed the child's injuries, and though they looked inflamed and red, none of them were bleeding, so he hadn't strained himself, thankfully.

"Yessir, sorry sir," the boy mumbled. He took the towel gratefully, but he didn't seem to have the strength to get up.

Snape glanced over at the dripping shower head and the boy's abandoned shirt on the floor by the tub and shook his head. "Why did you feel the need for a shower?" he demanded, taking in the boy's dripping hair and shivering body. "You could have hurt yourself."

"I know, Professor," the boy whispered. He looked on the verge of tears, and he was beginning to shake, either with cold or fear. "I … it just hurt so bad," he said in a faint voice. "I … I needed water. I'm sorry I did it without permission, sir."

Oh. Snape could have kicked himself. While he was away torturing the Dursleys, the boy had to self-medicate because he was in so much pain. It appeared that Severus was correct in his earlier assumption that werewolf victims instinctively sought out cool water for relief.

"Now, don't start crying," the Professor said sternly as he watched the first tear slip from the boy's eye and slide down his cheek. "I'm not angry with you. I was just … worried. You could have gotten hurt." He hesitated and slipped his wand back into his sleeve before he held out his hand to the trembling child. "Will you let me help you?" He felt foolish and uncomfortable. How did one comfort emotional, vulnerable children, anyway?

"I'm alright, sir," the boy blushed even redder, hugging his towel more tightly. "But … um … could I have my old clothes back, please?"

"I'm afraid that isn't possible," Snape huffed. "They were beyond even a wizard's ability to repair. We'll have to make do with some of my things transfigured down to your size until I can get you some proper clothes."

The boy was silent for a few seconds as he processed this statement. When he spoke, he was looking at the floor and his voice was soft and uncertain. "I … I'm sorry, Professor … for being so much trouble."

The man shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand. He took a deep breath for patience before he bent over and gently helped the trembling boy to his feet. "You are not trouble, or at least, you aren't too much trouble;" the Professor said as firmly and convincingly as he could, wrapping the towel more securely around Potter's shoulders. "I would not have saved you and taken you into my home unless I wanted you here, trouble and all. So stop apologizing for things you have no control over. I will tell you right now: I saved your life, and I appreciate that you are grateful for it. But I do not wish for you to apologize for existing and needing my help. I helped because I wanted to. Understand?"

The boy nodded and blinked at tears that suddenly spilled from his eyes. Snape sighed and scooped the frail child up in his arms. Potter did not protest much, and the Professor felt a strange surge of relief when the boy relaxed in his arms and sniffled into his chest. Severus grimaced at the thought of the tears and snot that would soon be smudged across the front of one of his favorite shirts, but he didn't stop the boy. It was something significant that Potter was willing to cry in his arms without fear of recrimination, knowing how his horrible relatives had treated him.

He took the boy back to the bedroom and sat him on the bed while he shrank a set of clothing for him. He took some surreptitious measurements of the child as he did so, hoping that he would have time to stop at a muggle clothes store. Potter … (drat it all, Snape castigated himself, Call him Harry already) Harry was looking well, other than being overly emotional. The boy's wounds, though red and painful-looking, were healing nicely and his fever was quite low, though not gone completely. Harry wiped his face free of tears on a corner of his towel while Snape took the measurements and shrank the clothes. If he was careful in his spellwork, the clothing might hold his sizing charms long enough for him to find some better things for the boy to wear. Once he finished with that, Snape left the boy on the bed and went downstairs for more murtlap salve and fresh bandages, and a few other potions just in case. The boy still needed to be on antibiotics after all. He returned upstairs and found Harry in the same position, though he seemed much calmer. Snape nodded approvingly at the boy and a flicker of relief went through his expressive green eyes. The man felt his heart clench at how very like Lily that was. She could never keep her emotions out of her eyes.

He slowly knelt in front of the boy and opened the salve. "I am going to put some of this on your wounds," he explained, holding up the container so Harry could see it. "Will that be alright with you?"

To Severus' surprise, the boy nodded without hesitation. Carefully, so as not to frighten him, Snape reached out and gently took the towel off the boy's shoulders. Harry did not protest as Snape dropped the towel around the boy's waist, wrapping it over his thighs to keep him modest. The child seemed to appreciate that, and he relaxed minutely. Still, Severus watched the child's face closely as he spread the salve over the healing gashes, but Harry was concentrating on Snape's hands rubbing the oily salve over the gashes on his bare chest and he seemed calm enough. Severus finished and wiped his hands before he stood again. He noticed how the boy stiffened slightly when their height proportion changed, but thankfully, he did not descend into panic.

"I am going to check your shoulder, and then I need to put salve on your back," the Professor said in a soft voice. "Is that alright?"

Silently, Harry nodded, and Snape reached out to examine the bite wounds and bones on the thin shoulder. He had to fight a new surge of rage at the boy's 'guardians' when he felt how thin and small the child was, but he could not afford to make Harry think he was angry at him for any reason. The bones felt like they had healed pretty well, but he still planned to use a stiffening charm on the bandages for another few days until the newly healed bones were as strong as they used to be. After putting more salve on the wounds across the boy's back, he had Harry stand up so he could get to the gash that went all the way to the child's leg. Harry held his towel tightly, covering himself, and Snape did his best not to push it aside more than he absolutely needed to. Getting through that, he bandaged the boy's ribs and thigh, put the fresh cast on his shoulder, and had the boy drink the potions he'd brought. Once that was done, he helped Harry into the shrunken pajamas.

"How do you feel?" Snape asked the child, tilting his chin up so he could see Harry's face. "Do you feel up to having some broth?"

The boy's green eyes blinked slowly, and he took a deep breath. "Y-yes sir," he whispered. "I'm … I'm a little hungry."

"Good," Snape gave the boy one of his brief, rare smiles. "Is it alright with you if I carry you downstairs? Or would you like to rest up here while I fix something in the kitchen?"

The boy trembled a bit, but his face looked pensive, not apprehensive. He was nibbling his lower lip as he considered his options. Snape waited patiently until the boy finally looked up with an uncertain look on his face. "I …" he whispered. "I'd like to go downstairs, sir … if that's alright, I mean …"

"Of course it's alright," Severus smiled, a little surprised by the flutter of relief in his chest. He carefully picked up the boy, and he was shocked when Harry sighed contentedly and rested his head on his shoulder. Snape must have frozen in surprise because he felt the boy stiffen in his arms. The man silently cursed to himself and soothed the child by rubbing a very gentle hand over his bony was relieved when Harry relaxed again, and he headed downstairs.

In the kitchen, he turned one of the dining chairs so that he didn't have to leave the boy alone in the sitting room and set Harry down gently. The boy's rear end was likely still bruised, because he winced slightly as he sat. It had been awhile since Severus had put the bruise-salve on the child's behind.

"I can give you some bruise-paste for your backside," Snape said carefully as he turned to fetch the bouillon cubes from his pantry. Muggles had invented some convenient shortcuts, he mused. "I didn't think you'd want me applying it," Severus added, glancing sideways at the boy sitting at the dining table.

"Bruise-paste?" Harry whispered, looking mystified.

"It is a simple salve to relieve pain and swelling in bruises and small wounds," Snape replied, fetching a pot from the cupboard and a ladle from a rack on the wall. "You've quite a bit of bruising."

He watched the boy duck his head and blush heavily out of the corner of his eye. "It doesn't really hurt, Professor," Harry whispered faintly, talking to the table.

Severus sighed and rolled his eyes, but he forced himself not to allow any annoyance into his voice. "It's alright, Harry," he said as gently as he could. He leaned on the table, trying to look into the child's eyes. "I … Well, Harry … It is alright to admit that you are in pain. I for one know how much a thrashing like that hurts."

Harry blinked and looked up so trustingly that it made Snape's stomach twist. What had he done to earn the child's unequivocal trust? Seeing such trust in Lily's eyes was enough to break his heart.

"Uncle Vernon said I was bad," Harry whispered. "But I didn't mean to be."

"Why did he punish you? Do you remember?" Snape asked softly, trying to keep his words and his movements gentle so he wouldn't scare the fragile boy.

"I … I don't really know," Harry whimpered. Tears leaked from his green eyes and he covered his face with his hands. "B-but I guess I … I think I … jumped."

"Jumped?" The Professor scowled in confusion. He was facing the stove now, opening his container of dehydrated beef broth cubes. He glanced over his shoulder to see that the boy had wiped his tears and somewhat composed himself.

"On t-top of the school," Harry whispered so quietly that Snape barely caught it. He nearly dropped the tin of bouillon cubes in shock. The boy jumped on top of a building? Did he jump to the top while inside, or did he jump on top of the school itself?

Slowly, Snape dropped two cubes in the pot and took it to the sink to get some water. The boy was poking a splinter on the table's surface, and he was holding himself very tensely. Carefully, he set the pot beside the sink and touched Harry's good shoulder.

"That's very … interesting, Harry," the Professor said quietly. "Did you jump on top of the building?"

The boy nodded without looking up. "F-firefighters had to c-come," he whispered.

"That's … interesting," Snape went on carefully, although his heart was racing. Accidental apparition at his age? He could have been splinched! "Not very many people can do that at your age," the Professor added cautiously, watching the boy for a reaction. "You're … quite special, you know that?"

"Special?" the boy repeated in confusion, looking up at the man. "What's that mean?"

Professor Snape fumbled blindly for the right words. "It means … unique. You're … one-of-a-kind."

"Doesn't freak mean that too?" the boy asked innocently.

Snape's jaw tightened at the hateful word, fighting against the urge to growl under his breath. But unfortunately, the child noticed his change of expression and shrank back fearfully.

"I'm not angry at you, silly child," the Professor said, a trifle sharply. "Freak does not mean the same as special. Freak means unnatural … broken … wrong. You are not a freak. You're a … a very good boy."

The boy relaxed, but he looked reluctant.

"Your Aunt and Uncle were wrong," Snape went on quietly, though his voice was fiercely intense. "They're the freaks. It isn't normal to treat any child the way they treated you. You're safe with me, and you will never have to go back to them if I have anything to say about it."

"R-really?" Harry whispered. Hope shone with the tears in his green eyes.

"I won't let you go back to those monsters, Harry," Snape said honestly. It was an effort to get the next words out, but he knew, simply by looking at the boy's hope-filled eyes, that he needed to say it. "I want to … to take care of you. Will you … will you let me do that?"

The boy didn't fight the fresh tears that suddenly trickled down his face, and when Snape reached over to wipe them away, the boy fell into his arms, sobbing and clutching him tightly. Severus rolled his eyes to heaven, giving up any pretense at protecting his shirt from the boy's bodily fluids. With a sigh, he sat in the nearest chair and pulled the boy onto his lap. He held the child closely, haltingly murmuring nonsense like 'it'll be alright' and 'hush now, little one, I've got you'. He wasn't sure where he had learned such phrases, but perhaps his own mother had whispered them to him in the dark of night when he cried. As he stroked the child's hair and let him weep, he hoped that this meant Harry's answer was a yes. It was about time he did his duty by Lily's boy. He surrendered to an irrational part of his brain that reached out toward the boy as to a son, and silenced the peevish mutters in his own mind that called him a lunatic for even thinking of Potter's brat as … a hurting child; a child who simply needed him. It was remarkable how quickly the tiny boy had wormed his way into his lonely heart.

Clutching the child in his arms and crooning nonsense in an effort to calm him, Severus Snape realized with startling clarity that he would protect Harry until his last breath, simply because the child needed him so much. Nobody else in the boy's life had bothered to take care of him, but Snape was not going to fail Lily again. He would keep Harry safe, come what may, and not even Dumbledore would take the child away from him.

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

Thank you to everyone who has favorited and followed this story! I am so humbled by your support! Here is another chapter, a day ahead of schedule, as a reward for your devotion!