June 1994

Severus stared at his left arm in the shower. He kept blinking, in case he was still tired and imagining things. But it was gone. The Dark Mark he'd had for years, his mark of shame, wasn't there. Just a long, thin scar.

Even after the Dark Lord had vanished on that terrible Halloween night, the mark had still been there, faint yet visible. Severus had assumed it was permanent, a lasting reminder of the evil wizard and his own mistakes.

But now the mark had vanished. He wasn't complaining, but he couldn't help wondering what was going on back in wizarding Britain. He was completely out of touch with anything happening there, not that he ever wanted to go back and find out. It never crossed his mind. He was completely settled here, integrated into the landscape like a replanted tree. This was his home, where he took his time and grew his own food and cut his own firewood and picked his own potion ingredients and always took the time to notice the natural world around him. There was no room for anyone's politics or drama.

But what had happened to erase the Dark Mark after all these years? He would likely never find out. He shrugged it off and finished his shower.

July 1994

A few weeks later, Severus was outside on a summer evening, heading out to catch a fish for dinner. The sun was still up, slowly moving towards the horizon. It wouldn't take long to catch a fish: Severus only had to wait until a good one swam by, hit it with a Stupefy, watch it float to the top, then snatch it up. No need to waste time messing with all the Muggle fishing trappings.

He hadn't reached the river yet when he heard hooting. A snowy owl was perched on a nearby branch, hooting and flapping its wings.

Severus frowned. There were wild owls in these parts, but he'd never seen a snowy owl before.

It flew up and circled around him, hooting insistently. He got the impression this was no wild owl, but a magical familiar. Was someone out here?

"What is it? What are you doing here?"

The owl flew a ways and perched on a branch up ahead, hooting again. He walked closer, and it flew further away and perched, looking at him. He got the hint, following the bird until it landed on something in the grass.

It was a person. A small person lying facedown, wearing dirty clothes. It must be their wizard.

Severus knelt by the body. He laid a hand on their arm. No reaction.

"Can you hear me?"

Nothing. He carefully rolled them over, noting how light they were. It was a boy, barely in his teens by the look of him. A wild shock of black hair, cracked glasses, and oddly familiar features...

On a whim, he brushed the hair from the boy's face.

A lightning bolt scar.

Severus paced back and forth in his living room. Harry Potter lay on his sofa with a blanket, still unconscious, his owl perched on the back of the sofa where it hadn't moved. Severus had scanned him further and found evidence of several old injuries, but right now the boy was weak, likely from hunger and possibly malnourishment. He was almost skin and bones. Severus did the math in his head over and over, but the boy did not look fourteen. If he'd had to guess, he would have said twelve.

What in Merlin's name had happened to the boy, and why was he out here of all places?

Had they found out he was living here? Were they trying to tease him out? How had they found him? Why was Potter in such bad shape? What Dark Wizards had he run across? Who else would dare cause such damage to the boy?

He kept pacing agitatedly, unable to stay still or keep his thoughts from racing, forgetting all about dinner.

Potter didn't wake by the time Severus finally went to bed. He must be in worse shape than he thought. Severus made sure the fire was well lit before retiring for the night, even though it was summer.

"Do call if he wakes," he told the owl, who quietly hooted in reply, keeping its vigil.

He could barely sleep, keeping an ear out for sounds of stirring or an owl calling, his head full of burning, unanswered questions.

In the morning, he heard the owl hooting. His surprise guest must be awake. Severus threw on his dressing gown and went to the living room.

The boy lay right where he'd left him, his eyes open. His snowy owl was now perched on the armrest by his head.

Severus stood over him. "Potter, I presume."

The eyes gradually shifted to him, and Severus stiffened. Green eyes. Lily's green eyes were looking at him. But they were wrong. They were dull, dim. They didn't have Lily's fire.

They were unfocused, too, and Severus remembered the glasses he'd found on him, and repaired. He picked them up from the table where he'd set them down the evening before and handed them over.

The boy slowly put them on and gave the man standing over him with crossed arms a better look. "Who are you?" The voice was tired.

"Severus Snape."

Potter frowned. "Think I've heard of you... People said you disappeared."

"Not well enough, apparently."

"Where am I?"

"In my house."

"How did I get here?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that. I found you lying outside unconscious yesterday. You have your owl to thank for my coming across you. Care to explain what you are doing in these parts?"

Potter's gaze slid away to stare blankly at the ceiling. "Nothing."

Severus arched a brow. "Before you lost consciousness."

"... I ran away."

Severus digested this answer for a minute. "Away from what?"

"Everything."

Severus narrowed his eyes at the familiar-sounding answers. Why would Potter want to escape his life and leave it all behind?

"Does it have anything to do with the sorry shape you're in?"

Potter didn't answer.

"Have a run in with dark wizards?" When the boy still didn't answer, he added, "The Dark Lord, perhaps?" Potter shut his eyes, and Severus had his answer. "He came back. And now he's gone for good."

Potter nodded slightly. That accounted for his disappearing Dark Mark. But Severus knew there must be far more to the story.

The boy needed sustenance, though. Severus went to the kitchen to fix breakfast. He came back and held out a bowl and spoon to the boy, not expecting him to get up and eat at the table. Potter slowly sat up and accepted the bowl, but he ate sparingly.

Severus ate in his armchair, watching the boy pick at his food with shaky hands. "Is my cooking not to your liking?"

"Sorry. It's not that."

"When was the last time you've eaten?"

Potter shrugged.

"When did you run away?"

"Dunno. What day is it?"

Severus had to think a moment, hardly living by the calendar as much as he did the seasons. "Mid July, thereabouts."

"End of June, then."

"Where are you headed?"

Potter shrugged again. "Nowhere, really."

"You took off without any plan of where you were going or what you were going to do?"

Potter didn't reply, which counted as one.

Severus finished his breakfast, but Potter hadn't eaten half of his.

"Can you manage any more bites?"

Potter stared into his bowl. "Sorry. Just not that hungry."

"You can't afford not to be. You're too young to be wasting away." But he took Potter's bowl to take back to the kitchen. He set the dishes to wash themselves and came back with a glass of water.

"Drink the whole thing, no excuses."

Potter obediently drained it, and Severus took the glass back. He returned and sat in his armchair.

"Humor me. I have been out here for several years with no idea of what has been transpiring in the world."

Potter sat there, perhaps too overwhelmed to know where to begin.

"Start with yourself. Where did you grow up?"

"... Little Whinging, Surrey."

"With whom?"

"My relatives."

"Your father's family?"

"My mum's."

Severus briefly wondered which of Lily's family had taken him in, but he kept on track. "They don't know where you are, then?"

"No. They don't care."

"Why not?"

"They hate me."

Severus frowned. "Why?"

"Because they hate magic. They hate wizards, and they think I'm a freak."

Severus recalled Petunia Evans' disgust over his and Lily's magical abilities. "How did you get those injuries?"

"Which ones?"

The dull ease of the question concerned him. "How many times have you been injured?"

Potter shrugged again, which was starting to get on Severus' nerves.

"Were you injured at home?"

"... Sometimes."

"How?"

"... Uncle Vernon."

Severus was beginning to get a clearer picture. "He tried to beat the magic out of you."

"Sometimes. Sometimes I deserved it, burning the bacon or not doing my chores fast enough, or making weird things happen. Sometimes he was just drunk."

Severus did not have to be told how drunks were. "That is why you ran away."

"No."

Severus knit his brows. "No?"

Potter didn't elaborate.

"How long were you with your uncle?"

"I lived there long as I could remember. After I started going to Hogwarts, I only went back for the summer."

"Did you tell anyone about your uncle's behavior?"

"... I told Dumbledore I didn't want to go back, but he said I had to."

"Why?"

"The blood wards."

This wasn't much information, but he sensed it had little to do with the boy's ultimate welfare. "He had his reasons for keeping you there?"

"So long as I stayed with them, the wards would keep me safe from Voldemort."

He hadn't heard the name in years, but it made him shiver, even though the wizard in question was dead. "And who kept you safe from your uncle?"

No answer. Severus sighed; leave it to the old fool to put his agenda first and miss the big picture. "And you told no one else of what was going on."

"Why bother."

Severus was dealing with uncomfortable deja vu, remembering his days as a student trying to hide his poverty and bruises and his alcoholic father, knowing no one would care or help. "Any friends at Hogwarts, anyone who might have noticed something?"

Potter's eyes grew moist. "... No friends."

Severus shut his own eyes in amazement. How was it possible that the famous Boy Who Lived (surely he had to have been famous) had a miserable upbringing so similar to his own?

"Tell me about your time at Hogwarts."

Potter fought back the tears. "I thought it was so great at first. I didn't even know I was a wizard until my letter came. I hoped that, maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"... Maybe I'd find people like me, who would like me."

"But everyone shunned you?"

Potter shook his head. "I thought I had friends. They were so nice..."

It took time to tease out the whole story, but they had nothing but time. Potter had made a few friends in his house (Gryffindor, what a surprise) and had even managed to get himself on the Quidditch team in his first year. Then someone had jinxed his broom during his first match, and he had fallen hard from a great height, landing him in the Hospital Wing for a long time. He'd healed for the most part, had some broken bones and a concussion, but he still dealt with chronic headaches and sometimes his arms and legs didn't work right, spazzing and shaking or unresponsive. It turned out one of his teachers had been working for Voldemort and had tried to kill him, nearly succeeding, which meant Potter had been unable to prevent him from stealing the Philosopher's Stone. (Why had Dumbledore been keeping it at Hogwarts?)

In his second year, the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, and Voldemort released a basilisk that killed several students, including the little sister of one of Potter's friends. Potter barely managed to kill the basilisk without getting killed himself, but Voldemort had gotten away.

In his third year, Voldemort had attacked him at Hogsmeade, where Potter had snuck out despite people telling him he was being targeted by Sirius Black, who had apparently been in Azkaban on a murder conviction for years before escaping and going after Potter. Turned out Black was Potter's godfather, not that anyone had bothered to tell Potter this, and had been trying to protect him. And he had protected Potter, at the cost of his own life, along with his fellow Marauder Remus Lupin, who had been teaching Defense that year. Losing a good teacher and his godfather who had wanted to take him in yet had died before they could even get to know each other, all because he had snuck out for sweets, nearly brought Potter to tears in the telling.

Last school year, they'd held the first Triwizard Tournament in hundreds of years as a way of 'forging bonds of friendship in these dangerous times,' and Potter had been wrangled into competing by another of Voldemort's goons who was setting him up to face Voldemort again. This time he had staged a bigger attack, and full out war had ensued. Potter had been made to watch as Voldemort killed people in front of him, until he had no choice but to kill Voldemort in a manner far more gruesome than he would have preferred (it made even Severus wince).

But he'd had no choice. He'd never had a choice. It had always been his job, his duty, his destiny to kill Voldemort, and now that the dark wizard was gone for good, so was their need for their hero. Dumbledore had given him little more than a pat on the head for a job well done before leaving him to his own devices. Potter's little friends were now too busy getting on with their own peaceful lives to bother pretending to be his friends anymore - Dumbledore had arranged ahead of time who needed to befriend the boy and push him along on his journey to defeat Voldemort, and now their jobs were done. They'd all squeezed what they needed out of him and tossed him aside like a used orange, leaving him alone and traumatized with nowhere to turn to and no one who needed or wanted him. So the boy had left, aimlessly wandering with no plans whatsoever, not caring what became of him.

Severus was stunned at the tale. Everything had gone to hell in a handbasket since he'd left himself. No wonder the boy had taken off, though he still thought making no preparations was rather foolish.

"Did you take anything along for the journey, at least?"

"I packed a little food."

"Any money?"

Potter shrugged.

"Do not shrug again, that is not an answer."

"I've got a vault at Gringotts."

"But you made no arrangements for withdrawing money, or withdrew it all to take with you?"

"No."

Severus sighed. "No wonder you were in Gryffindor. Running off all half-arsed." Seeing how forlorn the boy already was, he softened his tone slightly. "I came out here for similar reasons. But I took steps, precautions. I sold my house for extra funds, cleared out my vault, purchased supplies, Obliviated anyone who might be able to lead back to me. Even Obliviated the fellow who sold me this house. I've since built a good life out here."

"Slytherin, right?"

Severus managed a brief smirk. "Yes."

"What were you running away from?"

Severus supposed the question was fair, after he'd made the boy tell him his life story. "Everything, like yourself. I... made some terrible choices. Made horrific mistakes. People suffered. Did they tell you I used to be a Death Eater?"

"I think so."

"I may not have personally committed every atrocity in his service, but I was still party to it and couldn't prevent it. I share the blame. After your mother died... I couldn't take any more. I had to get away. To start over. To forget."

"... That's what I wanted."

Severus watched the boy who gazed blankly at his hands in his lap. He didn't know what he could do to help the boy, if there was anything to be done. What was done was done.

"Stay here for the time being, until you're a little stronger. There's no one else around for many miles. You'll have to be satisfied with the sofa, as I don't have a spare bed."

"That's fine. I'm used to not having a room."

Severus didn't like the sound of this. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Potter..."

The boy didn't look up. "They used to keep me under the stairs. At the Dursleys'. Sometimes for days."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. The more he heard, the worse it was.

"I am sorry, Potter." It didn't seem adequate. But what else could he do?

Potter stayed on the sofa all day, his owl hovering worriedly around him. Sometimes he stroked her feathers, but mostly he just sat there, taking no interest in anything. Severus tried to get him to eat more at lunch and dinner, but the boy's appetite was abysmal. It was made worse when his limbs acted up, convulsing until his bowl fell from his hands and clattered to the floor.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Potter apologized profusely as he kept shaking.

"It's not your fault, Potter." Severus picked up the dishes, which weren't broken, and cleaned up the spilled food. "What do you need?"

Potter shook his head. "It'll stop... in a minute..."

When his limbs calmed down, Potter seemed more exhausted.

"Can you eat any more?"

Potter shook his head. He hadn't shown much interest in food anyway.

Not that he showed interest in anything else. Unless spoken to, he was silent. He sat still and lifeless. It disturbed Severus to see those sunken green eyes so hollow and dull, looking through him as though he were a ghost. The boy was close to being one himself. All the life and hope had been drained from the boy, leaving a shell.

"Try to get some sleep," said Severus when he was about to go to bed himself. "I'll let your owl out."

Potter only nodded and lay down.

Hedwig (he'd at least gotten the boy to tell him her name) only followed him out after Potter gave her permission, though she ruffled her feathers indignantly and went reluctantly.

"I don't blame you for being concerned," Severus told her quietly. "He's in a bad way." He opened a window for her. "You should find some good hunting if you head East. Plenty of mice and squirrels."

She hooted, but didn't go.

"Go on. I'll mind the boy."

She gave him a look that said he'd better, then flapped her wings and flew out of the house, heading East.

Severus didn't need to keep an ear open to hear when Potter was in distress. He was abruptly woken from his light sleep when he heard screams coming from the living room. He dashed out, wand lit, and found Potter thrashing on the sofa.

"Potter! Potter, wake up!"

"No! Stop! Stop! Don't kill them! Kill me! Kill me, please! KILL ME!"

"Potter, wake up!"

The boy was crying hard before he finally woke. He jumped when he saw Severus leaning over him.

"It's me, Potter. It's alright. You had a nightmare."

Potter was sobbing. Severus stayed by the sofa as Potter wept, wishing he was better at this comforting thing. His people skills had never been that polished, and after living as a near hermit for several years, he was surprised he still knew how to carry a conversation.

Potter finally quieted and went back to sleep, but there was no peace in his sleeping face. He looked troubled even as he dozed. Severus lay awake in his bed a long time, listening for more nightmares, knowing without having to ask what it had been about. Only fourteen, and the boy was a traumatized war veteran, haunted by what he'd seen and done.

Would anything have changed if Severus had been there? If he hadn't run off to lick his own wounds? He had to admit he hadn't given Potter or anyone else a thought in years, though his grief over Lily had never entirely gone. Seeing the boy's face had brought back unpleasant memories of the boy's father; he might not have liked having to see that face every year if he'd kept his position as Potions Master at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore had asked him to protect the boy. For his own ends, of course, but he had asked. And Severus had refused. He'd been too numb to care about anything, much like Potter was now. Had he muscled through the grief, would he have been able to spare Potter from ending up like this?

He'd told Dumbledore to protect the boy himself. But the Headmaster had only troubled himself to keep Potter alive and pointed in the right direction until he fulfilled his purpose, not even bothering to take him out of an abusive home or let the boy make his own friends. And once his pawn had won the game, he'd walked off for him to fend for himself. Severus had run away to prevent being made the old man's pawn, only to leave Potter to that very fate. His selfish choices had once again put someone else in harm's way.

Fresh guilt washed over him. He'd thought that people wouldn't suffer because of him if he left, but he never considered what damage his absence might cause, assuming everyone would be better off without him. And now it was too late to fix. Many people had died in the fights against Voldemort, and maybe they would have died anyway had Severus been there, but he couldn't help wondering just the same. How much harder had it been for Potter with no one at his back to help him? Brought up to murder with the weight of the wizarding world on his scrawny shoulders, expected to save everyone while no one saved him from being locked up, beaten and starved. He'd had to give his everything, and be given nothing in return.

Severus found space in his self-loathing to be angry at Dumbledore as well for dropping the ball so spectacularly. Both of them had failed the boy.

"Damn you, Albus."

Potter didn't look any better in the morning. He woodenly stroked Hedwig, who had rapped on the window first thing in the morning to be let in and had flown straight to Potter. He picked at his breakfast, eating less than the day before.

"You won't recover if you don't eat," Severus told him, but Potter didn't respond. He picked at his lunch, and he picked at his dinner. Severus slipped a potion into the boy's lunch to increase his appetite, but that only meant he ate seven bites instead of four.

Severus knew what the problem was, thinking it over as he washed dishes. Potter had given up. He didn't care two knuts if he lived through the night or not. At this rate, he might very well not. Nothing Severus could say would make any difference. He had run away himself, wishing he was dead, though he'd mainly wanted his life as he had known it to end. He'd just needed a fresh start, and he was living rather contentedly in his new lifestyle.

Potter had run away from it all, but being away from it all wasn't enough. He'd seen too much, lived through too much. He couldn't forget. He'd been chewed up and spat out, more than Severus had, and he no longer saw any point in living, even though he wasn't under anyone's thumb anymore. It had taken a while for Severus to realize that the loss of his relationships had hit the boy hardest - he couldn't mention his erstwhile friends or the loss of his godfather without tears, and his nightmares centered around losing people he'd considered dear to him. Having no one equaled having no reason to go on.

If nothing changed, Severus was morbidly sure, the boy would be dead in days, if it even took that long.

Something had to be done.

"I have a proposition for you, Potter."

Potter looked up blandly.

"If you like, I can brew you a de-aging potion. It will regress you to early childhood and reverse your injuries, and you will have no memories of your past life. I can have you placed with a new family where you can grow up all over again without the pressures of being the Boy Who Lived, or ever remembering being so. A clean slate."

Potter considered this for a minute. "How early in childhood?"

"Depending on how much you take, it could send you back to your toddler years. Since you are still so young yourself, it will not take much."

After another minute, Potter weakly nodded. "Okay."

"This will be permanent," Severus warned. "Once you take it, there is no reversing it."

"That's fine. I wouldn't want to come back."

"I didn't think so."

Severus spent the day in his lab, carefully brewing the de-aging potion. This was the best solution he could come up with, and he hoped it would work. Potter deserved a chance at a normal, happy childhood. There were bound to be good people in the nearest towns who would take in and raise an orphaned little boy and give him the love and care he'd missed out on before. Severus would make sure he only went to the right family, perhaps look in on him from time to time. After all, what kind of idiot would drop a small child off on a stranger's doorstep and leave them to fate? Even Severus knew better than that, despite having no children himself.

When the potion was ready, he ladled the pale purple brew into a cup and took it to Potter, who was too weak to get up.

"Just a few sips will be sufficient."

Potter nodded.

"Are you ready?"

Potter glanced mournfully at his owl. "You'll find a new home for Hedwig?"

"I will ensure she has a suitable situation, as I will for you. You have my word."

Potter feebly stroked her feathers. "Be a good girl, Hedwig. You've been a great owl."

She nibbled his fingers affectionately. Potter took the cup from Severus with both hands.

"Thanks. For everything."

Severus nodded. "I regret it wasn't enough."

"It's not your fault." Severus wasn't so sure about that.

Potter took a deep breath, then raised the cup to his lips.

And started chugging the whole thing down before Severus realized what he was doing.

"No, no, no!" He lunged to swipe the cup away, but it fell from Potter's hands, empty.

It was too late. Potter started convulsing, eyes glazing over, breath coming in gasps. Hedwig screeched in the background, upset. Severus watched in horror as Potter rapidly regressed in front of him, from teenager to adolescent to child to toddler. At this rate, with how much he'd drunk, he was going to de-age past the point of no return.

Potter was a baby in clothes far too big for him when Severus whipped his wand out and hurriedly muttered incantations over him. There was no time to think. In another few seconds...

Potter grew smaller and smaller until Severus couldn't see him as he frantically cast. Then he blacked out.

Severus woke up on his living room floor. Hedwig was perched over him on the table, blinking her wide eyes and flapping her wings at him. She hooted as he slowly sat up.

He immediately looked at the sofa, but didn't see Potter. Pulling aside the blanket, he dug around and only found clothes, a wand, and a pair of glasses. No Potter at any age.

Severus scrambled to his feet and hurried back to his lab, Hedwig flying after him. He got out another cauldron and lit a fire underneath it, hastily grabbing ingredients and chopping and measuring as quickly as he could while still being accurate. Hedwig watched curiously as he tossed in ingredients and stirred the correct number of times.

Twenty minutes later, he used a silver knife to prick his finger and add three drops of blood to the brew before stirring clockwise nine times. He never thought he would ever have to brew this particular potion, but now he needed to know what it would tell him. If he got one result, he'd know he was too late and Potter was gone for good. If he got the other result...

He watched intently as it changed colors, heart in his throat. Finally, it settled on red, bubbling up.

It was positive.

He had acted in the nick of time.

He was pregnant.