Harry's body was as warm as a roaring flame, soft and small puffs of warm air coming out of his mouth as his body felt colder, bones aching in frost as pain seared all over him like he had been dropped into an icy pond. His hollow cheeks were flushed and he was drenched in sweat. "Ngh, no," he mumbled loudly. The fever swept boy whimpered in his sleep, barely tossing and turning as everything hurt. A nightmare was stirring and he felt like he couldn't breathe, his intake of air coming in rapid succession, his chest rising up and down.

His mind screamed within the night terror things he was sure only made the beatings worse, but he couldn't stop himself. Please, make it stop! It hurts. I'm sorry. I can't breathe! His uncle's menacing face continued contorting in madness, Harry unable to look away even though he was sure he had closed his eyes, the sting of the belt hitting him repeatedly. At times it was the metal buckle, leaving bloodied bruises and lacerations, and other times he prayed that the whips of the thick leather would stop its fury. Before he knew it, the garage ceiling was uprooted and a warm yellow glow filled the space, the stout and violent man disappearing, the scent of rosemary billowing in. Harry's fidgeting slowed as a cool towel was placed over his head, a gentle brush of a hand through his wavy mane as in his half awake state, he could barely make out the sound of someone telling him to breathe. He didn't dare open his eyes, for fear that the cocoon of safety was a dream.

"Relax. You're safe. Take a deep breath in, one, two. Exhale out." The voice was monotone, not the least bit comforting, but Harry didn't have the energy to fight or question the directions. Fright had incapacitated him and his thoughts were scrambled in a vulnerable state, open to suggestions as his inner voice cried for help. The repeating drone definitely helped steady his lightheadedness as his breathing was ragged, uncontrollable at worst.

"That's good. Breathe in, breathe out," the calm and deep voice encouraged him.

Harry turned over his side, invoking some tenderness in his shoulder, as a wet object fell off his forehead and he slowly opened his eyes to meet the watery gaze of the kneeling professor. As if minding his P's and Q's, afraid of the wrath he had witnessed the robed man was capable of exercising on those who crossed him, Harry asked in a groggy whisper, "Sir?"

"Oh, I seem to have gotten some dust in my eyes from the stir of the blanket," Snape replied, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, donning an emotionless face mere seconds later. If anything, he had feared the boy was long gone despite his best attempts at keeping the child's vital signs stable. The sight of Harry's emerald eyes lit with bits of life rather than the lifeless husk he had been when Snape found him in the cupboard was a miracle. Masking his emotions, he sarcastically said, "I was certain the afterlife and Death with his scythe might take you first."

The dark haired brunette met him with confusion, unsure if he should nod or shake his head. His breathing was slowly coming back to normal. He hoped he wasn't dead, but having been near it multiple times at the hands of the Dursleys, he wouldn't be surprised if he was. One glance around let him see a desk, chair, walls lined with books, and floating candles that seemed to release no heat, with the curtained poster bed he was on as the centerpiece. The room was a tad dark, sure, even with a fireplace glowing on one end. However, the satin silver and green bed curtains made him feel protected. On the desk, Harry was sure that his glasses were placed neatly and fully intact on its surface. Surely, if this was heaven, he thought, wouldn't my parents be by my side? Expelling the idea from his mind, he decided it had to be a dream, one where he was saved and cared for rather than abandoned and left for dead in a broom closet.

With a hoarse voice, raspy from lack of water and disuse from the past few days, Harry mused, "Where are we? Is this a dream, Sir? If so, don't tell me, for it's a very splendid and lifelike one I would hate to wake up from."

He acknowledged what warmth he was covered in, layers of soft green and silver striped blanket and a snake crested quilt covering most of him, still feeling burning and itching in places, but no longer in enough pain that it hurt to breathe. Harry remembered from a book he read from the school library of a little girl named Sara who had a great imagination and unstoppable determination. He felt he could relate to her and her strong will in tough circumstances, oppressed and worked like a slave for their enslavers, but able to keep their wits through it all. On the contrary, she taught him that hopes were a necessity, that everyone has value even if they didn't have anything of material worth, and that if he wished for things enough, he could daydream them appearing from thin air, pretending things were better in real life and they'd shimmer in dreams. Of course, while she had a happy ending in the form of a benefactor, Harry imagined himself a similar future, full of freedom and light. Although he had typically dreamed of food or bright places, this was beyond his wildest sights. It wasn't often that a nightmare was followed by something as beautifully vivid as this.

"We're in Hogwarts, a magical castle that I teach at, and you are currently in the Slytherin Quarters, where my bedroom resides," Snape answered tactfully.

Not wanting to overwhelm the child with the mention of wizards and magic, he refrained from explaining the details in case Harry also had an internalized hatred of anything out of the ordinary as Petunia did. After all, it was best to take it slow as the whole structure of the Wizarding World balanced and could potentially collapse with headlines of the Boy Who Lived and rumors of You Know Who should anyone notice Harry was in Hogwarts. Snape offered Harry a kind smile that looked more like a beast baring its fangs, a lopsided grimace at best since his face was typically neutral or etched in a frown most days.

The young boy decided quickly that the burning sensation on his side, his sore tendons feeling swollen and ripped apart at the same time, was too painful to be on and returned to laying on his back, groaning and clenching his jaw to keep from making too much noise out of habit. Even though he could muffle the sound, his discomfort was unmistakable.

Snape put his hand to his face, swiping downwards in an attempt to brush away his stress. "I should have known better when Pomfrey said she had stabilized you that she meant you would live to see another day, but clearly she didn't tell me everything for your privacy," he groaned.

Harry didn't understand what happened while he was in a comatose-like state, but he could only assume Pomfrey was either the name of a hospital or medical physician since his pain in his ribs was dull and his ears were no longer ringing.

"I'm fine," Harry offered in respect, not knowing where he'd go after, but he didn't want to be a burden to the professor or school that he wasn't part of. "You won't have to worry about me once I can walk out of this room."

"Don't act coy, Potter. Your uncle was heavy handed from the looks of it." The boy flinched at the thought of what had happened and embarrassment from what he must have looked like as Snape reprimanded him. "I won't ask you to go into details, but I wasn't born yesterday. Tell me where it hurts still or I'll have to find out for myself. You won't like that. Now, I imagine it can't be comfortable for you being vulnerable, but privacy can come when you're well."

Harry was silent, unsure how to respond. He tried to get some more words out but it just came up in raspy and squeezed sounds with fervent coughs as consequence to the effort. Snape was about to yell for him to spit out the words until he realized the child was probably dehydrated, his body having used up the resources to maintain the body after blood loss. The professor couldn't remember the last time he had taken care of someone, patience being the last thing he was able to grasp. After all, Madam Pomfrey was the recommended expert on health and healing that the school employed, fixing most injuries done through magical accidents but when Snape brought Harry in, she had just about lost her wits, claiming she'd seen plenty but this was an extreme case.

"Don't speak for a moment," the robed professor commanded.

He got up and filled a glass with water from a pitcher. Bringing it over, he urged Harry to sit up. Snape held the cup in place since Harry barely had any strength in his arms to keep the glass from shaking. The brunette took small sips, clearing his throat in intervals and feeling rejuvenated as he continued having glasses of water. Before they knew it, Harry was able to test his words and feasibly speak with little pain.

Doing as best as he could, Harry explained, "I think I'm hurt everywhere, although way less than before."

He looked down at himself and immediately panicked. Harry felt an itching sensation all over but he hadn't expected a giant dried up blood stain through the layered jumpers he was not changed out of. That wasn't there before he'd fallen asleep, he thought. Pulling up the gray fabric to have a look, his eyebrows raised in suspicion as the slightly throbbing pain wasn't coming from a gaping wound but rather a decently scarred over area on his abdomen. A prod of the tender skin with his finger only caused him to let out a small yelp, indicative of the fresh healing. The rest of his limbs seemed about the same as he expected.

Knowing that the man, sitting in the nearby chair and watching his every move like a hawk, wanted to hear his thoughts, Harry continued with a stumble of a stutter to vocalize what exactly his injuries were, "Ur, I can't tell the new bruises from the old ones unless I touch or roll over them. My middle hurts but I'm unsure how to explain what happened. Also, a few scrapes here and there, but nothing I can't handle."

Anger bubbled up in the man, his face reddening as Snape shouted, "I should have showed them a taste of their own medicine!"

Harry flinched from the sudden outburst, whimpering from getting startled and the way his muscles tensed up, his body preparing for danger. He'd never seen the professor so upset before. Despite his brain telling him that the man had protected him from further harm and brought him to a warm environment in a private school dormitory, his heart was beating with panic, warning him that unlike his aunt and uncle, he didn't have any experience to predict how Snape would react to anything.

Snape faltered seeing Harry's wide eyes, the verdant irises entwined with fear at him as if he was another abuser he had to be wary of, his hands tugging at the blanket for protection. The professor was ready to curse the Muggle family, but knew he shouldn't. Instead, he took a few deep breaths and tried to talk gently.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not going to hurt you," Snape affirmed, backing up in the chair, and putting his hands up to show there was nothing there.

Harry slowly dropped the blanket from the closeness it had to his chest, asking in a barely audible whisper, "Are you sure?" It wasn't the first time he'd heard that there wouldn't be any pain, hurt, or consequences after someone yelled, but the nightmare still held its scary doubt in his head. It proclaimed that the rug would be pulled out from under him when he least expected it.

"Yes, I won't intentionally do anything to harm you," Snape replied, although he knew from other abused Slytherin students that he'd taken under his wing, that his word might not be enough.

After all, he was probably a nice acquaintance with ulterior motives in Harry's eyes and that wasn't entirely false. The child was understandably reacting as any other trauma victim would, with apprehension and based off of prior experiences after being dropped into an unknown environment. Relying on instinct, he decided that they might need some distance and he could get some provisions.

With a practiced and calm demeanor, Snape suggested, "If it would make you feel better, do you want me to leave and return in a bit with food, in order to give you space?"

Harry partially wanted him to stay as he didn't want to be alone, but his stomach ached and his mouth watered at the thought of food. His shoulders eased in relief and he timidly nodded. The professor left, closing the door with a quiet thud. Left to his thoughts, he tried to count, taking in deep breaths, exhaling nice and slow. The boy couldn't remember the last time he was treated like a human, looked at as if he wasn't an old piece of furniture left on the roadside. He shook his head, trying to shake out his doubts. Harry willed his limbs to move him off the bed, to at least get up and dust off anything he could find as a thank you, but the effort further caused him to scream out, immediately covering his mouth lest anyone heard. The last thing he wanted was to be found out.

Wait, he thought, am I even supposed to be here in the first place? Harry looked around suspiciously, sure that he couldn't stay hidden in the professor's quarters forever. How did he even arrive where he was, past the Dursleys' detection? What time was it? Who was the professor really? He had more questions than answers as he gazed around the room with still blurry vision but greater clarity. The boy stretched out his right arm and wiggled his fingers in an attempt to reach his glasses, but stopped momentarily for fear of falling out of bed. As time passed, however, he thought it was for the best. If there was one thing Harry knew for sure could keep Snape pleased, it was that the man cared about his health and rest the most. Harry didn't want to incur the dark haired man's wrath by accidentally going through his possessions or moving without his permission. He carefully wormed his way back into the blanket, waiting for the robed professor to return.

Meanwhile, after descending a flight of stairs, Snape ended up in front of a portrait of fruit. Rolling his eyes, he tickled the painting of the pear, a door handle magically appearing. With the turn of the handle, he entered the Hogwarts Kitchens, the overpowering smell of ham and butter hitting him as the house elves hustled and bustled across the linoleum tiles. Although they all turned to look up at him, stopping in their tracks of what they were doing, one of the house elves commanded that they get back to their duties before morning hit.

Stopping in front of him was who he could only assume was the foreman of the elves, nervously wringing his hands and speaking with a squeaky voice, "Mister Snape! We weren't expecting you. Could we interest you in a roast duck, chicken pot pie, or a mug of hot cocoa?"

"No, thank you." Snape, in a mild drone, requested, "I need a bowl of chicken noodle soup, preferably with soft chunks and high in nutrients."

"Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir. Don't be afraid to ask for more, " the house elf replied, bowing deeply before immediately dashing off and getting the rest of his crew to prepare the specially requested meal. Within the span of ten minutes, the potions professor was presented with a porcelain bowl of clear broth, containing pasta and cubed morsels of meat and vegetables, resting on top of a porcelain saucer. A silver soup spoon was added to the dish and the leading house elf bowed again, asking, "Is it to your liking, Mister Snape?"

Snape nodded and left, the shuffle of elves following upon the closing of the door, the portrait returning to its original state. He headed back to the Slytherin dormitory, the warm vapor of the food rising in the chilled air as he entered the basement passages. Slipping into a secret corridor, Snape led himself to the side entrance next to his bedroom door. Upon knocking, he entered and found Harry resting and waiting patiently.

"I hope the knocking didn't scare you," Snape said, closing the door slowly. He pulled the wooden chair closer to the poster bed's side and sat, holding the porcelain bowl in precise hands. "Would you sit up please? I've brought you some soup."

Harry did as he was told and Snape explained, "I know a full bodied meal seems more appetizing, but I assure you, this will be plenty. We'll work it up until your body gets used to regular sized portions."

The boy nodded, remembering the few times that he had stolen food from bins or classmates' cubbies, only for his body to violently reject it without reason. "I can eat by myself," Harry said, wincing in defeat when holding the soup bowl heavily created strain for his fatigued muscles.

"I'll help you this time, but it won't be the norm," Snape replied, anchoring the plate over the boy's blanketed lap, ladling a spoonful of soup to his little open mouth.

The sleep deprived but dedicated professor fed him spoon after spoon, Harry feeling warm inside until he swallowed and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, eyes watering, warily eyeing the porcelain bowl. "I tried to finish it, but I think I'll be sick if I continue." Blubbering, in fragmented gulps of air, he asked, "Sir, will I, will I be punished?"

"No, you won't be," he answered. If Harry wasn't in need of the slow recovery process, the professor was sure his anger would stir from the waste of food. Snape set aside the chicken noodle soup on the desk and with a calm tone, he said, "It's okay. You did good for stopping and telling me. That's normal for right now. I can get you more later."

Harry looked away, fumbling with his hands before grabbing the second pillow on the bed, hugging it in front of him for comfort. Peering out from the side of it, his dark brown tufts sticking up, he asked, "Sir, how long will I be allowed to stay here? I don't have any money and I'm sure my aunt and uncle don't approve of this." As he said such, his thoughts poked fun at him, taunting that he was bad luck, everyone leaving him in the end.

"Is that what you've been worried about?" Snape pulled a thin stack of papers from his robes, a muggle pen out of the desk drawer, and grabbed the compact spectacles from the top of the desk, a soft gaze falling upon Harry as he passed over the objects. "You probably have a lot of questions, but we can save them for tomorrow. It wasn't easy to get this, but your aunt and uncle have given their consent. With one signature, if you'll approve of it, I would like to adopt you under my wing." The man let out a deep sigh. "However, I understand if you prefer someone else and I can rearrange that within the week."

Harry put on his glasses, his verdant eyes glazing over with tears as he brought the paper up to read, hot drops falling from his cheeks, wetting the parchment. The document was official and the grumpy man in front of him was serious, nodding with sincerity and mild worry. He lifted his glasses and wiped away his tears before he shook his head, determined to sign the paper. With a simple scrawl of his name, the document shone lightly, the ink over his name embossed in gold over the paper for a split second.

As Snape got closer to retrieve the parchment, Harry handed it over to him. Midway, the child tackled the man with a gentle embrace, ignoring his mild discomfort and the crumpling of the paper. "Thank you," Harry whispered, "for rescuing me."

"Thank you for giving me a chance," Snape replied, reciprocating the hug with stiff arms and a light hold. The boy would never know it, but the potions professor, who students believed held no empathy, felt his heart widen with relief and joy.

They let go of one another, Snape cradling Harry's head as gravity brought him back to the pillow. "I think it's best if you get some sleep before the sun cracks, Potter."

Harry hummed in agreement, but then fear pummeled his thoughts. He was afraid the nightmare would come back or he would awaken to find everything was all a dream. "What if bad things come back at night? Where will you be?"

"Nothing will happen as long as I'm here," Snape answered confidently, grabbing an extra blanket from the end of the bed, covering himself with it where he sat.

With a flick of his wand from inside his robes, he apparated an enchanted dream catcher he used every once in a while, pulling it out from underneath the layers as if it were a muggle magic trick. He hung the woven rope dream catcher on the door hook, declaring that the object would ensure safe sleep. As Harry got cozy, assured that there was some form of protection, he closed his eyes. Before he knew it, he heard the dripping of water in a nearby vessel and felt the cool dampness of a towel placed on his forehead. There was a mumble of words he couldn't make out from the low and monotone voice, but he let himself drift into a peaceful slumber.

The next morning -

Although the sun had broken across the horizon, snow gently falling on the sleepy landscape outside, the Slytherin bedroom stayed primarily dim. Harry woke up from a dreamless slumber, his mind feeling well rested and his body aching with a stretch. Blinking his eyes and taking in his environment half asleep, he panicked, voicing, "Bloody hell!" expecting to get yanked out of the cupboard for being late to wake. Fortunately, the professor stirred from his seated position, telling the boy with ease to breathe and that it was safe, Harry grabbing onto his hand in desperation to confirm the figure was really flesh and bone.

Eventually, they had a slow breakfast, Harry getting a few bites of sweet syrup topped pancakes and Snape eating some egg sandwiches with black coffee. Feeling a smidge better, Harry found his legs had regained some energy and his cheeks regained a bit of color. As he made his snail paced movements to the window, he peered outside at the truly white wonderland. The snow covered the castle grounds in thick glossy sheets unlike the black and gray slush he recalled Privet Drive usually had. His mouth hung agape in awe.

Adrenaline giving him courage, Harry turned around and asked the robed man, "Can we please go outside? I've never seen snow this clean before," knowing the man was free of classes for the weekend.

Snape paused for a moment, sipping the last of his warm coffee, before responding. "Only if you put on the proper winter gear and stick by my side while we're out there."

Harry agreed to the conditions, his green eyes sparkling with excitement as he got dressed, ready for his first day of freedom. The professor had pulled out extra clothes from the emergency supply closet, bundling the child up in a long coat, sweater, insulated slacks, thick wool socks, a silver and green colored striped scarf, and perfectly fitting leather gloves.

As they started their walk, they saw pelicans flying south and forests shift. They built snowmen and talked about plans for the future. When they were walking back, Harry's eyes caught onto something sticking through the ground, quietly sprouting past the fresh layers of snow. At first, he thought they were snowflakes, but as he peered closer, he was overcome with curious amusement. Brimming with life, the faintest splash of forest green hidden inside of soft and white bell shaped petals, were snowdrops signifying the early signs of spring. It was hardly the end of December, let alone the frosty January that the hardy perennials usually grew through in small patches. However, Harry saw a relatable kinship in the plant that had overcome the hardship of winter and pushed past the permafrost, surviving and blossoming anew, starting life anew just like he had.

Snape watched as Potter boy chuckled at the dispersed early blooms of flowers across the snow. Trying to be considerate and unsure of what to do, Snape pulled out an old empty ink pot and offered it to him. "Do you want to bring some back to grow?"

The child satisfactorily beamed with disbelief. Kneeling down with a grin on his face, ignoring how the wind bit at his ears and nose, tinting them red, Harry wiped away the fresh layer of snow clumping over the new blooms and softly separated the cold snow from the frozen over dirt. Taking gentle care to dig around the base of the plant, he unearthed the small clump of dirt holding the thin leafed shrub and roots intact. In his small leather gloved hand was the winter's blossom. As Harry slowly stood up, the glass ink pot being brought closer and held carefully by the professor, he packed the rooted soil into the container.

"Do you reckon I can put it on the windowsill?" Harry asked, nervously scratching the nape of his neck.

"I don't suppose why that should be an issue," Snape replied, the side of his mouth upturned.

Harry, with one hand held onto the robe of the older man, his other clutching the tiny bundle of snowdrops. As they walked back towards the lively and holiday decorated castle, their footprints making parallel tracks in the glistening powder, the snowdrops danced side to side with the sparking hope that tiny miracles could happen, even in the chilliest of seasons.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading if you've stuck around to get to this chapter! It means a lot to me and was a pleasure to write. 3 Aaah, I finally got the hidden title of this work incorporated into the fic. I wasn't sure how to write the middle bit but I hope you guys enjoyed the end of this. I tried to make it fluffy and used the last of my brain cells doing so as university is kicking my butt. Might re-edit some parts in the future but as for right now, I plan to make an epilogue, so stay tuned for that.