Chapter 2 : On Privet Drive in the Dead of Night
A thousand miles away in a castle in Scotland, a man sat up in bed, for a moment not understanding what had pulled him out of sleep. His sharp black eyes darted around his bedroom, his hand clenched around a wand, until finally he found the source of the disturbance.
He frowned, but he wasted no time getting out of bed and walking over to the fireplace. There, on the mantle, was a spindly silver instrument. It was vibrating, just a little, and making the sound he had heard.
His frown turned into a scowl.
Most likely the brat had wet the bed, or wanted a glass of water, or something of that sort. The other detectors showed no activity and no disruptions in the wards. Whatever was wrong with the brat, it was something mundane.
Still, his instructions were clear. Any alarm had to be investigated. Albus hadn't mentioned anything about the instrument vibrating like this, so gently that it was almost imperceptible, but the old man often omitted details. It was better to go and make sure nothing was amiss, than to be later accused of ignoring an alarm.
With an annoyed huff, he pulled on his clothes and heavy traveling cloak. What a lot of bother. He should have spent the holidays at his house instead of at the school, and then Albus would have had to find someone else to keep an eye on the Potter brat at all hours of day and night.
He shivered despite his warm clothes as he left his room and walked through the dark dungeon corridors, not bothering to light the torches. He cast a warming charm around himself as he left the castle, stomped over the crusty, crunchy snow to the edge of the wards, and Apparated.
There it was, Number 4, Privet Drive. He had been there once before. All Order members had been, in case they ever had to respond to a genuine alarm. It was an ordinary Muggle house that looked no different than any other Muggle house on the same street.
No lights were on.
He had Apparated with discretion and did not need to worry about being noticed by Muggles, though there was no one around to notice him. He simply walked up to the house and let himself in.
It was silent.
Just as he'd known, he had come for nothing. Still, he supposed he ought to actually see the brat before he left. He sniffed irritably.
Creeping up the stairs, he stopped in the upstairs hallway. There were three closed doors, as well as an open one that led to a bathroom.
"Point me."
His wand spun in his palm, the tip smacking into a silver button on his cloak as it pointed at his chest. He frowned at it. There was nothing in back of him but the stairs.
Probably the brat had fallen asleep on a couch. He went back down as silently as he had come up.
"Point me."
How infuriating! The ridiculous thing was pointing at his chest again, and there was nothing in back of him but the damn stairs.
Perhaps it was the wards interfering. He would try a different spell, and if that did not work he would search the house.
He cast a charm that sent a wisp of light from his wand, tracing a path to where the infernal brat was. It did not float up the stairs, but to the side, and stopped only a few feet from where he was standing.
Fine, he would search without magic, then. Albus hadn't mentioned anything about magic not working properly in the house. The old man could be really infuriating with his tendency to forget such relevant details.
He was about to start up the stairs again, intending to search the bedrooms first, as was logical, when he noticed a narrow, low door set in the wall of the staircase. Curiously, it was at this door, which he had not noticed then, that the wisp of light had stopped.
He approached it with caution. Not because he thought it posed a danger to him, but because already in the back of his mind there was an uncomfortable twinge. What if, it seemed to be asking him, you find the brat behind this door? What would that mean? Surely that was a cupboard. Any fool could see that it was.
There was a tiny, barred window on the door. He swallowed. He hated to open that door. He really didn't want to find what his mind was suggesting he might find behind it.
He opened it.
It was too dark to see in, and he lit his wand for the first time.
There, on a dingy mattress, entirely covered by a dingy, thin blanket, was a small lump. Two tatty shoes with holes in them poked out from beneath the blanket. The toes sticking out through the holes were a sickening shade of blue.
In a kind of stupid panic, he grabbed the child and shook him, and that was how he found that the child still lived. Relief flooded over him, as much for the brat as for himself, because what would Albus do if the brat died after Severus had been charged with watching out for him?
Still, the boy did not wake, and given how hard he had shaken him, it was not a good sign.
He was not a healer and had little formal training, but knowledge of certain spells and charms had always proved useful to him. He cast two now, one a simple diagnostic spell and the other a strong warming charm that penetrated beyond the surface of the skin.
He could see now that it was cold that had caused the deep sleep, and that it had been a close brush with disaster. He cast another warming charm, this time on the mattress and the blanket and the clothing the boy wore... if what he wore could be called clothing.
This done, he stared at the boy with dismay. What was he supposed to do now? Albus was completely unreachable. He didn't even know where Minerva was, or Pomfrey, or... or anyone, really. It was the winter holidays, for Merlin's sake. Everyone was off doing whatever it was people did over the holidays. Hogwarts was completely empty, as there had been no students who chose to stay this year. He didn't even know how to reach the Order, unless he sent his Patronus out, and who knew who would show up? How would Albus feel about Aurors at the Dursleys? And wouldn't they report the boy's condition? They were Oath-bound to. What then?
Torn between knowing that he could not simply shut the cupboard door again and call the situation handled, and knowing that the boy had to stay with Petunia, he spent the next couple of minutes sitting there with the boy half in his lap, completely unable to think of a good course of action.
He sat there for so long, in fact, that the boy woke up.
For a brief moment, startlingly green eyes looked straight into his. Lily's eyes. They so stunned him that he did not react even when the boy scrambled back, away from him, whimpering in terror.
He shook his head to clear it. "I will not hurt you."
The boy ducked his head into his arms, drawing up his knees. He seemed to be trying to press himself right through the wall.
"I... I..." Severus's mind was completely blank. He could only think that the boy was about to start howling, which would bring the Dursleys down, and if anything would make all of this even worse, it was Petunia. "I'm a friend of your mother," he said without meaning to.
The boy stilled.
Slowly, reason returned to him. He didn't have to do anything now. The boy wasn't being beaten; the spell had shown no injuries that would suggest that. Severus could see very well that the boy was too thin, and of course everything else simply screamed intolerable neglect, but he could do something for that, and he didn't have to take any other action until he could let Albus decide on what was best.
"I... er... I knew you were ill and came to see you."
The boy raised his head slightly. "My Mum?"
"Yes," Severus said reluctantly. Of course that would be what the brat latched on to. "You see, she asked me to look in on you once in a while."
That wasn't true, of course, but it was close enough. He had taken a Vow, after all, and he was tasked with checking on the boy if the alarms went off. And there was the other thing... the thing he had promised Lily.
"Now, you mustn't make a noise. I will improve your bed, and your clothes, too. You will see a light."
Keeping one eye on the boy, he waved his wand, casting more spells. They were just simple transfigurations and charms that left the mattress and blanket and rags looking as they had before, but in truth softer and warmer.
The brat's eyes were as large as saucers. "That's... that's..."
"Magic, yes." Severus frowned slightly. He recalled how Lily's sister hated magic, and suddenly he wished he had not done the spells in front of the boy.
"Magic isn't real," the boy whispered. His face had gone absolutely pale. "Magic isn't allowed."
"Did your Aunt tell you that?"
The boy nodded.
"Magic is real, I assure you. Your mother was a witch and I am a wizard." He hesitated. He had been about to add that the boy, too, was a wizard, but looking at his face it seemed clear that would be the wrong thing to say. "Are you warmer now?"
"Yes, thank you." The boy's voice was still barely audible.
Severus knew he should not linger. He should do what needed to be done, and leave. What about the boy, though? It was obvious he knew nothing of magic or the wizarding world, and what if he blabbed about it? True, young children talked nonsense all the time, but if what the boy's words and fear suggested about his relatives was true....
"You mustn't tell anyone I was here. Or about the magic."
The boy shook his head so hard his hair whipped his cheeks. He looked absolutely terror-stricken. "Oh no! Oh, no, I won't tell! Magic isn't allowed!"
Somehow, instead of reassuring him, this only made Severus angry. How could Albus have allowed this? Had he never checked on the boy?
Now that he had done magic, there was no reason not to do more. With a flick of his wand he summoned a vial of Pepper-up from his cabinet back at Hogwarts. It appeared out of thin air with a soft pop, levitating long enough for him to take it.
"Drink this."
The boy obeyed him almost before he had finished speaking.
He wanted to summon a nutrient-replenishing potion, but he had none in his own stores, and didn't want to try summoning anything from the infirmary. Though he brewed most of the potions she used, how the nurse organized her cabinets was her own business, and while he knew she had the potion, a summons over such a great distance should ideally be more specific. Instead, he summoned a cup of warm pumpkin juice and a large slab of Honeydukes chocolate.
The boy's eyes went even wider, if possible, at the sight of the food.
Severus peered around the small space. "Is there some place you could keep a bit extra?"
"There." The boy pointed to a box in a corner. It was full of rags, as well as a tin cup and a tattered book. "No one ever looks there."
Severus broke off a piece of chocolate and handed it and the cup to the boy. The rest, still in the wrapper, he shoved to the bottom of the box.
By the time he looked up, which was really only a few seconds later, there was not one crumb or drop left.
He caught himself thinking of summoning more food to leave for the boy, as he was not sure when he would be able to reach Albus, but did not. He knew from personal experience the proper way of hiding food. Too much and it would be found.
He stood up. It was time to leave, he knew. He had been there entirely too long. "I cannot stay longer."
The Potter brat just stared at him.
"Good bye."
He turned away.
"Wait."
He looked over his shoulder at the boy, who had clambered over the mattress and was kneeling in the doorway of the cupboard.
"Are you... are you like a fairy godmother? Was all of this my wish?"
Severus snorted. "Hardly."
He turned away again, forcing his feet forward, toward the door.
"Wait," the boy said again. "My mum...."
He froze. That again. He never should have told the brat that. What had made him do it?
"Can you tell me what she looked like?"
Whatever he had expected, that wasn't it. "Hasn't your aunt ever shown you a picture?" It was a completely unnecessary question. He already knew.
"No, never."
Severus swallowed. He closed his eyes. He could see her face so clearly. So clearly it hurt. "She had eyes like yours."
"Was she very pretty?"
"Yes," he said, swallowing again. He could not bear it. Resolutely, he forced himself to move again.
There was silence in back of him, but he could still feel those eyes staring at him. Lily's eyes.
He stopped. His hand had closed over his heart of its own accord, but he was trying to force it down again, because he couldn't... He wouldn't....
With a resigned sigh, he turned around and walked back over to the boy, who shuffled back quickly, vanishing into the cupboard.
It took him at least a minute to bring himself to do it. He didn't want to, and that was the truth. Whatever was making him do it was a part of him that he didn't want to acknowledge. This was the Potter brat, for Merlin's sake!
"Here," he said roughly, finally accepting his loss. He took out of an inner pocket a photograph, yellowed with age and crinkled at the edges. He held it against the wall of the cupboard on the same side as the door, so that someone looking in could not see it, but at eye-level of the boy as he sat on the mattress. With a wave of his wand he attached it with a permanent sticking charm.
"My Mum?"
"Yes."
He took one last look at her face. She was no older than seventeen, her long hair in braided loops that had once been a popular style. She was smiling in a sweet, friendly way that made him ache with longing for the days when that smile had been for him. Even in the faded photograph, her eyes were brilliantly green, so like the boy's.
Unable to stand it one moment longer, he spun around and stalked from the house, not stopping until he had reached the sidewalk and could Apparate away.
In the cupboard, Harry was still sitting exactly as Severus had left him. He could not take his eyes off the photograph.
The poor child had suffered so much stress in the last hour that it was no wonder his mind was quite muddled. He giggled nervously, and found himself hardly able to stop.
"Mum. That's Mum." He wanted desperately to share her with someone who would understand. He wanted to share the joy of seeing her and knowing her. "Oh, Harry, that's Mum!"
Then he buried his face in the warm blanket and cried.
