AN: Sorry it took forever for this one, got a bit held up with life and such. However, I am trying to get back into the fray and actually post stuff up in a somewhat timely manner. Also, another reason why it took awhile for this to come up was due to the fact that I was a bit stuck. Originally I had planned on starting the story from where the next chapter begins and fill in the backstory as I went along. However, that didn't work to well and I began writing was is really just a prologue. With this being the last chapter and all of the main players introduced, with the exception of a certain blond ferret which happens next chapter, I can move into the meet of the story. I do hope you all enjoy what I have planned for Harry, Snape, Draco, and the rest.
Morning didn't come easy for Harry. The past two days were, in retrospect, filled with worry and possible near death experiences that nothing really didn't register in the mind of the young wizard, at least when it came to his current situation. In fact, as he awoke, reality came crashing down on the young man, and in a way that wasn't too pleasant.
He awoke on the floor, his new glasses off of his face, and the blurry shape that was the spare room that had been provided to him. Struggling to free himself from the covers, his eyes landed on a dark shape that sat off in the corner, an unfocused face looking down at him with utter disdain. For a moment, Harry felt his blood freeze. Had Snape sold him out to Voldemort? He couldn't make out the details of the person, but he did see their hands curling around what looked to be a wand. Wishing he had his, Harry attempted to make a scramble to escape his apparent attacker, only getting more entangled in the mess that was his blankets.
"Stop panicking Potter, it makes you look more pathetic than you already are" came the cold, disdain filled voice of the Potions Master. His wand waved about in the air, and the covers vanished, folding themselves neatly upon the bed, and leaving Harry free from their entrapment.
Reaching out, he found the glasses gifted to him, apparently Mrs. Malfoy had left them for him the night before, on the bedside table and quickly slipped them upon his face, bringing Snape and the room back into focus. The professor made no move to help the boy to his feet, and instead sat there, glaring as Harry stood. Despite the platoon of potions left behind by Mrs. Malfoy, the lingering pain from his punishments from his Uncle still throbbed. It would be a few days before they fully dulled away, though it didn't make it any more appealing to have to deal with a physical reminder. The mental ones were enough as is.
"Potter, where is your wand, and your trunk? Did your beast of an Uncle destroy both of them"
"No" came the curt reply, as Harry slid onto the edge of his bed, refusing to meet the eyes of the man "They are at Grimmauld Place. I figured, if Vernon was going to keep my trapped at least he couldn't get a hold of my things"
"Utterly stupid" Snape admonished, not paying the lock on Harry's face any attention as he stood from his chair, the bottom of his cloak billowing outwards, "You may not be allowed to use magic outside of school, but I highly doubt the Ministry of Magic would have held it against you if you attacked your Uncle. If you can't think enough to handle a single Muggle, then I feel sorry for the lives that are now on your shoulders Mr. Potter"
Within his mind, Harry saw flashes of both Sirius and Cedric, followed by the burning sensation of bile rising into his throat. The man was right, but he refused to sit there and give him the satisfaction of knowing how those words felt. Instead, the Gryffindor bit his tongue, and leveled a stony stare at Snape.
"What do you need from me, Sir" came the sneer of Harry, one that would have made Snape proud had it come from one of his snakes.
"What I need, is for you to learn some respect and show some gratitude. I may have to let you live here, but it won't be for free, nor will I allow you to lollygag the summer away"
With another wave of his wand, a list and a bucket full of cleaning supplies and what looked to be comfortable enough pants and shirt appeared at Harry's feet, prompting the young man to pick up and look over the almost foot length roll of parchment. Irritation and anger boiled under his skin as he read over the list of chores and demands. It was as if he had never left Privet Drive.
"The House of Prince is old, large, and will be given your utmost care. More than you show for your classes and learning. You are to finish these before the night is over, consider it as earning your keep. Pippy, my house elf, has already been told not to help you, and unlike other elves, she has no problem allowing someone else to clean. I expect not to see hide nor hare of you Potter, even if we cross paths while you are cleaning"
"Yes Aunt Petunia" Harry muttered reflexively, his mind set on auto pilot. There really was no escaping his fate, was there? No matter where he went, he was always going to be used by someone. Well, with the exception of Dumbledore at least. The old wizard at least seemed to care for him, even if he wasn't as attentive as he would hope. Without sparring Snape a second glance, Harry picked up his supplies and went into the bathroom to change, already falling into the trance that had been drilled into him from years of forced labor at the hands of the Dursley's.
Feeling satisfied that Harry would follow the list to the T, Snape left the room, however as the door shut he felt something tugging at his mind. He expected Harry to argue and fight back. Granted, he was glad that he didn't as Snape wanted to avoid an argument this early in the morning. However this was a far cry from what he was used to seeing from Potter at school. The boy was always argumentative when it came to his detentions and punishments. Yet here he seemed...almost resigned to it, as if it was another part of the routine. Part of him almost wanted to push and pry into the boy's mind, to find out what was going on, yet he pushed that part down. It was bad enough to boy was living here, no need to dive any deeper into whatever mess was in that head of his. Besides, it made keeping the boy busy a lot easier if he didn't care about his emotional state. Even if the rational part of his mind was telling him otherwise.
Long after Snape had departed, Harry had launched himself into the list that he was given. For the past few hours he had scrubbed, swept, mopped, and dusted almost the entire first two floors. Snape's list hadn't be anywhere near as taxing as what his Aunt often pressed him to do. The young man had to suppress a chuckle, perhaps Snape was under the impression that being forced to clean the Muggle way was going to be an arduous task. If only he knew about the task that he did every summer. Then again if he did, then maybe Snape would finally care. Or, in reality, use it as inspiration. Regardless, Harry had quickly fallen into an easy rhythm of cleaning, keeping his eyes only on whatever objects required his attention. 'Don't let me see the whites of your eyes while you are cleaning boy', Harry could hear in the back of his mind, wincing at the imagined blow to the back of his head that would often accompany those words. Vernon made sure to press that lesson into his mind when he was young, saying good little freaks only should have eyes for whatever they were told to do. As he polished a trophy he could almost swear that he was standing behind him and not the statute of armor he had to clean next.
Taking a small moment to dip his cloth in the magically replenishing bucket, the only magical item he was allowed to use, Harry took a moment to take in his situation. In all honesty, he was still in shock. He had been resigned to dying at Privet Drive just a few days ago. If not dying, at least not making it to the next school year in one piece. Of all the people that came to his rescue it was Snape. That was probably the hardest thing to believe. Granted, from what he could gleam, Snape didn't come to check on him under his own volition. Hell, Harry could barely remember the night that Snape came, just the relief that came with being able to escape from that place. That is what mattered, right?
The young man let the cloth fall back into the bucket with a splash, before sinking to the ground, his knees pulled into his chest, realization dawning upon him. He was free. Free from the life of pain and torture that was living with the Dursley's. Even if it wasn't the most ideal place for him to be, he should at least be grateful, if not throwing himself at Snape's feet for rescuing him. Maybe it didn't matter that Snape didn't care about his well being, the man had already done more for him than most adults had ever done in his life. Perhaps the least he could do was what the man wished, if not more. Yes, if doing chores upon chores for the emotionally distant man was what it took to pay him back, then Harry was more than willing to do so. Jumping to his feet with a sense of renewed purpose, Harry began to put his all into cleaning at the multitude of trophies that sat within a glass case. It wasn't the only case in the library, to be sure, but Harry felt it was probably the safest to open and clean. The others seemed to be filled with various dark artifacts that would do more harm than good.
As he banished the years of grime that coated a pair of gold covered boxing gloves, his eyes spotted something tucked away just behind the trophy. Curiosity getting the better of him, the young man reached out and tugged the small item, revealing a picture frame no bigger than a wallet. Like most things in the case, it too was coated in a thick layer of dust, and required a bit of vigorous cleaning to see beneath the glass. Once he did, however, a gasp found itself caught within his throat. There, in full color, was a picture of three young people, no older than 12. As the people in the picture shifted and moved about, Harry could pick out two of the three. Snape was an easy pick, his hair still sporting the same greasy length now as it seemed to back then, though it looked a bit a bit less tamed. To his left stood a witch with flowing black hair, one whom he had never seen before. Yet, those two weren't the reason why he gasped and felt some emotion well up inside of him. Staring at Severus, longing in her eyes, was his Mum. He had never seen her this young, but that hair and those eyes, they couldn't belong to anyone else. She looked happy. Full of life. Alive. A witch with so much ahead of her, and all of it taken away by a madman. A madman who wanted to kill Harry. Swallowing the pain and despair, Harry quickly slipped the photo back, trying his best to put it just how it was. Maybe he should ask Snape about her, about his Mum. He had only heard stories about his Dad's life, but the most that ever came out about his Mum was just how similar their eyes were. Maybe if he proved his worth, than Snape may be willing to tell him about her, Harry reasoned.
Erstwhile, in the deep dungeons of the House of Prince, something was brewing, both in a cauldron and the mind of a certain Potions Master. Potion making was a deep and almost religious practice. It required not only the brewers utmost attention and passion, but also their heart and soul. For Severus, surrendering all of this seemed to bring calm and peace to his world, with that came understanding. The potion in question was nothing to extreme, just something for a few private clients that he had, however he still gave the potion his everything. While his body moved and worked on it own, his mind, or at least parts of it, seemed to be else where, those thoughts concerning Harry Potter.
Why did fate always seem to be pushing him into the young wizard's life? Even before Potter was born, Snape was intertwined with his life. From his rivalry with James, one that turned violent, to his love for Lily, that had only been returned once. Everything in his life seemed to lead to him coming back in contact with Potter. He had thought that keeping an eye out for the brat at school would be the extent of it, but now he couldn't escape him. Rather, he couldn't escape those eyes. Those bright green eyes. Lily's eyes. It was the only part of Potter that Snape ever paid any attention to, the rest looking far too much like James. It was the only living connection to Lily he had, and it hurt to see those eyes in pain. Maybe that is why he did what he did, and saved the boy. Sure, he was obligated to as a member of the Order, but he could have passed along Figg's words to anyone else. He should have. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that those eyes, Lily's eyes were in danger. Snape had failed before, he wasn't going to fail again and let the light die from those eyes.
So why did it bother him when he looked back on his small exchange with Potter? Not just the exchange this morning, but overall. It wasn't like him to put much stock into Potter's life. Then again, it was always easy to ignore the boy. Now, with him being around him more in the past few days then his entire time at school, ignoring the pain Potter was feeling was incredibly tough. Maybe it had to do with his own life, and how his own upbringing mirrored bits of Potter's. While he never had it as bad as the boy, Snape's life was often devoid of love and understanding. Trapped between a family of wizards who hated he wasn't a pure-blood, and a muggle father who wanted nothing to do with him, Severus never really had time to truly be a child. Oh he had moments, glimpses of joy, though only when Lily was around. Or he was at school. Or the moments of peace and calm between himself and his mother. Yes, he had those moments to be a child, but Harry? Did he ever really get a childhood.?
Snape oft imagined Harry's life at the Dursley's to be a picnic, living among muggles who worshiped the ground he stood upon. The boy never gave any outward notion to the contrary. Then again, Snape never looked for the signs or cared enough to even entertain the notion. Yet, looking back, they were there. The look of utter amazement towards food the boy displayed at every meal. The way he coveted personal space. Those green eyes, filled with fear and worry. Sure, none of the other teachers at Hogwarts would notice, but a trained spy would. At least, a train spy would, if he had cared back then. Now, in the present, he felt a pang of regret. Harry had known only pain and suffering, and he had done nothing to help or change that. The boy never had a childhood, or a chance to enjoy being a kid, being forced into a war from birth. He had known death, sorrow, pain, loss, and so much worse, and he was only fifteen. Though he would deny it, Snape felt something akin to sorrow. No child should have to deal with what Harry was dealing with, not alone or ever. It may have been too late to fix the damage done in the past, but perhaps, just maybe, he could help Harry into a better future.
The eyes of Snape were cast off of his potion and over to a small picture that sat above his fireplace. He didn't have many personal items, at least along the lines of pictures, yet this one was special. It was of Lilly, sleeping peacefully beside the very fireplace where her picture sat. She was curled up, contented. Even with those eyes closed, Snape could still feel their bright green blaze searing into his soul. He recalled taking this picture, and what had happened after. He recalled the promise he had made to her, a promise he had been trying his best to keep. Perhaps Harry was the way towards keeping that promise.
While Snape began to plan on building a relationship with Harry, for both of their sake and for the memory of Lily, Harry out in the garden, pulling up the multitude of weeds that dotted the flower beds. It wasn't among the list of chores that Snape had given him, but after relocating a few spiders from within the house, he had spotted the garden and the shabby state it was in. In the boy's mind, he figured that he may as well get started on this project early, seeing as he was not only done with the inside chores, but perhaps predicting what Snape would have him do next would help towards his goal of earning the man's respect. Not only that, but like cooking, tending to the garden had been the only highlight in the list of never-ending chores that were heaped upon him by his Aunt and Uncle. As he collected weeds, singing lightly to himself as the sun began to drop below the horizon, he felt a sense of calm over take him. It was often like that, whenever he was free enough to sing and enjoy life. His eyes were cast upwards, watching the sunset. It was a beautiful moment, one he was glad he was alive to see. The young wizard could count on his finger tips the number of times he had seen a sunset that he had enjoyed. Before, he would see them after being forced to sleep outside. Or from behind glass windows after classes or in detention. Here, however, there were no conditions to enjoying and seeing this sunset. It was just Harry and the setting sun. No sense of dread about being cold as night came, or having to endure scrubbing cauldrons for Snape. Watching it all, and letting that peace flow around him, made the young man's eyes spark up, and his voice climb a little higher, a wordless melody flowing past his lips. As his emotions and feelings were vocalized, he heard something shift behind him, and turned to catch Snape staring at him. Instead of stern judging eyes, they looked to be misty, and filled with emotions that Harry never would have associated with Snape.
The older wizard had been there for sometime now, having planned to fetch Harry for dinner and to hopefully start working on building some sort of relationship with the boy. That plan fell away the more he watched Harry worked. He had been there long enough to not just admire Harry's tancity at which he worked on the garden, but also the voice he had. It was light, soft, and perfectly pitched. Just like his Mother, the young man had a knack for singing, and just like Lily, his voice was oddly soothing for the Potions Master. He didn't intend to stand there and stare at his new charge and listen, but he found himself unable to break the boy away from what he was doing. Harry looked to be at peace, enjoying a rare moment in his life when no one was lording over him, no wizards were trying to kill him. He was outside under his own power and volition, and to see him like that hardened the resolve of Snape even more. He would ensure that Harry would have more moments like this. Moments to enjoy life, and to be a child, and not someone lost in a middle of a war they never wanted to be a part of.
"S-Sir. I'm sorry. I know the garden wasn't on your list, but I figured tha-"
Snape held up a hand, signaling for Harry to slow down and stay silent for a moment. A pang of dread ran across the young man. Had he already done something wrong? He wanted to try and start off again on the right foot, and he had already messed something up. As he prepared for the shouting that was due to come from Snape, Harry was surprised when the Potions Master began to speak in a low, almost calming tone.
"You can relax Harry, I'm not here to chew you out. I-I just want to talk, please, sit down" Snape gestured towards the stone bench, waving his wand over it to conjure up a soft cushion for them both to sit on.
As they both took a seat, the apprehension was heavy on both of their faces. Harry, still worried that he had done something wrong and was about to face a less restrained wrath from Snape. Snape, who was afraid of saying something wrong and ruining his chances to give Harry a childhood. Both of them sat there, in silence, not looking at one another, as if waiting for that right moment to speak.
"She loved it out here, in the garden" Snape started, still not looking at Harry, but rather at the garden where the young man had just been, "She'd often sit there, showing off all the flowers she had planted. This was long after the last of the Full Blooded Prince's had died off of course. We were a older than you when she would come to stay here. A few days at a time"
"You loved her...didn't you" Harry knew the answer, he could see it written across the man's face. Those angular edges seem to soften a bit, and a look of contentment took over his features.
"More than you ever know. The point I am getting at, Pot-Harry. Is that your mother was someone special. She was like you in some regards, though much better at potions I must say. Yet you two are so similar in other ways. I have spent so long looking at you as the son of James, and not as the son of Lily"
Snape turned towards Harry, watching as the young man stared back, his eyes a bit misty, full of tears. His body seemed to be full of emotion, all steaming from just the few kind words said about the one person whom he knew little about. His own Mother. Even now, as those green eyes well with tears, Snape couldn't help but see Lily in Harry. Someone who was so strong, and yet fragile at the same time. The Potions Master had never given Potter credit for displaying the same toughened edge and attitude that Lily had, but as he looked back it was there. Lily was still there, living on in her son. A son that deserved better in his life.
"I can't take back what has been done Harry. Yet, what I can do is give your something more. Here and now I promise you, I will give you back your childhood. Give you a life worth living. Not just because you are Lily's son, but because you deserve it. It wo-OMPF"
Harry didn't know what came over him. Was it the wave of sadness, or the tone in his Potion Master's voice? Whatever it was, the young man just felt an overwhelming urge of relief and happiness. Snape was giving him a chance. More than that, he was trying to give him a chance at a new life. Not because he was needed for something, or because of pity. No, it was because he was Lily's son. His mother. No one had ever compared him to her, and seeing how just thinking about Lily made Snape seemed to light up, made Harry's day. If being compared to someone who could bring a since a joy to a seemingly joyless man, then Harry was proud to be recognized as such. It was the reason why he wrapped himself around Snape, crying into the man's cloak as he held him tightly. He didn't know how long he did that, just held on tightly to Snape, but it felt right. For years he had been denied something this simple, a hug from someone who cared for him. Even if it was a temporary thing, as Harry would soon come to fear, in that moment Snape cared. Harry felt and knew that, and he wasn't going to let go of that moment.
Eventually the two departed from one another, after Harry spent a few minutes apologizing about messing up Snape's cloak. While the man was a bit annoyed at having been used as a crying rack, it was very short lived. Harry needed that and he couldn't bring himself to deny the boy such a thing. Even now, as he retired to his bedchambers, his cloak hung neatly upon its rack and night clothes on his body in its stead, he wondered what was going through the boy's mind. Though the boy tried his best to keep his happiness down to a minimum, Snape could tell he was bursting at the seams. Looking at Lily's son like that made it clear that his life had been devoid of simple pleasures and happiness for far too long. As the middle aged Potions Master settled into his bed, his mind was buzzing with just how to go about this. He knew that, despite their little breakthrough, it wasn't going to be easy going. Harry wasn't a trusting person, and by putting the lion's share of what little trust he did have in Snape's hand, Harry was risking a lot. Part of him was very uneasy about this. What if he did more damage than good? He needed at least three drinks in the day to deal with his problems, so how could he tackle Harry's as well? Regardless of these thoughts, he did his best to banish them. This wasn't about him. No. This was for Lily. Perhaps, if he did a good job, she could forgive him in the afterlife. As that thought sent him off to sleep, another one began to enter his mind. It was a thought that had been itching at the back of his mind for days now, and he had never thought to address. Yet, in a moment of peace the thoughts was seeking to be acknowledged. In a flurry of blankets and bed-sheets, Snape bolted up from his bed, looking out into the darkness of his room. If she was a Squib, how did Abrgila Figg send him a Patronus?