Title:
The boy that forgot to die

Author:
evil minded

Date:
November, 4th 2011

Timeframe:
Second year at Hogwarts

Summary:
AU / Harry Potter comes back for his second year at Hogwarts, but something is not the way it should be, and Severus Snape seems the only one able to help the boy that forgot to die … will he manage to really help the Gryffindor before it is too late?

Disclaimer:
I don't really care about Lockhart, Quirrel or Umbridge, nor about most of the other characters in HP … I, however, would like to own one particular Severus Snape – regrettably I do not, Rowling does … but well – I'm borrowing him for a while … just to torture him a bit … I am evil minded after all …

Rating:
M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

Author's Notes:
Uhm … alright … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the – perhaps – sad language, nor for the subject of my writing …
Also, this is a story written for NaNo, a story written within thirty days only and even though I go over the chapters before uploading them – I do apologize if it might not have the same quality at one point or another than those stories of mine you are used to by now … thank you …

Warning:
Story contains bad language and swearing.
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence. It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.
Story contains references to child neglect.
Child neglect is a really, really serious thing, and there are a lot of children in our world that are neglected, children that lack food, clothing, often love, and perhaps even a roof over their head – and closing our eyes, and pretending it does not exist – is no solution …
Story contains references to child abuse.
Child abuse is one of the most evil things, and there are a lot of children in our world that really would need help but have to live without hope – and again, closing our eyes and pretending it does not exist – is no solution … instead show sympathy, and understanding … and handle people, children as well as adults, which are showing any signs – whichever – of once having been abused … with understanding and with help …
What does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me – I am …

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Previously in "The boy that forgot to die"
It showed him however that the situation was worse than he had believed, as Potter seemed ready to do anything just to defend himself, that he was ready to – flee? That he was ready to perhaps even … fight and hurt someone himself? He didn't know, but he did know that it took a lot to get a child like that. Not even his snakes were like this generally. They at least obeyed if he just scared them enough for a moment.
Of course, he had to calm them afterwards, and of course he had to comfort them afterwards, but he knew that he always had been effective with his own way of handling them – and such situations – what was the reason as to why Poppy normally allowed him his way.
Well, as it seemed – it didn't work with Potter.

The boy that forgot to die
Chapter four
You do know, Potter, that you are dead, don't you?
Or he should be yours – he is yours

Potter meanwhile had backed away towards the corner where the boards with some of the potions vials, herbal ingredients, healing books and other medical equipment met the wall with the door that led to Poppy's office, the door closed and locked, he knew that. Poppy always closed and locked the door to her office as she kept all the medical files in there as well as the more potent potions that could be addictive or even lethal if used the wrong way.

He followed the boy with his eyes before he followed him physically, slowly and carefully, trying to keep himself between the boy and the door that would lead out of the hospital wing. Too bad that Potter already was in here, he mused, he surely would not allow him a way to escape now. He knew that perhaps it would take him some time, considering the boy's behaviour so far, but he would get the boy into the corner – and where he wanted him.

At the same time however, he also knew that he had to take a different approach, one he normally never took – namely the one of discussions, patience and comfort – before he had what he wanted. Not something he was used to, but he knew that otherwise he wouldn't get what he wanted at all – at least not without inflicting some damage himself – and so he would take this road of damage control if necessary.

"There is no need to be scared, Mr. Potter." He softly said, his dark eyes still piercing the boy and he lifted his hand to brush a strand of hair from the boy's pale face to reveal a bruise that was halfway covered by the black hair. "You are definitely not the first student I have in this very situation, and I do promise you that you will not be harmed." He added at the startled look the boy regarded him with, his pale green eyes being as expressive as Lily's always had been.

'At least not more than you already are.' He thought, not adding this aloud.

Well, the bloody brat did not seem to believe him, of course not, and reared back the moment his hand came close to brush the strands of hair from his forehead, hitting his head on a shelf filled with some of his plain plant-based potions and potions ingredients and with a hiss of pain the boy brought his hand up to rub his head, the pale, nearly translucent face a mask of pain for a moment – and he, Snape, frowned at the brat. Could a ghost – or rather a half ghost such as Potter – actually feel pain?

"Well, that was interesting." He drawled while his dark eyes pierced the boy in front of him.

"No, that was painful." Was Potter's softly murmured reply while the young wizard still rubbed the back of his head.

"Mr. Potter, I won't harm you." He said, trying to get the idiot boy to trust him while at the same time he knew that he wouldn't be able to. Not anytime soon at least. He had gambled the chance of the boy ever trusting him away during the ten months Potter had been here at Hogwarts and in his potions class twice a week last year.

"Know that." The boy mumbled while averting his eyes and he frowned while lifting his eyebrow. The boy did? So – this seemed to go easier than he had feared.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

"Then just do as I say and disrobe." Snape said. "I cannot help you if you do not reveal your injuries."

"'M fine." The boy said and the Potions Master took a deep breath, shaking his head. Did he really have to point out the obvious?

"You do know, Mr. Potter, that you are dead, don't you?" He asked, not sure if it was wise bringing up the brat's death.

"Somehow." The boy murmured. "But I don't understand. I'm breathing and … and I can touch things, I'm not floating … and … and my heart is beating too, isn't it?"

Taking another deep breath and then releasing it slowly so that he would calm himself he drew his wand and cast a diagnostic.

He knew that he wouldn't be able handling the boy like he normally would handle his Slytherins in such a situation – and for more than just one reason. One definitely was very apparent – Potter was dead and never before had he had to deal with one of his students being dead. The second reason was – Potter seemed to be more damaged, mentally, than his Slytherins normally were, despite their parents being Death Eaters that were anything than kind, even with their own children. And the next reason was – Potter was not one of his Slytherins, he didn't trust him the way his Slytherins trusted him, and he didn't know him like they knew him. And Merlin – he couldn't even blame the boy, he never had given the brat just the slightest reason to trust him to begin with. He had always made his life a living hell, at least during his potions lessons.

And why?

For reasons that were so unimportant – not to mention wrong – now.

What did it mean that Potter was James Potter's son? What was the matter if Harry Potter was the son of his childhood nemesis? Back then he had given as good as he had taken anyway, at least as good as he'd been able to against four of them. And the other reason, the fact that he always had thought that Potter was spoiled rotten and cherished by his relatives – as it seemed, he had been very wrong in this. Potter had been neglected and mishandled to the point of death, as it seemed.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

"You definitely are breathing." He answered, taking the parchment the quill had written onto for a far too long time for his liking, studying it intently. "And your heart definitely is beating, too. Both your lungs as well as your heart seem to work … normal, a bit uneven in frequency, perhaps, and not as strong as it should, but strong enough for a living child. Your body temperature is far too low however, 71 f only – any human being with a permanent body temperature like yours would be dead. And still – your heart is beating. Your skin however does look translucent like that of a ghost, and you seem to have trouble keeping a steady touch to the ground while at the same time you are able touching the ground or any furniture at all. So, yes – you seem to be dead and very much like a ghost, while some points are indicating that you might be alive still."

There was no answer, but he hadn't expected one either and he turned to unlock the door to Poppy's office, waving the boy inside. He wanted to have a short look at Potter's file encase there was anything the brat was allergic to, but he didn't want to leave his eyes off the ghost form, just encase the boy made for a run the moment he had his back on him.

"Sit." He then said, pointing at one of the chairs while he himself searched for the boy's file and then sat at the edge of the desk. "You definitely seem dead while alive at the same time." He explained while skimming through the file. "You feel pain and you feel fear. You are injured and so the first thing to do is healing you. I am not stupid, Mr. Potter, and seeing your skeletal appearance as well as the bruises on your neck that bears the fingerprints of an adult's hand – it is clear to me that you either have been choked to death or starved to death, maybe even both. I won't ask you what happened, Mr. Potter, not now at least, seeing that I won't get an answer from you anyway, but know that I do know what happened anyway. This obviously is not a one-time incidence and so it is obvious that it – whatever it is – has been caused by your relatives, Petunia and Vernon Dursley."

The startled look the boy regarded him with, the fear that was clearly written in bright red letters over his forehead, it was answer enough to his unasked question and he reached into one of his pockets, pulling out a sleeping draught, knowing that he wouldn't get the brat to allow help otherwise. But seeing that the boy seemed dead without actually being dead – maybe he could bring him back to life somehow, even if he didn't know how to do such a thing yet – he, at least, had to try.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

"Take this potion, Mr. Potter." He said, reaching the vial towards the boy who looked at him, clearly not trusting him enough to take anything from him and surely not a potion.

"'M a ghost." He said instead, mumbled actually. "'Nd ghosts c'nn't eat – or drink."

"Ghosts cannot sit on a chair either." He said, actually understanding the bloody boy's reluctance to take anything from him – or to ingest anything in front of him out of fear he wouldn't be able keeping it down, even if he barely was able understanding the boy's incoherent mumbling. "And yet – you do sit on this chair. Don't you?"

"'T 'nly w'd run through 'nd …" Potter stopped, shuddering.

"Stop this mumbling, Mr. Potter." He growled, knowing that he somehow had to get the boy out of his depression – not that he couldn't understand that the boy was depressed in the first place, but he needed him a bit more cooperative. "I am sure that – even as a ghost – you are able using coherent Language."

Well, the only answer he got from the brat for his comment was a shrugging of his shoulder, indicating that perhaps he was able, that perhaps he didn't know or that perhaps he didn't care.

"Just take this vial, Mr. Potter, and try it." He said, reaching out the vial again. "I do not know if you will be able ingesting a potion, but I want you to at least give it a try."

"What … what'll it do?" Potter asked in a small voice, most likely gambling for time, but at least this time he sounded coherent.

"It won't harm you." He answered, just the moment Poppy came into the office, her face pale and startled, most likely having explained the situation – as much as she knew of it anyway – to Albus and Minerva before heading here the moment she had recovered from the shock of having a ghost student at Hogwarts. He cast a quick glance at her while wondering if this would be it then, Potter being the first student here at Hogwarts that was – a ghost?

"But … what … what will it do?" Potter asked after he had cast a first questioning and then startled look at Poppy, too, when he had noticed him, Snape, looking over at the woman.

"It won't harm you, Potter." He repeated, impatiently, before giving away a defeated sigh. "It will send you to sleep."

"What … but …"

"There are no buts, Mr. Potter." He said, scowling at the boy. "I do know your fears, but there is no need to fear what we might find out. I already do know that you are – dead, anyway. You have died Potter and like I already told you – seeing the bruises on your face, on your neck, seeing how thin you are, you have been either starved to death or you have been choked to death. Your secret is no secret anymore, Potter, so allow us to at least try helping you."

"No!" The boy shouted, getting off the chair and starting for the door.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Instinctively he reached over and grabbed the boy's arm, yanking him back and forcing him down at the chair he had been sitting at a moment before he had gotten into a panic, only then realizing that he indeed was lucky that he was able to touch Potter without his hand going through the ghostly form.

"No!" The boy again shouted, trying to struggle against his, Snape's grip, but even if he'd been a normal, healthy – and living – twelve year old boy, he wouldn't have had a chance against his strength. He had enough experience in handling struggling Slytherins who tried to get away and with a quick adjustment of his hands, he had the boy's back pinned to his chest while he held both skeletal wrists in one of his hands, shuddering at the bones he felt through the pale skin.

"Stop your struggling, Potter!" He growled before taking a deep breath, knowing that he would go nowhere with his growling. "Calm down, child, I won't hurt you and I do know your secret already anyway. I am only trying to help you, Harry." He added, the boy's given name feeling strange on his lips, but he didn't care right now, knowing that it was important to give the boy anything right now. "I won't hurt you. Trust me, for once in your life, trust an adult."

Slowly the ghost he was holding was ceasing his struggling even if he was sure that he didn't really calm down, that he ceased his struggling only because he had gotten too weak to keep up the fight, but it was enough for now and so he again adjusted his grip, placing one hand onto a clammy forehead while wondering how it could be that a ghost had a clammy skin to begin with. Perhaps Potter wasn't so ghost-like as he had thought in the beginning? Perhaps it was his appearance only? Perhaps there was still hope?

Pulling the boy's head closer against his shoulder he continued to speak nonsense to keep the boy at least as calm as he was right now, to keep him from starting his struggling again and hoping it would work while Poppy finally came out of her daze, taking the vial Potter had dropped earlier during his struggle. He secured the boy against his chest anew with one arm and then reached out with his other hand to take the already uncorked vial from Poppy.

He knew that he had two options right now. He either could have an endless discussion with the boy about taking the potion which he surely would not win, which surely would only drive the boy into another panic attack at one point or another, or he could simply place the vial at the boy's lips and force the potion down his throat. What apparently was the wiser decision, he couldn't help noticing the moment Potter apparently had regained some of his – strength … if one could call it that – and started his struggling anew, trying to break free somehow. Of course, it was in vain, the boy's little strength being no match for him, and Potter could have struggled against him for hours, but he didn't want that, he didn't like seeing children in such emotional pain and fear, not even Potter.

'Perhaps especially not Potter.' The small annoying voice in the back of his mind whispered and he scowled at that voice, while at the same time he knew – since today, this annoying little voice was right. He had been wrong for so long and in so many things regarding this particular child, this particular student and no matter what – Potter being a Gryffindor or not, he still was a student of him, Snape. He had been wrong in blaming Potter of being a spoiled and ungrateful brat, he had been wrong in blaming Potter of being an arrogant and selfish brat. He had been wrong in hurting Potter the way he had, in taking points and giving detention to him for no reasons at all and he had been wrong in always thinking of him as his father. Harry Potter had nothing in common with his father, as it seemed, because any abused child could have nothing in common with a prince like James Potter had been one.

It had been a mask Potter, the child, had been displaying last year, maybe his entire life, the same mask his Slytherins displayed, a mask of dignity – because this was all they had left, and they only had it left here, at Hogwarts, they were not ready loosing this dignity here as well, seeing that they had none at home, and so they clung to this with their lives if necessary.

And suddenly the words the sorting hat had spoken shortly before the end of last year made a lot more sense to him.

Flashback

If he got his hands at Albus, then surely, he would kill the old fool!

How could he have been so stupid as to hide the bloody stone in a bloody school where children were living! How could Albus have been as stupid as to jeopardizing the students' lives with this blasted stone? Not to mention trolls and Cerberuses Albus had set up for protection, creatures that easily could get lost as the incident with the troll on Halloween had showed clearly. Sometimes he really thought that the old man slowly but surely was about to go senile. Insane!

He had told him that it was too dangerous, and Minerva had told the old man too – as had Filius, by the way and Pomona – but had Albus listened? No! No, he had not! Of course, he had not! He never listened! Not even to his heads …

Pacing the headmaster's office in hopes that he wouldn't have to go upstairs to Albus' quarters, growling and scowling, his mood at the lowest, he didn't pay much attention to the pictures that watched him, the eyes of the previous headmasters following him in apparent interest – and whispering – until he waved his wand and several black clothes appeared out of nowhere, covering each and every picture of previous headmasters.

"Prying bunch!" He growled darkly into the direction of the now complaining paintings. "You will soon be accompanied by another one of you meddling fools!"

"Bee in your bonnet, Snape?" A deep and old voice asked and with a scowl on his face he turned to face the shelf where the sorting hat was sitting at.

"What do you want, you blasted old piece of cloth?" He asked, his voice dark and angry.

"Nothing, Severus." The bloody hat said in a voice that clearly sounded amused. "You just look – unhappy."

"You think any teacher working at a school where the blasted headmaster kept the philosopher's stone hidden and guarded by monsters like trolls and Cerberuses should look happy?"

"Ah." The idiot hat made, causing him to deepen his scowl. "Yes, I can see your concern. I'm glad that there is at least one teacher here who cares enough about the students to be worried."

"I do not care about anything or anyone you blasted piece of cloth." He hissed at the hat angrily.

"Ah, but you do worry." The hat seemed to smirk at him. "And only someone who cares would worry, my dear Severus."

"Of course, I worry, you bloody cloth." He hissed, only getting angrier at the hat's words. "A student nearly died last night!"

"Ah, you're speaking of young Mr. Potter." And this time he was sure that the hat smiled at him. "Yes, yes, I can see why you worry about your boy."

"He is – not – my … boy! Merlin's pants!" He gasped out, shocked, horrified at alone the thought, and he nearly choked at the word – boy.

"Oh, but he should be." The bloody hat said, causing him to whirl around and look at him in shock. "He should be yours … he is yours, actually!"

"What do you mean with that?" He choked out, not understanding and his voice somehow sounded hollow.

"Oh, I can't tell you all the secrets I hold for a thousand years, now, my dear Severus, or have I ever told anyone of yours?"

"I begin to see why Salazar had his problems with your master." He growled at the hat, his scowl back on his face and his voice back under control as well, and with a last swirl of his robes he turned and stormed off Albus' office, not able to stay in the same room with that bloody hat any longer without knowing why he wasn't able even.

"Oh, but did no one ever tell you that Salazar and Godric had been the closest friends possible?" Was all he heard the hat asking before he was out of the door and down the spiral staircase, had passed the gargoyle and crossed the entrance hall to enter his dungeons.

And yes, he did consider the dungeons as his as he lived in the dungeons, worked in the dungeons, as they were his home and the home of his Slytherins, as they were shunned by anyone else. And yes, he did consider his Slytherins as his as well, seeing that they lived with him in his dungeons, seeing that he was the only one they trusted, and seeing that he was the only one who cared for them.

But Potter! His! That was laughable!

End flashback

Yes, those words really suddenly made so much more sense.

Because Potter, too, had no one – except of caretakers that were abusing him. Potter too had no one who took care of him, no one who tried to understand him, no one who was ready to really help him. Always trying to hide not only the abuse he went through but his weaknesses as well, his injuries and his misery, always trying to keep the remnants of his dignity around him so no one would see how "bad" and how "weak" he was, how "stupid" and how "worthless", not seeing that – Merlin, and that realization being born in his own mind – he was worth as much as any other child.

"Hush now." He softly whispered while pressing the boy's head against his shoulder, placing the vial at the boy's lip and dipping the small glass container, pouring its contents into the boy's mouth before releasing the vial, simply letting it falling to the floor where it made soft clinking sounds until it lay still, so that he had his hand free to cover the boy's mouth and nose with it.

He felt the small body in his arms tensing up with fear, panic, felt the boy trying to shake his head, to shake his hand off his mouth so that he could take a breath and spit the potion out, but he tightened his grip, ignoring the boy trying to get his hands free, most likely to clasp at his arms, at his wrists or anything else he would be able to reach while at the same time he couldn't help feeling relieved at the small fact that he was able to touch the body of this ghost.

"Calm down, child." He whispered. "Do not panic and simply swallow the potion. I will release you the moment you have swallowed it, I promise, child. I won't choke you, I promise, just swallow the potion. I will remove my hand the moment you have, I promise, trust me and do not panic. There is no reason to fear me or my hand, I won't hurt you, just swallow."

And the moment he felt the boy swallowing the potion he did as he had promised and removed his hand from the boy's mouth, the small and struggling body in his arms arching up in an attempt to take a deep breath, the shaking form sagging against his chest a moment later when the potion took hold and the Boy Ghost lost consciousness.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

To be continued

Next time in "The boy that forgot to die"
Oh, but he should be

Added author's note
thank you for reading - and yes, I would be glad if you took the time to review this chapter, thank you

House Cup:
At the present time it looks like this:

29 Points - Slytherin
07 Points - Gryffindor
20 Points - Ravenclaw
06 Points - Hufflepuff