Title:
The boy that forgot to die
Author:
evil minded
Date:
November, 5th 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"
"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.
The boy that forgot to die
Chapter five
Oh, but he should be
Or he never could tell him
Carrying the small and now still body out of Poppy's office and over to one of the beds was one of the strangest things he had ever done, the small body weighing absolutely nothing, and he wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that Potter was a ghost or that he was so starved and skeletal. It was startling, it was frightening.
"Merlin, what happened, Severus?" Poppy asked the moment he had placed the boy onto one of the beds.
"The moment I have an answer to that question, I will tell you." He growled, taking a step back and taking a deep breath to calm his own nerves. "Give him some healing potions, Poppy, and heal his injuries. He might not be alive at the present time, but one – I do not know if we really cannot reverse this little fact, seeing that he seems solid enough for a living boy, and second – he has kept up the only thing he'd had left, his dignity, until the end. At least he tried to. We should not take that from him now by leaving him in his predicament."
"Severus?" Poppy asked, looking at him, startled, not used to him being so – melancholic, or so considerate, so caring – so strange … at least not when it came to Gryffindors.
"Just do it, Poppy." He growled. "I will be back in a few minutes to help you." And with that he turned to leave the hospital wing. He just needed a few minutes to himself to get back his mind and to get back his sense of normality. Potter had thrown him – him! – off completely and he needed a few minutes to get back his balance.
"I would, Severus." He heard Poppy's voice the moment he reached the double winged doors of the infirmary and with a frown he turned. "If I could." Poppy then added and his frown deepened. What was there to not manage healing Potter's body for a trained medi-which? His sleeping potion had worked and so surely would Poppy's potions as well? Seeing that the potions Poppy used had been brewed by him just as well as the sleeping potion after all? She might not be a real healer, but she was a well-trained medi-witch!
"What is the problem now, Poppy?" He asked, taking a step back towards the bed he had laid Potter in without coming close completely.
"Well? How can I heal him if I can't touch him?" Poppy asked as if he should know the problem and he took a deep breath to calm his annoyance. He had been able touching Potter and surely Poppy would be as well.
"Just because he looks ghost-like, it does not mean that you cannot touch him, woman." He growled darkly. "I have been able touching him after all and he is able touching things as well."
He needed fresh air for a moment, and he needed to walk a few steps! He needed a sip of his old whiskey and he needed to clear his mind! He needed – closing his eyes he took another deep breath. He needed a break! He needed to think, and he needed to explain the situation to Lily!
Lily – again, at the thought of his old friend now dead – he again couldn't keep up the hate he always had felt towards the boy. How was it that he had been able hating Lily's son? Harry Potter was not only the son of James Potter, but he was also the son of Lily Evans, of Lily, the girl he had loved, he still loved.
Closing his eyes he could see Lily's face in front of his eyes, could see her auburn hair wavering in the wind and he could smell her perfume she used to use. His Lily. She had left him because of Albus, because of an old meddling wizard that nearly was as celebrated as was Merlin himself, the greatest wizard of all times. And it was that one point that finally had destroyed his trust in Albus Dumbledore – because Albus had taken Lily from him – and then he had been responsible for her death – and then he had destroyed him.
And Harry was Lily's son, too.
"You might have been able to touch the boy – but I am not!" Poppy said, sounding annoyed and she tried to touch the boy, just to prove her point to the grumpy man – and her hand reached just through the ghostly form of Potter, coming to rest on the bed beneath the boy.
Frowning he took another step closer and then sighed in defeat. Right there, in front of him, his few steps in the fresh nightly air outside of the castle went away together with the sip of whiskey.
Slowly and carefully, as if expecting his hand going through the ghostlike form now that the boy lay there on the bed, just like Poppy's hand, he reached out – and touched the still too chilly skin, his hand not going through the body, and he frowned. How was it that he could touch Potter where Poppy couldn't? Who else would be able touching the boy? Why could he touch the boy and not Poppy? How was such a thing possible even?
And if he was the only one being able touching the boy, then that meant that his previous thoughts were wrong somehow? Then that meant that Potter was too much a ghost for others to touch … to get him back perhaps? How was he to keep the boy alive if … Merlin, he had promised Lily that he would keep the boy safe if something … how was he to do that now …
Groaning in frustration he leaned his hands onto the mattress of the bed and hung his head for a moment – he had failed Lilly, he had failed Lilly, because he had let his hate rule over his emotions, over him, over his obligations, he had failed Lily – and he had failed Potter too – not James Potter, but Harry Potter.
Flashback
"Severus?"
The small and hesitant voice of Lily caused him to frown, and he stopped mid-step, knowing that he would be punished the moment he stepped before the Dark Lord being late – and yet, he didn't care.
"What is it, Lily?" He asked, his dark eyes piercing his wife.
"If something happens, Severus, if we will be separated, if I die – will you … will you take care of Harry? Do not forget him, Severus, please."
"What are you talking about, Lily?" He asked, coming closer and taking her shoulders in a firm grip, his eyes narrowed. "We won't be separated, you won't die until we're old people, and Harry will be perfectly fine."
"Will you, Severus?" Lily begged him, not listening to his words. "Please, Severus, will you?"
"Of course, I will, Lily." He said, unable to ignore the desperate look on Lily's face. "But it won't be necessary, we won't be separated."
"You have to go, Severus." Lily then whispered, her face pale, paler than he liked and he had to force himself to release her, to take his Death Eater robes. "Be careful, will you?"
"Of course, I will." He whispered, giving her a peck onto her cheek before locking his dark eyes with her green ones. "We will talk later, the moment I am back home." He then said before running his hand through her auburn hair and then turning to leave for the Dark Lord as was his duty as a spy to the light.
End flashback
But he'd never had the chance to speak to Lily anymore.
The moment he had come back – Lily had been gone, had taken Harry and had been gone and Albus had told him that she had left for Potter. But he wasn't stupid, and he had known that it had been Albus who …
Frowning he straightened, looking at the now dark window before he looked back down at Potter, at Harry Potter, not understanding for a moment while his thoughts whirled through his mind faster than he could grasp them.
Where had this memory come from? Where had this particular thought come from? Was it even a real memory or was it just – at the same moment he knew that yes, it was, indeed, a real memory! It had happened. He was a Master legillimens and he was a Master occlumens either, he knew his mind like others knew the pockets of their Jeans – and so he knew that this was a memory, he knew for sure that it was one of his very own memories.
But Lily never had been his wife and Potter never had been his … Merlin! What was the meaning of this? What …
He knew that Albus had meddled around with Lily and him, he always had known that. Lily would have married him instead of Potter if Albus had not had his hands in their relationship, if Albus had not wanted Lily to marry Potter for protection. But Albus had, and Lily had married Potter, and they, Severus and Lily, they … they had been together, but they never had been married and they never had produced a child.
But this memory!
Going back into his mind he tried to search deeper behind his occlumency shields, trying to lower them in areas he normally ignored and therefore seemed to have forgotten over the time – but he couldn't, and he frowned again while casting a quick glance back at the boy laying in the bed before him, not understanding.
Again, he went back into his own mind, forcing his occlumency shields down where they were so strong and he suddenly noticed that they were not his own doing, that someone else had meddled with his occlumency shields and he immediately knew who this someone had been, as there only were two accomplished Legillimens he knew about – namely the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore. And seeing that the Dark Lord surely would not care meddling with his, Snape's, occlumency shields as he didn't even know that they were existent to begin with, he, Snape, keeping his abilities secret from the Dark Lord – then only Albus Dumbledore was left who could have meddled around with his memories. Not to mention that the Dark Lord had never been good enough to break through his defences.
But when had Dumbledore meddled with his mind? And why? And …
Tearing his occlumency shields down forcefully, brutally, not caring about the pain he caused while doing so he tried to find out more, he had to know more about … he had to …
Flashback
A small boy, a year old perhaps, was crawling towards him, black hair moving lightly while the boy nodded his head wildly up and down while robbing towards him on his hands and knees, getting quicker and quicker before he gave away a delighted squeak the moment he had reached him and he leaned down to take the toddler and lift him up into the air, the small feet dangling mid-air, moving as if the small creature were walking mid-air, the small face laughing brightly, the child giving away another delighted squeak.
End flashback
Shaking his head in dizziness he knew that he halfway had succeeded, that he had been able to partly tear the occlumency shields Dumbledore seemed to have erected around a section in his mind where he seemed to have memories the headmaster wanted to keep him from remembering and suddenly …
"Oh, but he should be." The bloody hat had said, causing him to whirl around and look at him in shock. "He should be yours, he is yours, actually!"
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Merlin
The bloody hat had not only meant …
"Severus?"
Again, it was Poppy's voice that brought him out of his musings and again, he looked over at her for a moment before he looked down at the boy in the bed.
Could it really be possible? Could it really be … but he couldn't be a father, he wasn't someone who was a father, he wouldn't be a good father even and surely, he …
But was this, could this be the reason as to why he was able touching Potter where Poppy was not? Could this …
No!
Surely not!
Frowning again he slowly drew his wand and then pointed it at the Boy Wonder – or rather the Boy Ghost he right now definitely preferred.
"Reveal yourself." He quietly commanded, his voice steady and calm, calmer than he himself felt after all, forcing the magic to obey his command and he could feel it flowing through his core, through his body and along his arm, his hand, through his wand, the very wand he had purchased when he had been eleven, secretly so that his father wouldn't notice, his mother barely being able to help him with anything, just barely able to keep things hidden from Tobias Snape without being able to accompany him to Diagon Alley at the same time.
He didn't like all those spells shouted around in Latin or an older form of English, and he never had. He rather preferred to bend the magic into doing as he wished by a clear command he gave.
Slowly the boy's face changed, into a frown first, lines covering the pale face for a few moments, but then the face itself changed. The small nose stayed as did the small mouth, but the edges got tougher and more angular, the black hair getting longer a bit and darker even, and casting a quick glance at the boy's hands he noticed that the boy's fingers, some of them that were clawed like a spider's legs got longer, fingers that clearly were broken, and more than once.
Frowning he took the small hands into his own. Why hadn't he noticed earlier? When he had taken the boy's wrists into his own hands earlier to secure them? To restrain the boy during his panic attack? Why had he not noticed the small fingers being broken back then?
Gently he felt along them, felt the breaking points and already he had his wand out to cast another diagnostic, one that would show everything that had to do with that boy, from birth to this very moment.
After looking into the boy's face again he didn't have any doubts anymore. This child was a perfect mixture between Lily and him, Snape, but how … closing his eyes he took another deep breath, ignoring the strange look Poppy cast between him and the boy. He never could tell the boy, he knew it. He would have to find a way getting him back to life and keeping him from being returned to Petunia and her husband, but he never would be able telling the boy.
The boy would be disgusted by having him, him, Severus Snape, the evil Potions Master, the greasy dungeons bat, the git, as his father. That boy hated him as much as he had hated him, and he never would accept him as his father. He would not risk being rejected by his own son! He never would tell him! He never could tell him!
But he would tell Albus, and he would kill the old man for what he had done!
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
"Severus, is this …?" Poppy asked while reaching a cloth at him, again getting him out of his thoughts he so often seemed to get lost in tonight and he took the cloth, laid it on the bed.
"I do not know." He softly said, more to himself than to Poppy. He wasn't really sure after all. His spell had undone any glamour Lily or James Potter – or Albus – might have cast at Harry Potter and the boy had changed his appearance, did look like a perfect mixture between Lily and himself but – was that enough proof for him? He would have to wait still for the more detailed diagnostic he had cast, the quill taking a worryingly much time to write.
He gently lifted the shirt the boy was wearing, uncovered the boy that – most likely at least – might be his son and he blanched as the child whimpered and shivered, but didn't really cry out in discomfort and pain. Just another sign that it had been a long time the boy had been mistreated, Potter was used to pain – and to keep still while being in pain. And well – so much for his potions working as the sleeping potion should have kept the boy out of it for at least the next eight hours. Closing his eyes he took another deep breath, knowing that he wouldn't be able forcing another potion down the boy's throat the way he had done just a few minutes ago, and gently he started running his wand over the boy's fingers instead, healing fracture for fracture of not only the child's broken fingers but wrist, an arm and then starting on the ribs as well, before finally he soaked the cloth with a disinfectant potion which he could clean out the worst cuts with.
And there were cuts and welts almost everywhere, just as much as there had been fractures, his ribs not only clearly poking out beneath damaged and bruised skin so that each fracture was clearly visible, no, he didn't even have to feel for them or wait for any diagnostic to be finished. He just had to point his wand at the clearly visible fractured ribs and heal them one by one, the boy watching him with mistrust clearly written all over his pale face and in his green eyes, wincing at each fracture he healed the moment the ribs set themselves before growing together. Not that they were healed completely that way, but they were starting to heal, they would hold and heal if the boy would not run a marathon with them.
"You should take this potion, Potter – child." He said, frowning at himself. 'Sure, go on like this and he really quickly will know that there's something wrong, you idiot. Are you unable of keeping your indifference and professionalism in front of a child? Since when?' "Healing your broken bones is one thing, unpleasant but not really painful – but cleaning out all of those cuts will be a bit more painful than that. It is not a sleeping potion but a pain reliever – in hopes that this one will work longer than the sleeping potion had. At least this potion I will be able giving you another dose of, if it starts ceasing."
The boy however did not react, just stared at him, the small and bony body being rigid, and the fists being tangled in the sheets of the bed in clear fear. And again – understandable, because no adult ever seemed to have meant well to Potter while he in particular had been exceptionally cruel even.
"I do not wish to cause you any more pain than the pain you are already in, child." He said, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. "And I know that you are in pain. I can tell by just looking at you. I also know that you are scared, and I understand, but I just wish to help you. Madam Pomfrey is unable touching you and so it will be me trying to help you."
Still, the boy didn't answer, just averted his eyes as if he didn't believe him but didn't want to admit it and the Potions Master frowned. Stupid, really! Of course, the boy didn't believe him, of course the boy didn't trust him.
"I do know that you have no reason to trust any adult, child, and least of all me." He said, slowly reaching out and placing his hand at the boy ghost's shoulder, ignoring the flinch and the startled look on the pale face. "But I do ask you to take a risk and trust an adult for once in your life, to trust me. I know that for you it is a risk, and one that might cost your life if you miscalculate, but you are already dead, child. I won't be able killing you. I do not intend killing you, nor do I intend hurting you. It is my wish to help you – if you let me."
He watched the boy's eyes narrowing, the pale face taking on a calculating look for a moment, but then the pale face got back to being simply scared. For a moment there had been a Slytherin side making itself known before the boy had been back to – simply being a scared child.
"Harry?" He asked, lowering his head to one side while increasing the pressure his hand had on the bony shoulder, his face going hard and indifferent again, emotionless like always.
But there was no answer still.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
It was more than fifteen minutes later that he noticed movement beside him, silent tears running down a very pale face and green eyes watching him scared, expectantly – and the moment he leaned towards the child, a small and battered but ghastly hand reached out towards him, silently asking for comfort with the gesture – comfort from him! The boy was a ghost – or at least ghostlike, for Merlin's sake! He didn't understand how the boy, that was a ghost, actually might need comfort. And surely did he not understand how the boy might need comfort from him, of all people. From him, Snape, who had hurt him as much as had his relatives – maybe not physically, but surely mentally at least.
And yet – the boy did ask for comfort – from him.
At least if he read the small gesture correctly.
Slowly he took the small hand into his own larger one, gently holding it, turning it and watching it, the small fingers, the bones having started to heal but the ghost-like skin still battered and covered with cuts and burns and bruises, and gently he ran the fingers of one of his hands over the boy's small hand while he still held it, his own thoughts far away for a second.
A moment later he nearly was startled to death when he had an armful of a boy ghost in his arms, clinging to him.
What exactly … surely that could not mean that … surely it was just because right now Potter was over emotional and scared and felt alone so that he would – by free will – cling to him like to an anchor in a sea he was drowning in. Surely it was just because he had died! That particular knowledge had to be a shocking thought for the child after all! Otherwise, the boy surely never would do such a thing, would be too disgusted to do such a thing like clinging to his hated Potions Master like a child in need would cling to his father.
But the boy didn't know – and he never was meant to know either, he never could know!
But he – he, Snape – he knew, and he was barely able to breathe for a moment at the thought alone. Harry, the very child that was clinging to him right now like any child would cling to his father in need – indeed, it was his son, and again he himself was drowning in memories …
Flashback
"Owwie … owwie … owwie …" Little Harry murmured in a mantra, the small arms that had sneaked themselves around his neck holding onto him so tightly he nearly was choked, and he actually had troubles holding the small, trembling and clearly cramping body of his son with one arm close to his chest while he tried to loosen the death-like grip the toddler had on him – or rather on his neck with his other hand.
"Hush, Harry." He softly said while now trying to turn the boy in his arms, hoping that the boy would release his neck this way. "What hurts? Calm down Harry and tell me what hurts." – But he only got the same mantra of "owwie … owwie … owwie …" out of the small boy and he sat down so he at least had a hand free without fear of dropping the barely two year old child.
"I cannot help you if I do not know what hurts, Harry." He gently said, trying to stay calm and trying to calm the meanwhile openly crying and wailing boy as well. But immediately he knew that he wouldn't get any other answer out of his son who clearly was in pain. Placing his right hand onto the small back he started softly massaging the small form he held close to his chest with his other arm, trying to loosen cramped muscles and produce warmth at the same time.
A few moments later the wailing ceased, and the boy was only quietly crying, releasing his neck and turning in his grip. Another moment later small hands took his wrist and guided his much larger hand over the small stomach while thin and knobbly knees were drawn close to the boy's chest.
He shifted his small son so that he lay on his side in his lap before he continued massaging little Harry's stomach, both of the small hands still clinging to his much larger wrist in a death-like grip, not ready to release him yet and maybe risking that he would stop massaging him if he released his father's wrist.
End flashback
A few minutes later the child had fallen asleep finally and he had not dared bringing him back to his bed, had lain down at the sofa, his son cradled close to his chest and both of them had slept in the parlour that night.
Again, he didn't know wherefrom he knew that, but he just knew and carefully he leaned over the child's form clinging to him, shifted a bit in his chair so that he could pull the boy's thin form closer and cradled him to his chest, afraid that any touch he might bestow upon his tortured body would only cause more pain to him, would bring back more memories of the Dursleys' tortures.
Yes, Harry never was to know that he was his father, but if his son needed that kind of comfort, then he would give it to him. He would not deny that from his son.
Again, frowning he wondered where those thoughts had come from.
Just a few hours ago, he had hated that particular child – or at least he had disliked him and now … how was it that … he didn't understand – and yet, he didn't mind. This child was his son and his son had been tortured, had been killed, had been abused for years, had been denied anything, food even, had been starved. He would not deny him comfort now.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
He was in heaven.
He still hurt, and he still was scared, scared that Snape might lung at him and beat him, that he might take him and shake him, that he might do things uncle Vernon had done when he'd been bad, but at the same time he was in heaven because the comfort the Potions Master right now provided him with was what he always had wanted. He still feared that Snape might push him away, might stop holding him, but he would take what he got, he would bathe in the feeling of comfort as long as it was given – anything to remember.
His father was there at the moment while he was in pain, his father held him right now and he massaged his hurting stomach, stroke his hand over his aching face and brushed away his tears. His father simply held him, and he would never ever in his life forget this moment. He would burn it into his mind, and he would remember it forever, and when Snape got at him in potions next time, he would call up this particular memory and he would daydream in it.
Closing his eyes, he tried to relax into the strong arms of the man while at the same time hoping that this very moment would never end.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
The Potions Master could feel the small body of his son trying to relax in his arms and with a relieved sigh he leaned back against the backrest of his armchair, trying to slow his own wildly beating heart and trying to accept the feeling of contentment while at the same time, he couldn't help remembering the very same scene from so many years ago – him, Snape, holding his son and massaging his stomach.
How had he forgotten about this? About having a son? And right now, while holding said son of his, he was sure – he knew – that it was true, that – Merlin!
Merlin! He had hated his own child!
Adjusting the boy like he had done with a much smaller version of the child years ago he made himself and the boy more comfortable, thinking.
Just like the boy never had complained, not once, and not to anyone, that the Dursleys didn't give him enough to eat, that he was hungry, he never had complained about the treatment he'd had to endure in his, Snape's classroom. And that, more than the actual abuse, more than anything he had learned about the boy's life during the past few hours – it disturbed him, the fact that the boy had never told anyone what his home life at the Dursleys really had been like – or potions classes with him.
When he looked down at the child in his arms, the boy had his eyes closed and his breathing was evening out – the child was about to fall asleep.
"The potion, Harry." He softly said, again shifting the boy in his arms so that he could pour the potion into the boy's mouth, hoping that the child was sleepy enough to not think, that he was comfortable enough to – for once – trust him and that he would not have to fight over the boy swallowing the potion like he'd had to do before.
"Won' hurt?" The boy's groggy voice asked and for a moment he nearly smiled at the childish question, as if the twelve year old were back to the barely two year old boy he had once known.
"It won't." He quietly answered while running his hand over the boy's forehead. "I promise."
"'K." Came the answer from the boy and with another relieved sigh he placed the vial with the pain reliever at the boy's lips and dipped the small glass container, the boy for once obeying and swallowing the clear liquid, his eyes already closed again. He would be back to sleep soon, and with the pain reliever he wouldn't wake while he tried to heal him in the faint hopes that he might bring him back to life somehow.
To be continued
Next time in "The boy that forgot to die"
But what do I do now?
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