Title:
The boy that forgot to die
Author:
evil minded
Date:
November, 7th 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"
"Not – a single – word, you miscreant of a monster." He hissed, his dark eyes cold and unforgiving at the monster and he was barely able keeping himself from killing the creature here and now. "I will deal with you – and your family – later." He added in a cold hiss, waving his hand in an aggressive arch, and a moment later Dursley was released and a crumpled heap on the floor, not even able to shiver with fright while his wife and son were fixed to the spot where they had been standing in the kitchen-doorway, all three of them having been set under a body bind.
He turned back to the cupboard without even a glance backwards at them, they were not worth his attention right now, and he just took a deep breath which he released in a defeated sigh the moment he saw the child's ghost form, all of a sudden sitting there atop of one of the shelves, looking down at his own body with wide and scared green eyes.
The boy that forgot to die
Chapter seven
Of course, Master Snape, sir
Or when you were what?
"'S it 'live still?" The boy asked and he frowned for a moment before answering with a quiet "yes, you are", not ready to ask more of the boy yet, and again he got down onto one knee beside the barely breathing form.
"You should not have come here." He quietly said without looking up at the boy ghost while he finally reached out and gently took the other boy's bound wrists into his hands. At several places around them the rope had dug deep into the skin and at some places even a scab had formed over the embedded rope, making it impossible for him to just banish the blasted thing, unless he wanted to scar the thin wrists horribly. Again, his dark eyes hasted to the child's forehead where a large, bloody mess was where the scar should have been, and he had to close his eyes to keep down what currently was left from breakfast in his stomach.
The first thing he did was setting up several monitoring charms – for respiration, heart function, body temperature and level of consciousness – which was at the lowest point he ever had seen before, except of death, of course – and then he slowly began the long process of healing the boy, knowing that he didn't have too much time, knowing that the boy would neither survive apparition nor portkeying and surely not flooing either, the boy already standing at death's doorstep, knocking loudly and demandingly at the door to the world beyond.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Despite the fact that he exactly knew what would await him, seeing that he had already done the same for the boy ghost, he started with a diagnostic scan, which – again – left him faintly nauseous as the list of injuries and illnesses went on and on, showing more injuries than the boy ghost had had.
Slowly and with an incredible patience he never would have thought he possessed, he gently and carefully started to remove the rope millimetre for millimetre from the boy's wrists, the wounds only barely bleeding what showed to him that the boy was ways too dehydrated for more than those few drops of blood even seeping from the wounds.
"Will you be able getting me a bowl of warm water and a soft cloth, Harry?" He softly asked without looking up at the boy ghost but continuing to free the real boy's wrists, knowing that he had to get the boy ghost's mind off by giving him a task.
He got no answer.
"Harry?" He asked, casting a quick glance at the child sitting at one of those cramped shelves and he frowned upon seeing the shocked expression on a deathly pale face.
"No …" The boy whispered and he wasn't sure if he meant that – no, he wasn't able getting him a bowl with warm water or if he meant that – no, he was too shocked to move – or too scared to pass his own bloody body.
Without any fuss he simply summoned a bowl of warm water and a few soft cloths, and then he began to clean the child's wrists and hands, his arms, cleaning out cuts and lacerations, open burns and other injuries which he didn't know what had caused them. The water turned a dirty red-grey colour after only a few moments and he had to banish it, had to summon fresh warm water to go on and gently clean injury for injury before he had to summon fresh and clean water again, and then again, and again, before he could be treating them with a potion that would prevent infection and then covering them with a healing salve.
And all the while, Potter the boy ghost watched him with a face that was blank, but with eyes that clearly said – he did not understand – and that he was scared.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
He had cast a few quick glances at the list the diagnostic had written and so he knew that he better did not move the boy too much, the idiot monster out there in the corridor having broken the boy's spine, and so he cast a careful and partially body-bind at that area before he turned the child and started to work on the injuries on the small back. He could count each rib, front and back, and shook his head at the obvious signs of prolonged neglect and malnutrition.
Not just this one atrocity, then, he thought, but he already had known that, hadn't he?
"Why … why'd you do this?" The boy ghost asked, and he cast one quick glance at the small, pale form on the shelf. "Why not letting him die?"
"This is you, you are speaking of, Harry." He quietly answered, frowning, while continuing to care for the remaining injuries on the fragile body in front of him. "I am sure you do not really wish to die."
"'M dead." The boy murmured. "Sort of."
"You are not." He growled. "You have left your body early and I do not know the reason for this, nor the meaning or a solution, but I will work on it, and I won't allow your body to die if I can help it. There might be a chance for you to return and survive, yet, as long as this body here is breathing."
"Don' wanna." The boy ghost whined, and he actually could understand the child.
"Understandable." He quietly said while he cast another charm to put the child, which he had laying in front of him, into an even deeper sleep so that the pain of what he was about to do next would not wake him. He then took a deep breath, took the boy's small hands into his own carefully, grimacing over the lack of flesh on the small hand and fingers, and then applied a numbing salve to the boy's hand. He could feel each strand of tendon and the child's fingers were like tiny twigs from a bird's nest.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Releasing his breath he gently ran his wand over one of the broken bones and with a muttered spell – one he had not cast since his Death Eater days – the bones snapped, rearranged themselves and then he cast a slight body-bind at them to keep them in place so they could grow together again as he was unwilling to use a more potent potion like skele-gro before he didn't know the extent to everything, including any potions that might be necessary still.
He continued his work methodically, setting the boy's arm, his leg, ribs, covering the injuries with a second layer of healing salve, and he cast healing spells at the child's injured organs, unwilling of giving him ingesting potions at the present time either. He cast a spell to eliminate various infections and another one to keep the healing injuries clean and safe before he concentrated onto the child's backbones, his long fingers running down the boy's spine experimentally and searchingly.
A moment later he frowned at the small whimper the boy gave away and he actually looked over at the boy ghost who was still kneeling at the shelf, hugging his arms around his stomach and rocking back and forth meanwhile like he had done earlier in the hospital wing, his pale face a mask of horror. But he had not made a sound and a moment later the small body beneath his hands actually moved in a weak attempt to turn away from his hands, barely noticeable but it moved, startling the Potions Master.
"Surely you won't whine now, Potter, after you have endured me cleaning out your injuries and then breaking your bones and rearranging them earlier what surely had been more painful than me running my fingers down your spine." He drawled while casting another spell to deepen the boy's sleep, just to give the boy something to hold onto until the spell did the trick, knowing that making him angry would be a way for the child to gather back some strength and will to go on for a few moments more.
Well, it worked with the Potter he had laying in front of him, the boy going still and enduring his pain until the spell started to work, but it did not work with Potter the ghost, the boy still hugging his arms to his stomach and rocking back and forth on the shelf, his pale face horror-stricken and terrified eyes fixed onto his own body while the softest whimper of horror escaped the child.
"We will have to leave soon, Harry." He said, gently, trying to get the boy ghost out of his daze, of his shock, inwardly cursing at the fact that the boy had followed him here to begin with. Not that he couldn't understand, the boy simply had been too restless without knowing what had happened to his body, what he, Snape, probably could do with his body, and he'd simply had no other choice than following him, than coming here to watch.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
He healed the last injuries and then checked the boy over once more, running his forearm over his own forehead to wipe away some sweat before he cast a quick tempus that showed – he had been here at work on this child for more than three hours now and he took another deep breath. He felt as tired as if he had been duelling for all that time and wrapping a bandage around the boy's forehead and the large bloody mess where the scar should have been he noticed that Harry the real boy was breathing more deeply now, his dark lashes trembling against pale, pink and feverish cheeks. He just wasn't ready to take on such a task like messing around with the boy's head or his backbones without having rested first, and as he didn't know if Poppy would be able touching this body – he had to at least consider the possibility that it would be his job again.
"I will take your body to Hogwarts now." He told Harry, the ghost, while he gently lifted the small body into his arms. "Will you be able to come with me by yourself?"
But there was no answer and looking over at the shelf and the boy ghost on it, he took another deep breath before slowly releasing it. Nothing had changed, the child still rocking back and forth while hugging himself and he looked so small, so tiny! As if he were only seven or eight years old instead of now twelve – just like the small body he held in his arms right now – a small and tiny skeleton – and only inches away from death – and loudly calling out for the black hooded figure holding the scythe.
"Do not leave this shelf, Potter, do you hear me?" He growled at the boy in the hope that he would either listen to him and not leave the shelf – just in case Dursley regained his ability to move before he was back to retrieve the ghost, or that he would be aware enough to come to Hogwarts immediately. But then – the boy already was a ghost and surely his uncle would not be able to hurt him again as he already knew – he was the only one who could touch the boy, most likely because he was the boy's father – a thought that again seemed to rob his breath for a moment and he looked down at the small form in his arms. His son!
His nearly dead son …
But then – if he, his father, could touch the boy, then perhaps his uncle could as well.
"Zilly." He quietly called while his own heart was beating too fast with threat. "Please stay here with Harry over there and keep him safe encase his uncle enters this cupboard. Make sure that the boy won't leave on his own and make sure that he is safe."
"Of course, Master Snape, sir." The small creature said while bowing slightly and with a final nod he turned and headed out of the cupboard and out of the Dursleys' house, apparating back to the castle where he hurried through Hogwarts' grounds and then along the corridors, and into the infirmary.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
"Where have you been so long … the boy's been gone and … what happened, Severus?" Were the first words Poppy greeted him with the moment he entered the infirmary, the woman being more than just upset, most likely over the boy ghost having disappeared.
"I have retrieved Potter's body from the Dursleys." He calmly explained while he placed the small body onto a bed, the one beside of that Potter the ghost had occupied earlier, before following him to Surrey, whatever reason for he had followed him in the first place. "Please do what you can, Poppy, heal him the best as possible and bath him. I will clothe him properly the moment I am back, cover him until then, I am sure that he would not like laying here like this."
"Where are you going, Severus?" Poppy asked, her face still pale and shocked, but already starting to run a diagnostic.
"I will have to get our boy ghost from the Dursleys before he will get into a panic attack and do something stupid." He said while already hurrying towards the double winged doors to leave the castle a second time, ignoring the matron's questions, and he hurried outside the double winged doors, along the path that led towards the gates and then apparated to number four Privet Drive, Surrey, a second time today.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
Upon entering number four a second time this day his eyes immediately fell onto Vernon Dursley, still laying on the floor in the corridor and his dark eyes hardened.
"Do not mistake my quick leave for being lenient on you – I will be back for your punishment. I just do not have the time any adequate punishment for you would require as I can promise you – you will need to endure months of unspeakable pain, and preferably at my hands." He hissed at the man before ducking into the small cupboard again, knowing that he wouldn't need to call the boy out, knowing that he wouldn't come out there himself, but having to take a deep breath and to calm his own nerves for being able doing so, for being able to ignore the blood stains on the bare and horrible mattress, and he wondered how the boy had managed living in here throughout all those years without going completely insane.
And yet – he wasn't so sure if the child really was not insane to some degrees at least.
Said child was still sitting at the shelf where he had left him, still rocking back and forth in a way that clearly was uncontrolled and far from – sane – and his dark eyes fixed at the small figure, he stepped closer, reaching out to touch the small form – he got a violent jerking of the boy's shoulder as an answer before the ghostly form pulled away, farther into the corner of the shelf, knocking over some of the cleaning agents that were on the shelf and in his way.
"Calm down, Harry." He quietly said, trying to get the scared boy to reason. "I won't hurt you."
"Where's it?" The boy asked, his voice rough and barely more than a whisper. "What've y' done with it?"
"With your body?" The Potions Master asked, frowning, remembering the horror on the boy's face when he had told him that he didn't know what the Dursleys might have done to his dead body, the same horror that was written over the pale face right now – and yes, if the child had lost some of his sanity on his way through all those horrors, he clearly could understand. "I have brought your body to Hogwarts, Harry." He then calmly said, understanding. "Will you come with me to Hogwarts now too? Your body is laying in the bed beside yours in the infirmary right now and Madam Pomfrey is tending to it."
The only answer he then got was a desperate sob and again he gently placed his hand at the thin shoulder before pulling the child close, down from the shelf and then wordlessly cradling his son to his chest before turning and leaving the Dursleys' household a second time, knowing that it wouldn't be the last time.
He would be back to punish them for what they had done to a defenceless and innocent wizarding child.
He would like telling the quivering mess on the ground that he could try running as soon as the body bind would fade, that he could try running as long as he wished, that he would find him anywhere as he had placed a tracking charm on him, on all of them, that he would not be able to run from his punishment, from his, Snape's hands, and from the pain that would await him – but not right now, because right now he had to bring his child home, to the only home the child ever had known, to Hogwarts.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
He came back the moment Poppy had finished bathing the body of the boy he was carrying into the infirmary, thin arms wrapped around his neck desperately and his own arms wrapped around the boy's back, holding him close. The boy ghost was still softly crying, the emotional stress of the past few days – or most likely even weeks – simply being too much to bear anymore, and the Potions Master held him for a few moments more, until Poppy had finished drying the real boy's body and had covered it with a blanket.
"Allow me to dress your body, child." He then said while prying the thin arms from his neck. "I will be back with you soon, but we can't leave your body lying there without clothes, now, can we?"
"Should've let him die!" The boy ghost said, his voice still hitching but otherwise accusingly, and with a frown he placed his hand beneath the child's chin and lifted his head so that he had to look at him instead of the still body in the bed beside.
"And why should I have done such a thing?" He asked, angrily, but not angry at the boy himself but at the question he had asked, at Petunia and her husband and at – at himself, even, for not realizing what was going on in this household sooner, for not seeing the signs sooner. He was able seeing them with so many other students, but he'd not seen them with Harry.
"He'll die an'way!" The boy said and he noticed that Harry the ghost didn't say "it" to his physical body anymore but "he", an improvement in his eyes. "An' he'll die 'lone an'way! He'll have no'ne caring 'bout him an'way! He'll have no'ne at all!"
"Are you alone right now, Mr. Potter?" He asked, ignoring the boy's barely recognizable mumbling and keeping his voice as indifferent as possible – as his face – while his mind was racing a mile per minute. Could he dare telling the boy? Was the child desperate enough so that maybe he would be able accepting even him, Snape, as his father? Was it really worth being rejected and hurt by the boy if he wasn't desperate enough for that? For his hated Potions Master to be his father? He seemed to crave for his, Snape's presence and comfort right now, but how long would this need for comfort last until he was back to his old self and …
"You are an idiot!" A small voice in the back of his mind said. "He is a child and like any child he needs comfort even after this is over. Will you allow a child to hurt emotions you do not even have?"
And yet – this child was not any child. It was his son, and he knew that he would be hurt by being rejected by his own son.
"You'll be gone an'way!" The boy ghost said, as if he'd had just the same thought, he, Snape, had had. "You won't stay an'way! No'ne does! You'll leave me 'lone like you've done when I was …" Large green eyes went even larger and then the child ghost clasped his hands over his mouth as if he had been about to say something forbidden.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
"When you were – what, Mr. Potter?" He asked, barely able to breathe, barely able to keep his face an indifferent mask and he had to place his hands behind his back to hide their trembling. The boy couldn't know. It was impossible for the boy to know!
"Noth'n sir." The ghost quickly said, slumping his shoulders and averting his eyes, looking at the floor and his voice sounded hollow suddenly, empty and resigned. "'M sorry, sir."
And yet – somehow, he knew – the boy knew. He was sure of that.
"When you were – what, Harry?" He asked, deciding that this was too important to be ignored in hopes that Harry Potter might not say what he thought, what he feared, he might say. This was just a child after all, a child in need, while he, Snape, he was the adult here and he was the one who should be able to deal with the outcome, never mind what exactly the outcome would be. "I do wish an answer, boy." He said when the brat didn't give an answer but shook his head, startled, ignoring the violent flinch the ghostlike form gave away at the word 'boy', thin arms jerking up for a moment as if in protection and he narrowed his eyes further.
"'S not 'mport'nt." The boy murmured and he gritted his teeth, leaning closer.
"I – will be the judge of that, and now answer my question." He growled darkly. "When – you – were – what?"
The boy ghost looked at him with large eyes, clearly terrified, but this time he did not back away.
It wasn't the first time after all, that he startled a student into answering his questions and he did not shy away from doing the same with his son if necessary. If the boy would answer his question with the words he feared he would – then there was no way out of this anyway and then the boy would have to get used to him and his ways anyway.
"When … when I've been … when I've been little." The boy whispered, his green eyes large on him, Snape, clearly terrified and he scooted back on the bed, away from him as if preparing himself for the worst.
Releasing his breath in one long sigh the Potions Master leaned his hand onto the nightstand beside the boy's bed and let hung his head – and not for the first time during the past twenty-four hours.
So, the boy knew.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
But how did he know? How could he know something like this? Surely, he couldn't remember. Surely, he couldn't remember a time when he had been barely two years old. He had been twenty months old, when he had seen him last, so how could the boy remember that? Remember him, Snape, being his father? But if he didn't remember, then how had he found out? When had he found out? It was not possible!
And yet – the boy knew.
The boy that sat on the farthest corner of the bed still, watching him with large and frightened green eyes, he knew, knew that he was his father. How long had he known? Had he already known before he had died? Had he learned of it during the summer holidays? Had he known last school year already? Groaning he remembered his harsh treatment of the boy last year.
If he already had known back then …
Merlin! What a mess!
"And so, you think that I will leave again now." He simply stated while turning back to the startled and scared form of the too small ghost that was his son – Merlin! "And so, you think that –" He stopped mid-sentence before scowling. "A bath is in order, young man!" He then said, changing the subject and taking the boy on his upper arm, pulling him from the bed and pushing him towards the bathroom in the back of the infirmary.
"You are wrong, Harry." He said while waving his wand at the bathtub that started filling itself with water and bubbles. "To your information: it has been your mother who has taken you and left." He then said, starting to undress the startled boy ghost. "Do not take me wrong on this, I do not blame your mother as she has been ordered to, by Dumbledore, but I have left neither your mother, nor you. I have come back from work and your mother has already taken you and left. Stop struggling, Mr. Snape, I already have seen you without clothes and there is nothing I have not already seen. It also has been the headmaster I suppose, who has tampered with my memories as I only last night started to remember – remind me of giving the blasted old bastard a piece of my mind! And so – no, I will not leave you. I have not left you back then and I won't leave you now. And now get into that bath as I won't have you going to bed dirty as you are after sitting at a shelf in that – in that … household!"
The boy however seemed to have a mind on his own as he stood there, rooted to the spot, and not understanding as it seemed, still watching him with large green eyes. But he, Snape, he at least had himself back under control and he at least was master of the situation again, and taking the boy's upper arm he simply led him to the bathtub and lifted him in, ignoring the short struggle before the boy ghost sighed and relaxed into the warmth, the water around the nearly translucent form wavering for a moment before it went through the child's body – at least in this area and situation the ghost making no exception, while it, at the same time, reminded him – the boy was a ghost, barely alive, an inch away from death's doorstep and knocking loudly for being let in.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
To be continued
Next time in "The boy that forgot to die"
I will be here
Added author's note
thank you for reading - and yes, I would appreciate it if you took the time to review this chapter too … thank you …
House Cup:
At the present time it looks like this:
29 Points - Slytherin
07 Points - Gryffindor
20 Points - Ravenclaw
06 Points - Hufflepuff