Title:
The boy that forgot to die

Author:
evil minded

Date:
November, 10th 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 …

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Previously in "The boy that forgot to die"
Snape didn't make any sense. Caring for him, then dumping him off in the tower, then taking him from his dorm, then dumping him in a room in the dungeon, after that comforting him in potions and now regretting that he had admitted to him, and calling him 'Potter' instead.
"I … I'm here for … for my detention, professor." He managed to get out, looking into the Potions Master's direction and waiting for permission to start on scrubbing cauldrons. He knew why he had those detentions, and he knew what detention was like with Snape. It meant scrubbing cauldrons for hours after hours, until you couldn't move your arms anymore, and until your hands felt like cramping from all the hard work.
Snape simply waved him closer, and slowly the nervous boy ghost made his way up to the older wizard's desk.

The boy that forgot to die
Chapter ten
Detention with Snape
Or magic isn't real

"I see you finally have decided to grace me with your presence." Severus said, to which Harry looked off to the side and he waited, leaving the Potions Master frowning, wondering why the boy wouldn't defend himself, wouldn't tell him that he'd been there punctually but hadn't dared to actually knock.

"Very well, follow me." He said, getting to his feet and leading the boy towards his potions laboratory.

He watched the young ghost out of the corner of his eyes, and he noticed that he shuffled his feet while trudging along behind him and he noticed the slumped shoulders and the defeated sigh, too. Well, he knew that the brat expected having to scrub cauldrons, but he looked as if there was a different problem than that, too. He soon had noticed, after all, that the boy didn't really mind cleaning cauldrons, doing so with an experience that made clear – he had done so before, and most likely with his relatives.

"I take it you do remember the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" He asked, gesturing at one of the worktables while getting a cutting board from one of the shelves.

"There is none." Harry said, quietly, his eyes cast at the floor with a look that was strangely lost, and he knew which scene he remembered – as did he, himself. "Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant that also goes by the name of aconite."

The exact same words he had used to answer his own question with a year ago and he was startled that the boy had remembered them as clearly as that.

"Can we summon this plant?" He asked, his dark eyes on the boy with no expression at all in them.

"No, sir." The boy answered. "Using magic on aconite before it is added to a potion would destroy the magical effect it can enfold in a potion."

"Then I suggest you go to the storage and get a basket of this particular plant." He said. "You also will need a chopping board, a knife and then I expect you to prepare half of it properly for being used in a potion to heal high fever and the other half of it properly for being used in a potion to heal anxiety."

With a quiet "yes, sir" the boy left and came back five minutes later with a basket filled with the plant he had asked for. He didn't give away another explanation, but he kept close to the boy and watched him cleaning, chipping and pounding the plant just the closer – just in case the child would be stupid enough to bring his fingers to his face, while at the same time he wondered wherefrom he knew how to prepare the plant for those potions to begin with as they had not covered them yet in the boy's class.

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"So – I take it we both had enough time by now getting used to the thought of being – related." He started at one point, knowing that he had to not only talk to the boy but that he also had to bring up the subject of their relationship as well. Even if he knew that this particular conversation would be very awkward.

The boy shrugged his shoulders, but he could see the ghostlike face losing some of the blankness and getting attentive – even though the boy clearly tried to hide it and for a moment he couldn't help wondering if the boy was as afraid of being rejected just as was he, Snape. Could it be that the boy wanted this relationship, and that he didn't dare admitting it? If so, then – but no, he did not have to ask that question.

It was clear what he had to do – it was him who was the adult here, while Harry, while his son was just – a child. And so, it was him who had to step low and reach out a hand for the boy to take, hoping that the boy would do just that instead of rejecting him.

"You are working instinctively." He said, pointing at the boy who was chipping some of the aconite, watching him chipping it lengthwise instead of width wise like most other children would have done.

"Thank you." Harry quietly answered and Snape frowned at the child that still did not look up at him.

"Do you see this detention as a punishment to make you miserable?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

"No, sir." Said boy answered, still not looking up at him and his frown deepened. "Otherwise, you had me cleaning out cauldrons."

"And yet you seem to have a problem with the situation." He mused aloud. "I do understand that a boy your age does have other – things in mind than …"

"No, sir." The boy said, looking up at him for the first time, looking startled actually. "It's just … that's just what I don't understand …"

"That I go easy on you?" Snape asked, frowning confused when the boy did not go on. "What would be the benefit if I had you doing a task that did not allow us to have a conversation while working?" He then asked. "Face it, child, you are my son and so, of course, I intend on getting to know you better."

"Then why would you go back and forth all the time?" The boy now actually placed the knife at the board and his hands started to go into a complicated knot, the fingers tangled into each other. "Why would you first care for me and then dump me in the Gryffindor tower after retrieving my body from … well, there! And why would you then get me from the tower to dump me in a room somewhere in the dungeons! And why would you … you've called me … and now you're back to calling me 'Potter'! I … I don't … I just …"

Blinking at the boy in shock he noticed, just in time, the boy bringing up one of his hands that was curled into a fist, to brush away tears that suddenly had appeared on the pale face and again, just in time, he managed to grab the thin wrist, for a moment actually fearing that he would grip thin air instead of the wrist, to stop the boy touching his face with the fingers that just moments before had touched one of the most potent poisonous plants existing – to have a child in front of him that gave away a choked scream of fear and tried to get out of the grip on pure instinct that told him – get free and run if you want to survive.

"I will not harm you, Harry." He quietly said, not releasing the boy's wrist but increasing his grip instead. "Calm down and take a deep breath – I will not harm you, but if you had touched your face, especially your eyes with fingers having been in so close and intense contact with the sap of one of the deathliest plant existent, you had harmed yourself."

There was silence for a moment before the child really took a deep breath and then gave him a jerky nod of his head. Slowly he released the boy's wrist when it was clear that he would not finish his previous movement, and with a face as indifferent as possible he took the boy's hand into his own and drew his wand, ignoring the flinch the small ghost-like form gave away and casting a cleaning charm before doing the same with the boy's other hand – before handing him a handkerchief.

Of course, he didn't know if the boy would die because of the plant's poison coming in contact with his mouth or eyes, seeing that he was a ghost and at least this form of his son clearly being dead – but he wasn't ready to take any risks, not the slightest!

"You seem to be under the misconception that I am looking for a way out of this relationship." He then calmly said, suddenly understanding the entirety of the situation. "And considering those creatures you had the misfortune of growing up with, it only is understandable as they seemed to have taught you nothing except of you being unwanted, not worth their care and nothing than a bother they had to deal with. So, just to rectify your notion – it has not been my intention to – dump you anywhere when I sent you back to your dormitory or placed you in the chamber behind my office. It rather has been the only solution at the time as the headmaster and your head of house demanded you being in your tower where you belonged to, as the Gryffindor you are, after your injuries have healed. I however have my hands bound in getting you into my own quarters at the present time, as I first have to make sure that the headmaster cannot interfere in any way possible, that would set you or your safety at risk."

Again, there was no answer but at least he had the boy's attention, and he hadn't expected an answer anyway. At the present time the young ghost hung on his lips like a man dying of thirst – and again, understandable as most likely the boy had never before had an adult who had talked to him and who had listened to him, who had not punished him for asking questions or for speaking at all. Of course, he had the boy's attention now. It was what any adult should have done earlier.

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It had been … well … satisfying to work with his son, loath as he was to admit that. He had been an excellent assistant and the conversation – as awkward as it had been at some points – hadn't been too bad either. So, he actually had been startled upon casting a quick tempus and noticing that it was nearly midnight. A quick glance at the boy had showed him that the little ghost had definitely seemed ready to drop and with a scowl at his own stupidity he had taken the knife from the boy's fingers, again startling the brat in the act. He had cast another cleaning and disinfectant spell before leading him out of the laboratory and back into his office.

He had led him to the backroom of his office where he had suggested the boy better lay down and sleep, green eyes having blinked up at him unfocused and sleepily when he had placed a blanket over the boy ghost.

"G'nigh' pr'fess'r." The boy had murmured, the words slurred and barely understandable, and he had raised an eyebrow before he had frowned, for a short moment wondering if that child had ever had an adult whom he could have said 'good night' to, in coherent words or not.

"Good night, idiot child." He had growled before quickly turning and leaving the room.

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He had left the room and he had left his office through a door that led to his own quarters. He then had gone to bed himself and it hadn't taken him long to fall asleep.

It hadn't taken him long to get woken again, however – and now he was currently trying to calm a twelve year old ghost that was trapped in a nightmare, his hands simply going through the translucent form, unable to hold the young ghost which he had been able to hold for the past few days – and his own nerves were starting to flare with dread. Did this mean that the boy finally went into a ghost completely? What would happen with the boy's body if that was what was happening?

It had not been even an hour after he'd gone to bed when an alarm had woken him, and it had taken him a minute until he had been able figuring out what exactly the alarm meant, remembering having it cast at the boy when he had left the chamber, the alarm waking him upon the boy waking and he had slipped into a bathrobe, had left his private quarters, had hurried to his office and into the chamber behind.

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"Harry, damn!" He shouted in pure frustration, already drawing his wand to cast an aquamenti – a moment later however the boy bolted upright on the sofa, shaking and backing away into the farthest corner of the furniture, pulling the blanket close with two trembling hands and Snape nearly sighed with relief.

The boy was awake, and he was still able touching things, he wasn't a real ghost, yet.

"What happened?" He asked, causing the boy to look up at him sharply, large green eyes expressing a terror he seldom had seen in any child's eyes, and he was not prepared for the onslaught of uncovered memories he suddenly received.

"You're never going back to that freak school!" Dursley screamed at the crying boy while he brought down a cane over the small and shaking form. "Magic isn't real and you're no wizard! You're just a monstrous beast! Magic isn't real and you're no wizard!"

Another scene but again Dursley bringing down the cane over the already bleeding form of a wizarding child, of Harry Potter. "Say it! Magic isn't real and you're no wizard! Say it!"

"Magic isn't real …" The boy chocked out, crying, screaming with pain whenever the cane left another welt on the already beaten body, some of them even bleeding. "'M no wizard …"

Again, it was another scene, but again it was the cane that was brought down by Dursley, beating the small body of a boy that remembered more at a bloody mess than at an actual child. "Say it, you monstrous beast! Magic isn't real! And you're no wizard!"

"Magic isn't real!" The boy shouted, screamed with a desperate voice. "I'm no wizard!"

Forcing his own occlumency shields up he stood there, rooted to the spot for a moment, his stomach squirming with the horror he had witnessed just a second before, and again he suddenly understood – the boy flinching upon him, Snape, drawing his wand, the boy flinching upon the spell being cast at him, the boy not adding his magic to the potion like he had done the previous year – even if he had been the only first year who had done so as he only taught his NEWT students how to add magic to a potion – and last but not least, the boy not being able doing a simple warming charm, the boy not even having gotten his own wand out of his trunk yet.

And he knew that the boy's wand was in there as he himself had placed it there when he had picked up Harry's things from number four Privet Drive a few days ago. The boy's wand, which had been hidden beneath the flimsy mattress in the cupboard, it was there, but the boy ghost never had used it since he was here at Hogwarts – nor had he done any kind of magic at all so far except of accidental magic.

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"You do realize, Harry, that you are a ghost – in some strange way at least – and that a ghost cannot be beaten?" He asked, but nevertheless the fearful look didn't leave the boy's eyes and face and neither did his wary posture and he shook his head. "I do know what you think – I can touch you, and so I could beat you also. But I will not beat you, Harry." He continued, his voice going from sarcastic to soft and gentle. "I would not harm you, and I would not starve you or lock you away." He said while slowly extending his hand, knowing that words were not going to be enough, and placing his own wand atop the blanket, just in front of the boy, close enough so that the child could have taken it if he had wanted to – and even if he felt a bolt of dread at the loss of his wand, wanting nothing else than snatching it back from the makeshift bed – he knew that the boy ghost would not take it, Harry not making the slightest movement, just looking at it, still trembling.

He just as slowly went over to the boy's trunk and opened it, taking the wand from the top of the stack of clothes where he had placed it, reminding himself again that he would have to remedy the boy's clothing-problem soon. The boy still was not paying attention to him, seemed to be thinking over his, Severus' words, clearly wanting to feel them, to feel safe. He actually could feel it radiating off the boy, the deep wish of wanting to feel safe for once in his life.

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Harry was sitting there, his eyes at the Professor's wand and he knew that there had been a time when he easily could have taken it to protect himself – but this was a long time ago. Rather he refocused at Snape's words – he would not beat him, and he would not starve him, would not lock him away. And he had not done so, he knew. Words – that felt safe, and he focused onto this strong need to feel safe.

A moment later the man placed another wand at the bed, the wand that once had belonged to him, and for a moment he stared at it, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to feel even.

How many times had he wanted to use it against his uncle? How many times had he wanted to do the unthinkable and to cast an unforgivable curse against his uncle? Or at least to do anything to protect himself against his uncle? Hundreds of times? Thousands of times? He didn't know.

But he hadn't … for thousands of reasons, for millions of reasons, but the most important reason being, he would have been banned from the only place that had become a home for him, from Hogwarts, from the place where he at least had a father, never mind if his father hated him. And the second most important reason being, he didn't believe he could do it … he was too weak … it wouldn't work, and then the wrath of his uncle would be even worse.

Not to mention – he was no wizard.

He didn't know if he really ever had been one, but he wasn't one now, he knew that.

Snape was one, and so he knew that – magic seemed to exist, as strange as it was, because if magic existed, then that meant that uncle Vernon had lied to him, but … Snape was one.

'And Snape's your father.' A small voice in the back of his mind whispered. Did this mean that he was one too? A wizard? If uncle Vernon had lied to him one time, surely, he could have lied to him about this as well?

Unable to deal with those thoughts, because he knew that there was no magic and because he knew that he was no wizard either and that his father would have to punish him for alone those thoughts like his uncle had done so often, he cringed and pulled into a small ball, unable to stop himself from choking out a sobbed apology for having had those thoughts that were so very wrong and so very bad despite what his uncle had taught him in all those painful lessons.

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Severus Snape, still shocked, watched the boy cringing, pulling into an even tighter ball, while he started to cry how he was sorry for whatever it was he had done, how he was sorry for even thinking that maybe he could be a wizard despite his uncle's lesson, starting to promise that he would be good and to please not hit him again – and he wasn't able to keep from taking the small form into his arms, hoping that he would be able doing so to begin with, remembering that he hadn't been able to, just a few moments ago – it was nothing he would not do with one of his snakes either, he told himself.

At first the small body of his son stiffened in his arms, shaking and trying to free himself, but then he just tightened his grip until he felt the boy relaxing in his arms. He knew that any neglected and abused child was starving for care and affection and other more physical things as well, like being held, like a hand that touched his shoulder or his arm in a way that was not hurting him, that was comforting or reassuring him. On the other hand, he also knew that the boy most likely ignored his own needs for physical comfort, that he had learned to accept the very little things he received like Granger's or Weasley's friendship, the educational concern of his head of house and now his, Snape's, reluctant attention.

"You are a wizard." He quietly said while running his hand through the boy's hair. "Your uncle lied to you, as did your aunt. You are a wizard. And magic does exist. I do not expect you to take your wand right now, but I will place it at your nightstand, and I expect you to not place it back in your trunk where it would be out of your sight."

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The boy only shrugged in his arms, and he frowned.

"You should not pretend that nothing ever happened, Harry." He calmly said, knowing that his next words would be dangerous words spoken to any abused child. "I have seen the layers of scars on your body in general and your back in particular. And perhaps you could start with enlightening me on how you came to get that particular cut on your back that runs over your lower spine?" He knew that he was pushing the boy, but he also knew that the boy needed to address the abuse, and soon, if he wanted to deal with his nightmares – if he wanted the boy ghost ready to go back into his body anytime soon.

"Cn't 'mnemb'r." The boy softly murmured, reverting to something akin to baby talk even, trying to turn in his arms to face away from him, to face the wall and Snape's heart skipped a beat, tightening his grip and keeping the boy from turning away, hoping that Harry was lying about not remembering. He knew that if Harry truly couldn't remember, then the boy had bigger emotional scars than anyone would have guessed, what most likely was the case anyway, with what had happened.

"You do not need to conceal anything from me, Harry." He persisted, hoping that he would get through to the boy one day. "I have already seen everything. I have seen every bruise and broken bone as well as that dreadful cut on your back – and your starved appearance."

The boy, unable to turn away, now struggled to hide his face further into the folds of his, Snape's, cloak and shook his head as if in denial. "'M tired, 'k? Please?" Snape wasn't about to let the boy off the hook that easily, however.

"You will sleep much better if you stop pushing away or bottling up all the memories and begin to talk with me instead." He suggested. "It is not healthy to pretend that nothing ever happened, Harry."

The green eyes went large for a moment and again Snape clearly could see.

"Boy you're going to pay for all the bad things you make happen!"

"Please uncle Vernon please, I'm trying … I'm trying so hard to change!"

Again, quickly pulling back he watched as Harry broke out in a cold sweat, pulling the covers tighter around himself and he himself tightened the grip his arms had on the small form. He had been able to feel the boy pushing the memory he had seen away, not being ready to talk about it. He clearly did not want to have to relive the terrible things that had happened.

"Harry talk to me. Tell me." Snape implored as he reached for Harry's hand again and rubbed the back of it with his thumb.

"Please … please don' make me say it." The boy sobbed in his arms. "It didn' happen an'way, nothin' happened an'way."

Taking a deep breath Snape knew that he had reached the end of his rope, that he should be careful and that he should not push the boy any further than he could handle, but the boy was suppressing the abuse entirely and he knew that this wouldn't do at all.

"I will not allow you to deny what happened." He said while placing his hand onto the boy's face and pulling it up, so the boy had to look at him. "It would not be beneficial to your wellbeing. I will be with you through every step of the way, but it is a journey you must take."

"'M tired, 'm real' tired." The child said in a panicked voice again trying to move away from Snape's touch and he knew that he wouldn't be able pushing the boy any further right now.

"It is alright, Harry. You're safe. Relax now and get some sleep, I will be here." He said, placing his hand on the boy's back again, feeling the tremor of the small body and it was eerie how the boy seemed to just obey while he watched the boy falling asleep a moment later.

Merlin, this was going to be a hard task, he thought, the boy seemed to be too frightened to even think about what had happened at his relatives' house and truth to be told, Snape was frightened at that thought – even though he could understand. Anyone would be too frightened to even think about it, any adult man would be too frightened. So how could a child not be too scared by it?

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Harry himself just waited and waited and still waited patiently until he would be pushed away, until he would be beaten and hurt, but it never happened, he was pulled closer instead, the hand on his shoulder stopping him from turning away, the older man keeping him eye to eye, the dark eyes staring at him so intensely. But the man never pushed him away, and slowly he closed his eyes allowing himself to relax and to fall asleep.

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"I would appreciate it if you sat down for breakfast instead of standing in the doorway, Harry." He said, approaching the boy from the side – who quickly moved out of his way and the Potions Master frowned. He knew that his son did not like being too close to adults, not when he was alone with them anyway. Too many things had happened to him when he had been alone with them. He just had to think at – Dursley, Petunia, Quirrel, Voldemort – and he himself, Snape.

Of course, he never had physically hurt the boy, such a thing was not his ways, but he had abused the boy nevertheless, in different ways, but fact was – Harry had never before had an adult to live with whom he could have trusted. He had never had a father who would protect him. And yet – he couldn't blame the boy, he knew that the child kept everyone at arm length from himself as a means of self-protection, only wanting to keep himself safe and therefore keeping anyone far away from him.

He had been awakened by a soft whimper from the boy last night and he had looked over at the sleeping form squirming on the sofa, trapped in another nightmare and he gently had reached out his hand to place it at the boy's forehead – the young ghost immediately had calmed and seemed to relax under his touch.

So innocently.

The boy had looked so innocent, while seeming to lean into the touch, as needy of physical comfort as any neglected child was and he had thought back to the days when he had felt unable to stand the sight of the boy even. It had been hard to believe that he had ever felt so negatively towards that child, and he had tried to remember when exactly his emotions towards Harry had changed, earlier in the week, in the infirmary at Hogwarts when the boy had reached his battered hand out to him for comfort, wondering how this insufferable child ever thought that he, Snape, could bring any kind of comfort.

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"But …"

"I do not appreciate discussion over my decisions with my son, Harry." He drawled. "I have noticed you avoiding the great hall for meals and as I have learned over the past few days that you are able feeling pain, fear and other emotions as well as tiredness and exhaustion – I take it that you are able feeling hunger as well. So, I expect you to sit down and eat breakfast here in my office instead of the great hall to make sure you eat anything at all. Ghost or not – you are thin enough as it is, and you do need each meal you can get. So, sit down!"

"Oh …" The boy made and he lifted his eyebrow.

"Oh, indeed." He drawled. "So, you see – if I give you an order then I do have a reason behind my order and I expect you to follow it immediately, and without any discussions."

"I've not planned on not ob- … sorry, sir." The boy said, starting to argue with him before averting his eyes and looking down at his feet that seemed very interesting suddenly, the boy's big toe moving behind the hole in the trainer and again the Potions Master was reminded that he had to remedy the boy's clothing problems.

"I do know that you have not been planning on disobeying, Harry, but while trying to discuss over my orders you already could be dead in a dangerous situation where your life might be at risk. If I give you an order, then it is not because I intend on annoying you, but because I do intent on keeping you safe and healthy – and therefore I expect you to obey within the moment the order is given and without any discussions."

"Yes, sir." The boy said, his eyes still averted. "Sorry, sir."

"There is no need to apologize." He sighed, knowing that it would be a long way. "Just do sit down and partake in breakfast."

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Harry sat down, slowly, and he felt as if he had to take at least a sip of the tea to show that he understood. He grabbed for the cup and took a careful sip. It tasted sweet, like honey. Not something he would prefer to drink every day, but it was okay.

"It's sweet." He murmured.

"Mine is not." Snape said and he looked up at the man, curiously. It was one thing, Snape preparing breakfast in his office so that he, Harry, would eat anything at all, but it definitely was another thing, the man even admitting to a conversation with him. "So, I think Zilly added some honey to yours. I do hope it is to your liking?"

"It's still tea. Dudley always was allowed to …" Quickly he drew in a sharp breath and started to stiffen. Why did he even start telling Snape about Dudley? He didn't even want to think about the Dursleys any longer now that he was away from them for the next ten months! He would have to deal with them soon enough after the school year, there was no need to think about them now, too.

"Please do continue your sentence." Snape said and he could feel the man eyeing him closely. "I would like to hear what you wanted to tell me, Harry."

"It's absolutely nothing, really." He said in a rush, hoping that the Potions Master would let it drop. "Only boring stuff 'bout the Dursleys, really, an' noth'n that you'd want to hear me whining 'bout an'way."

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"Harry …" The Potions Master called the boy's name, still feeling strange at using his son's given name but immediately knowing that said boy would not react, was rather looking aside again. "Harry!" He called out a second time in the hope that the boy would look at him, but Harry just stared at his cup of tea. "Please do look at me." He then requested, letting his request sound like a command and finally the boy was looking at him. "If you feel uncomfortable talking about your relatives or what happened at your old home, with me, it is understandable – but absolutely not avoidable. I will not allow you to play it down or brush it aside as if nothing had happened. And do not tell me what I would or would not be interested in." Severus had forced himself to speak calmly and gently – as gently as it was possible for him at least.

"I just wanted to say that Dudley, my cousin, always was allowed to drink hot chocolate or sweet juice, and I had to drink plain water or tea that had become cold and bitter, at least after they had found out how much I hate it." The boy said after long moments of hesitancy. "It's been better than nothing though." He added, looking at his cup and then seemed to decide gulping it down in one go so that he, most likely, didn't have to think about it any longer, but – and to his own surprise – he put his hand on the thin arm and stopped the brat.

A moment later a cup of hot chocolate was standing on the table in front of his son who looked at the cup and then up at him with large eyes.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

To be continued

Next time in "The boy that forgot to die"
Ghost or not – you need to rest

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:

30 Points - Slytherin
07 Points - Gryffindor
27 Points - Ravenclaw
06 Points - Hufflepuff