Title:
The boy that forgot to die

Author:
evil minded

Date:
November, 12th 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"

Nightly rituals done he slipped into the bed after turning the light off, hoping that eventually the fear would wear off.
His professor's and father's snarl for no good reason had wound him up like a bomb waiting to go off, and even right now he was waiting for Snape to come into the room and to take his frustrations out on him, it was all he ever had known so far and so he didn't expect any less.
Wide green eyes were staring transfixed at the door, while the clock was ticking away time constantly, a loud irritating noise, as the hours went by, and before long it was nearly midnight – but Harry was still tense like a bow.

The boy that forgot to die
Chapter twelve
Do you feel better?
Or I know what you have done

It was still in the middle of the night that Harry woke up while muffling his screams and shouts into the pillow, his heart pounding in his chest while fear froze him on the spot, and terrified that he might have woken Snape up he listened intently for at least ten minutes before he allowed his body to relax. So, he mustn't have been shouting much if his father hadn't heard, or the chamber behind the man's office was farther away from the man's actual quarters, thank Merlin for that – but how had he heard him the night before then? And the first night? Surely the Potions Master hadn't been sitting in his office and grading papers in the middle of the night still?

Looking at the clock he could see it was only three o'clock in the morning, and yet - it was the longest he had ever managed to sleep in one go before waking up, especially after going to sleep so early. He also knew that he wouldn't be able going back to sleep again and so he took a book from his shelf, parchment and ink and put on the lamp, hoping that Snape wouldn't see and come in, and then he started on his potions essay, knowing that it would drive him mad to try and go back to sleep again anyway.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Severus Snape at the same time was turning in his own bed, fighting off his own demons and with a gasp of his own he sat upright in bed at nearly the same time Harry was sitting in his own bed, waiting for his father to angrily storm into the chamber because he had woken him, and he took a few deep breathes to calm his nerves and to get rid of the remnants of his nightmare.

There had been Harry in his nightmare, looking up at him accusingly, and there had been he, Snape, telling the boy in an unmistakable drawl that he for once should use his brain instead of acting all emotional. Then there was Lily who reprimanded him, who told him that he should be more patient with the boy and then again there was little Harry, the barely one year old toddler, crawling towards him, the small head bobbing up and down wildly and then reaching his small, little hands and arms up to him, smiling and squealing in delight at having reached him, now clearly wanting to be picked up – and yet, he refused the small toddler, his own son, the small face getting sad and not understanding.

"Daddy?" The small child had asked in a small and trembling voice, the small arms slowly going down, and this had been what had woken him.

And now he was glad that he had woken up by then though, because he didn't know if he would have finally picked the child up from the floor or if he would have gone away, would have let him there, crying and not understanding why his father refused him.

Of course, his memories had come back more and more over the past few days and so, of course, he also knew that such a thing had never happened, he knew that he had always picked baby Harry up, if the boy just started to lift his little arms at him. But he also knew that he had treated the eleven year old Harry, his eleven year old son, like crap. And that was, what gnawed on his consciousness.

Together with the knowledge that a small, little and abused Harry had surely been laying in his cupboard, crying for not only his mother but for him, his father as well, for him, Severus Snape, to come and get him out of there, to get him home, surely not understanding why neither his mother nor his father came to take him home, not understanding why they weren't there to ease his pain, his emotional pain as well as his physical pain.

And then his words today!

He had never been really planning on making Harry Potter actually miserable, not even last year – but whenever he had seen the boy, had had him in his class – he hadn't been able to control his temper around that boy. His temper – it was the one thing he couldn't control easily, never mind his occlumency shields, and he knew that it was something he had inherited from his own horrible father – it was his biggest shame, his temper, it was his one weakness – he did things when he got angry which he deeply regretted later.

And this evening, after dinner, he had been just angry at the boy for refusing to go back into his body, for gambling with his own life like that – even if he could understand – and for a moment he hadn't known how to deal with all of this.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

A soft tingling got him out of his thoughts, and he took a moment to realize what the soft tingling meant, but then he quickly threw the covers away and slipped into his night robe.

Another nightmare.

If only the boy would finally talk about what had happened with the Dursleys, he thought while hurrying through his quarters and into his office. Of course, the boy had nightmares if he didn't allow himself to deal with all that had happened – with having been abused for nearly all his life, with being dead, practically, with having been killed actually.

Opening the door to the chamber behind his office he took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm and collected instead of rushing forwards to the small body that was rocking back and forth on the bed, again wondering how someone could damage a child so much that it was in so deep emotional pain.

Gently he placed his hand onto the boy's shoulder, not sure if he would be able touching the child.

"Harry?" He asked. It still was strange to him, using the boy's given name. For years he had thought of Lily's child as "Potter" and last year the boy had been "Potter" too. While in truth he was a Snape. But he didn't dare addressing the boy as "Mr. Snape" yet, not knowing if the boy would be content with this. He had done so during the past few days, every now and then, whenever he had felt the need for it, but he wasn't sure if it was welcome – he was just unsure.

Gently he pulled the boy closer when there was no answer, stopping the rocking motion and for a moment he had to tighten his grip on the thin shoulders, the ghost apparently intending to increase his rocking instead of ceasing it and relaxing in his arms, as if he felt imprisoned by being kept from his back and forth rocking.

"Calm down, Harry." He gently said while holding the boy against his chest to stop him, his other hand traitorously reaching over to card through his son's mop of black hair. "You are not alone, child. And never again will you be alone either. I am quite here, trust me."

It took him a while, but then he had the boy calm again, the small and ghost-like form taking a deep breath in his arms.

"Do you feel better?" He then asked.

"W'dn' care an'way." The boy murmured, still sobbing. "No'n cares. 'N y'hate me an'way."

He couldn't help flinching at the boy's accusation, knowing that the boy was right after all, that he had hated him, or at least had disliked him for a long time, and again he pulled the child's head closer to his chest. He forced himself to relax and he couldn't help feeling that his next words cost him more than any words ever had cost him.

"I do care. I do care to know how you feel." He said. "I do care to know about your past, and I do care to know you."

The boy however only shrugged against his chest.

"Let's start with – do you feel better?" He asked, looking down at the boy, trying to see the pale face and knowing that he had to take the lead and that he had to guide the boy slowly.

"Better?" The ghost in his arms asked, turning so that he was leaning with his back against his chest, and he could feel the boy getting upset.

Harry didn't know how he felt. He felt better, yes, but he wasn't sure if he actually was alright, not exactly. He knew that he felt better than he had felt earlier, during the summer, at the Dursleys', but could he dare saying it aloud? Wouldn't it be taken away from him if he dared saying it aloud? Everything ever had been taken away from him if he had dared saying aloud that he liked it or that he felt good. Wouldn't it be the same with this now?

"Dunno." He murmured, shrugging again and having to fight with his tears. "Better?" He then asked, his voice sounding tired and empty. "I think I feel weak and used and rejected and useless and … and filthy and … and anything but not clean and definitely not good."

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Later that day the Potions Master was sitting in his office, grading papers, but his mind was running in circles – because he had been startled.

He had been absolutely startled at the boy's words and in this very moment he had known that most likely he would never be able to heal all the emotional scars his son suffered from.

If the boy had told him that he simply would feel tired and weak, or rejected and useless – it would have been bad still and it would have meant a lot of work to change how the boy felt, manageable work, but the words that the boy had spoken, they had startled him, the words he had spoken that he felt – filthy, that he didn't feel clean, those words really startled him more than he dared to admit, they frightened him – because he knew the reasons as to why someone would feel unclean or filthy and he feared what might be the reason so that his son felt this way.

Of course, there was the fact that he had found the boy filthy and unwashed for surely many days, most likely weeks, the many injuries littering the small body already infected, but he couldn't be sure that the boy only meant that. He had not asked the boy, and he would not do so anytime soon, not before the child was stable a bit anyway, but he knew that it could be a possibility – and he didn't like it, not a bit.

He would cast a more defined diagnostic and he would try to find out more, but he knew that one day he would have to ask his son anyway – not something he was looking forward to. But then – he was not only a teacher, and he was not only a spy – he was the head of a house, and he was the head of Slytherin, the one house that held the most abused children at Hogwarts. And so, he knew that not only he could deal with it, but that he also would not step away from the question that was needed.

But before that – he would have to give the boy a stable and basic environment. One that was not in a chamber behind his office and one that was not a meal in the great hall during which he was shunned, one that was not ragged clothes and one that was not based on fear.

He had worked towards this goal during the past few days and today he had gotten the official papers from the ministry of magic, from child welfare – he could re-claim his own son, he was allowed to rename him, he was allowed to resort him even, and he definitely was allowed to keep him in his quarters for the time being.

Of course, he would try to get him used to his new dormitory one day – but first he would keep him safe in his own quarters, until the boy had learned that he was at home there, that he could feel safe there, and that he was welcomed there. Anything else – it would have time.

In other words – it was time to face one headmaster – and he knew that he would have to do this carefully, if he wanted to convict the blasted old man. Not that he cared about what Dumbledore would admit and what not, he knew what the man had done anyway, but he wanted to hear it from him.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

And so, right now he was knocking onto the wooden door that was the entrance to the headmaster's office, and then entered after the quiet "come in, Severus" that came from the other side of the door.

Rarely he took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs when he was angry, preferred standing so that he could move, preferred approaching the windows to look down into Hogwarts' grounds, so that he did not have to face the old meddling coot – but he did take a seat now – to set the headmaster at ease until he was ready to strike.

"What can I do for you, Severus?" The headmaster asked, smiling at him. "Lemon drop? Tea maybe?"

"I do thank you, but no." He answered. "A cup of tea however would not be remiss."

The headmaster flicked his wand, and a moment later there was a cup of tea in front of the Potions Master. He leaned forwards, slightly, taking the cup and he sniffed at the hot drink for another moment before taking a sip – just to make sure that the old wizard had not tampered with the tea. He wasn't a Potions Master for nothing after all.

"How is young Harry doing, Severus?" The old man then asked, leaning back and watching him over his half-moon spectacles, most likely thinking that he would grate on his nerves with his question, that he would hit a sore spot – well, he did, actually, but not in the way the headmaster thought. "You have taken him to the guest room in the dungeons if I am correct, haven't you?"

"Indeed." He drawled for a moment, before getting his face into an indifferent mask again. "Harry …" He then softly said. "I do not know why I felt such a strange hatred towards him."

"You felt?" The old man leaned closer, curiously. "Does that mean that you don't hate him anymore?"

"No, I do not." He honestly answered. "I cannot hate him anymore … I, however, do not know the reason for that change."

Here!

Take that, you old and meddling fool!

And fall for it!

There was the sound of a teacup clinking softly when Dumbledore put it back down on its plate.

"I do think, I can answer your question." The old headmaster then said, and the Potions Master narrowed his eyes at the man.

"Which question?" He then asked, his voice sounding indifferently.

"Why you would feel differently towards Harry now." The headmaster said.

"And that would be – why?" He asked, lifting his eyebrow at the old man and being very interested in the coot's answer.

"Well, you have seen that Harry really was not the spoiled prince and that you have wronged him so horribly – you simply feel bad about it now. Admit it, Severus, even you have a conscience."

"You dare speaking of a conscience, Albus?" He asked, his eyes blazing coldly, and he got off the armchair and went over to his favourite spot in the headmaster's office – to the window where he turned to face the old man, his back on the window without even looking down into the grounds once. "You actually dare speaking of a conscience, Albus? While you have robbed not only my wife but my son as well? While you have caused my wife's death by placing her with an imbecile like Potter who had not been able keeping her safe? While you have placed my son with Lily's abusive sister and her just the more abusive husband who has killed the boy?"

"Severus?" The headmaster asked, blanching considerably.

"I do know what you have done, headmaster." He then drawled. "I have gotten my memories back the longer I have been in my son's presence lately and no, there will be no need to tamper with my mind again, seeing that already I have contacted child welfare, and seeing that already I have reclaimed Harry Potter as my son. I soon will re-name the boy into Snape again and I will also resort him into Slytherin, seeing that he is not welcomed in his own house where he is shunned into sitting alone, and being stared at in the great hall during meals. On his own house table and by his own house mates, even. And after I have my son safe with me in my quarters and in my house, I will make sure that you are faced with an inquiry."

"Surely you will not go such lengths, Severus." The headmaster said, leaning back in his armchair, his pale face worried but calm again.

"Why ever not, Dumbledore?" He asked, seething at the man. "Give me one single reason as to why I should not! You have not only betrayed Lily and me, but Harry as well and you have cost not only Lily's life but Harry's as well. You have caused their deaths and you are responsible for Harry's suffering. So, give me one single reason as to why I should not go such lengths, Dumbledore."

"Harry is not dead yet." The headmaster said and the Potions Master growled deeply.

"The boy is a ghost, Dumbledore." He hissed, leaning his hands onto the desktop of the man's desk. "His actual body is only inches away from death, knocking at deaths door vehemently, and loudly demanding entrance, while his spirit has already left his body, refusing to go back because he knows that there will be only more torture, pain and horror. In other words – he is dead, Dumbledore! His body might be breathing, still, and his heart might be beating, still, but practically, he is dead, and his lungs as well as his heart will stop working soon without his ghost – that refuses to go back."

"So – what would you want me doing, Severus?" The headmaster asked him, his voice cold and harsh suddenly and Severus knew that this was Albus Dumbledore's true mask.

"There is nothing I could possibly want from you, except of – leave! Harry! Alone!" He then growled in his most threateningly tone. "You won't speak to my son without my permission, you won't ask anything of him, you won't come near him, and you surely won't touch him, you won't have any say over my son and you won't even look at my son without my permission."

"As you wish, Severus." The headmaster said and the Potions Master straightened.

"That will be Professor Snape for you in future, headmaster." He drawled before turning with a snap of his robes and leaving the office of a man he had considered a friend and mentor for many years. The betrayal of this man now hurt just the more, but he would not allow this pain to rule over him – he had a son who needed him now, he had a son who needed his care and his guidance so he could survive in the first place.

And the first thing he would do was – taking Harry to his new room in his quarters and making sure that the boy knew – he was not only welcomed, but he was wanted.

And so, he entered his office after he had hurried along the corridors in a rush, scowling at anyone who dared crossing his ways in the corridors down to the dungeons.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

To be continued

Next time in "The boy that forgot to die"
A chamber within

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