Title:
The boy that forgot to die
Author:
evil minded
Date:
November, 21st 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"
"Hush, child." He said, pulling the boy's head close and securing it against his shoulder with his free hand. "We still have a few days, I guess. And even if you still cannot take this risk and trust me by then – we will deal with it when it comes to that." He said, knowing that never mind what, his son was already too damaged to ever trust anyone in his life ever again – not even him, perhaps especially not even him. "But never mind what you yourself believe, child – you do deserve life more than any other child here at Hogwarts, you deserve so much more than you had, you deserve the world!"
The boy that forgot to die
Chapter twenty-one
In the morning, sir?
Or I won't go away
"Are you coming, Harry?" Hermione asked him after history, and he frowned. Since when was Hermione so nice with him again? She'd openly read his privates thoughts to the Gryffindor common room, and she hadn't talked to him in days, in weeks actually by now, and now she was – out of the blue – asking him if he would come to the great hall for lunch?
"Leave him alone, Granger." Draco growled. "He isn't your toy anymore to be bossed around."
"And what's it with you, Malfoy?" Ron asked, not even looking at him, Harry, but already going against Draco to defend Hermione and he didn't understand, didn't know to read the situation, didn't know Ron's motivations – nor Hermione's. "Potter the ghost, isn't your toy either, so leave Hermione alone!"
"Aren't even able to call your friend by his given name anymore, are you, Weasel?" Draco asked and suddenly Harry couldn't help his arms going around his stomach – because he knew, Draco was right. Ron was calling him Potter the ghost, not Harry. He always had called him Harry, all last year, and now he was – Potter the ghost.
"Just excuse me, please." He murmured, feeling ill and feeling like crying, feeling his stomach churning and turning and he tightened his arms he had around his midsection. "'M not feeling well … stomach ache …"
And with a sharp twist he turned – just to bump into a black hooded figure and looking up he made out the form of his father, of Professor Snape, the Potions Master of Hogwarts. Could he ever have any luck when he needed it? The dark eyes of the older wizard seemed to pierce him for a moment, and he could feel himself leaning forwards just the moment the man's hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"Ghosts can have stomach aches?" Ron asked stupidly and he couldn't help flinching at the question that clearly showed – his friend still couldn't or wouldn't … understand … or was alright with it … or something like that.
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Severus glowered at the red head when he felt his son flinching, tightening his grip he had on the child's shoulder. Of course, he had been startled the moment the boy had leaned his head against his stomach in a bout of – weakness, never mind if it was physical or mental weakness, he didn't mind, in front of his friends and even before he had placed his hand onto the boy's shoulder, having just extended his hand for doing so, and he pulled the boy's head closer against himself with his other hand.
"I suggest you close Mr. Weasley's mouth for him, Miss Granger, he will catch flies that way." He said, glaring coldly at the youngest Weasley before he turned and led the boy out of the hallway and down the corridor, his hand firmly on the still so skeletal shoulder in a tight grip that not only was steadying the small ghost form but that also gave him a sense of security.
"Lay down." He said, leading the child to the sofa and the fact that the boy did so without the slightest protest told him enough. "I will be back in a moment." He added and then went to the kitchen to get a calming draught and something to eat.
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Harry meanwhile was sitting at the sofa in front of the fireplace, Indian-style, and he took one of the maroon coloured pillows from the side, hugging it closely to his chest while he bent forwards. What the fucking hell was wrong with him? Telling Ron and Hermione that he didn't feel well? And then breaking down in front of them and leaning against Snape? In front of any students that might have watched in the midst of the hallway that led to the great hall? And shortly before dinner where surely most of them were on their way to the great hall for lunch? So that all could see his weakness? So that all could see that he was a weak and cowardice and useless, a worthless freak? So that everyone could …
'But what about what Snape had said …' Harry took a deep breath at that thought, most of his attention still on what had happened just moments ago in the midst of the hallway. 'Snape thinks I deserve the world. If only he hadn't been lying.'
He smiled for a moment at the bitter knowledge that it wasn't true. It really was funny how the mind could make one believe their own lies and Snape clearly seemed to believe what he had told him yesterday evening, that he deserved the world.
He nearly had believed it, too, in this particular moment, for a second – nearly. He would like believing it so, so very much, but he couldn't. He couldn't believe it, because he knew that – he didn't deserve the world. He didn't deserve so much of what his father provided him with, all this caring, and all this time and affection, and a room, and clothes and – and so much other things. And surely, he didn't deserve Snape either!
And therefore, he just didn't understand!
Why would …
"I do suggest that you stop tearing yourself apart and eat something to get your system back to normalcy." His father said, coming back from the kitchen with two plates and a vial, and he took a deep breath.
"'M not hungry." He murmured. "And my stomach hurts" He then added what wasn't actually a lie because he still had that churning feeling in his stomach that was hurting.
"What is the reason as to why I have brought you a stomach calming potion to take first." Snape said and he sighed. He didn't want the man's care, because he knew that he didn't deserve it and he knew that his father would see it one day too, like his uncle had seen. He …
"What is it I will have to do to make you see, Harry?" The deep and velvet voice of the older wizard asked and when he looked up at the man, he could see him sitting at the coffee table in front of the sofa, watching him with his black eyes.
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Standing there and watching the child for a moment he knew exactly what his son was thinking and – and not for the first time – he cursed the Dursleys. Not only had they killed the child, but they had also destroyed him before killing him, and they had destroyed him to such an extend – he knew that he wouldn't be able to undo what had been done.
Harry believed, really believed, that he did not deserve anything he gave him, including himself, his time and his care.
"What is it I will have to do to make you see, Harry?" He asked, sitting down onto the edge of the table and placing the two plates with the sandwiches onto the table beside him. "Why do you doubt me so much? Give me one reason as to why you would not deserve any of this?"
"'Cause 'm bad." The boy murmured, the small voice so sad and ashamed, he knew that the child believed his own words and he had a hard time of not closing his eyes in pure frustration.
"Why would you be bad?" He asked instead of following his first impulse and telling the boy that he wasn't bad to begin with, because he knew that the child wouldn't believe his words anyway.
"Dunno." Harry answered, shrugging his shoulders and Severus forced himself to not snap at the boy impatiently.
"If you state that you are bad, what you have done, then there has to be a reason and I would like to know that reason." He said, forcing himself to stay calm. "Now."
"Dunno!" The boy repeated, sounding more scared now. "'Cause I'm lazy, and 'cause I'm ungrateful, and 'cause I'm insolent! My aunt and uncle have learned that pretty soon and 'm sure you'll learn too! An' th'n you'll just know how bad I am and you'll leave then!"
"When exactly have you been lazy?" He asked, rather hissed at the boy in order to keep himself from simply pulling the idiot child close and never ever letting him go again. There was so very, very much this child needed to catch up with, he could even sense the deep need for physical comfort. "An answer, Harry!" He hissed out between clenched teeth, startling Harry who looked up at him with frightened green eyes.
"At home, sir." The boy ghost answered after a moment. "Privet Drive … haven' done my chores there, an' neither my homework."
"Which had been?" He asked, lifting his eyebrow. "Your chores, I mean as I do know what had been your homework. What chores did you not do?"
"Haven't mowed the lawn on one day. Sir." The boy said, averting his eyes. "An' 'nother day haven't painted the shed. An then it's 'nly gotten worse. Haven't done much then."
"And tell me, young man, what exactly had been your chores within this household generally, as I am sure that mowing the lawn and painting the shed had not been daily chores." He wanted to know, nearly seething. While mowing the lawns surely could be a chore a twelve year old could do once in a while – painting a shed surely was not. At least it was not a chore a twelve year old child could do alone and surely not under the threat of being punished if he wouldn't manage.
"In the morning? Sir?" Harry asked, clearly trying to sound innocent and he took a deep breath, knowing that the boy only tried to stall for time – not because he felt he was innocent, but because he was unsure of what he, Snape, wanted of him.
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"Well, yes – let's begin with those chores in the morning then." He said, not able to keep his sarcasm out of his voice.
"Well, making breakfast, and then cleaning the kitchen and Dudley's rooms, sir." The boy quietly answered.
"And after that?" He asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest to keep himself from shaking the idiot child. Preparing breakfast and cleaning the kitchen plus cleaning up his cousin's rooms surely had already been more than enough daily chores for a twelve year old added to keeping his own room clean and – mowing the lawn or painting a shed.
Not to mention that he understood the boy's words of "Dudley's rooms" instead of "Dudley's room", the cousin having more than one room while he, Harry, had not even had one but had to live in a cupboard.
"Doin' lunch while gettin' the livin' room clean, the hall an' the bathroom, an' then the kitchen again 'cause of the cooking. Sir." The boy answered, still looking anywhere but him and still in a voice that sounded small and ashamed.
"I take it that after those you should have done the lane and the shed." He drawled, his eyebrow lifted at the pre-teen while he had to keep himself from snapping at the boy for yet another 'sir' – but he knew, now was not the time for that.
"Yes, sir." The boy softly answered, barely audible anymore.
"Do not tell me that it had not been your chore to prepare dinner and to clean the kitchen after that again." He couldn't help drawling before he took a deep breath – which he held a moment later at the child's next whispered words.
"Had been, sir."
Getting off the table and closing his eyes for a moment he released his breath he had been holding and then took another deep breath before he re-opened his eyes.
"You idiot child!" He then hissed while leaning close to the boy whose eyes went as large as saucers. "You utterly foolish and idiot child! What chores do you think Mr. Weasley has to do at home?"
"Dunno, sir, but surely he's to do things, too." The boy answered and he frowned.
"What kind of things?" He asked.
"I don't know, sir." Harry answered, looking desperate. "I don't know, I've never asked him."
"What kind of chores do you think Miss Granger has to do at home?" He then asked, his frown deepening.
"I don't know, sir." The boy again answered.
"Do you know the kind of chores of any other child?" He then asked, his eyes narrowed, and he sighed in frustration when the boy only shook his head. Merlin! How should Harry know what an adequate number of chores for a child his age would be if he never had the chance to draw a comparison.
"Then let me assure you – no child, absolutely – no – child – is forced to do nowhere near the amount of chores you have been forced to do!" He then growled at the boy. "Pick one or two – and only one or two – of those chores and then you have the daily chores of any other normal twelve year old. So do not tell me that you have been lazy at your relatives' house! Let's get us to the accusation of being insolent then. When have you been insolent?"
"Dunno! Sir!" The boy answered, nearly shouted, clearly close to a panic attack by now, and a moment later he actually had to grasp the boy's thin wrists when he tried to pull at his shirt, as if he didn't get enough air into his lungs.
"If you do not know when you have been insolent, then how is it you take that claim?" He asked, not ready to provide the much needed comfort right now. First, he had to make the child finally see.
"D'nno … 'unl V'non said." The boy said, choked out, trying to get his hands free, to pull at the front of his shirt while he took large, and gasping breathes.
"And let me guess, boy – your uncle also told you that you are – ungrateful?" He asked still keeping the boy's wrists in his hand while leaning closer.
"Yessir!" The child gave away in a choked scream. "'M s'rry sir."
Taking another deep breath, he sat onto the sofa beside the child and pulled his son close, actually pulled the small ghost body on his lap, more than just relived that he still could touch the ghostlike child, considering the amount of fear and terror his son was in – he had what he had wanted.
"Calm down, Harry." He said while pulling the child's head close and pressing his face against his chest to minimize the flow of oxygen. "Take slow and calm breathes, you won't suffocate … and you won't drown either, Harry, I have you, child … easy now! Count to three between each breath you take … hush now, I am here … and I won't let go of you, I promise, I won't abandon you …"
Because he knew that this was the boy's greatest fear.
"No, Harry … calm breathes!" He softly said while running his free hand up and down the bony spine. "You are safe here with me and you always will be … I won't go away … that's much better, child. And now tell me, have I ever lied to you?"
The boy only shook his head, but it was enough for the Potions Master at the present time.
"Good." He said. "So, do you believe me, if I tell you that no child has to do so many chores? Do you believe me, if I tell you that a child has to do one or two of those chores you had to do in this household?"
This time the boy nodded, without giving an answer, still, but again it was enough for the older wizard.
"Good." He said again. "So, we can cancel the lazy part. And now tell me, has your uncle ever lied to you? And your aunt?"
This time the boy nodded both times, and he, Snape, he gave a nod himself, he had known that the boy would answer with any form of affirmation.
"Good." He once more said. "Then if your uncle has lied to you once, and if you only have your uncle's accusation about being ungrateful and insolent, do you not think that he might have been lying about this as well? And it is your uncle's accusation only as I do say that you are neither ungrateful nor insolent, and we just a moment ago agreed that I have never lied to you. Do you see my point?"
Again – a nod.
"Good." He said, getting calmer when he noticed that the boy got calmer and actually listened to him. "Now, if you are neither lazy nor ungrateful and surely not insolent – then I take it that even you see, you cannot be a bad child, or is there anything else?"
A shaking of the boy's head now, together with a strangled sob at the realisation that his, Snape's, words had to be true and that therefore, he could be no bad boy and that – as he could not be a bad boy, he surely would not have to be punished the way he had been by his uncle. It had to be a realization that had to tear him apart, the pain of this new betrayal surely hitting the twelve year old full force – and he pressed the child's small body even closer against his chest, securing the child's shaking form in a strong grip.
Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine
And finally, the boy had seen reason.
Not during this afternoon, surely not as he had cried himself to sleep and this time it hadn't been the boy's usual soft sobs, barely audible, barely noticeable, except for the shaking of those thin shoulders, but this time it had been the loud and attention seeking wails of any child that was in just too much pain to bear it alone, of any child that needed just comfort to ease the tearing pain that threatened to eat his emotions away.
He hadn't said much then, because there hadn't been anything anymore, which he could have said, he just had sat there and he just had held the child, had rocked the child softly and had run his fingers through the boy's hair while he had held the small form as closely against his own chest as possible without causing the fragile form physical pain. Even if he was sure that the boy wouldn't have cared about any physical pain back then, would perhaps even have welcomed it at that time as he had been in too much emotional pain, but he surely would not show the child down this particular road.
Later in the evening he had been able to get the boy to eat dinner, even if Harry had clearly eaten less than he had normally managed eating by then, as little as that already was. And then they quietly had talked. A bit only, but they had talked before Harry again had cried himself to sleep, calmer this time, his sobs not as heart wrenching anymore than those in the afternoon had been, and for the first time since he was here in his dungeons, the boy had been sleeping through the night in his deep exhaustion without any nightmares.
But they had talked the next morning again.
And by then Harry had been able to admit that – yes, Snape's logic seemed plausible and that – yes, he couldn't have been that bad. He still didn't admit that he wasn't bad at all, and that he never had deserved those – punishments – but at least he had started to see that he wasn't that bad, and the Potions Master was satisfied with the direction the situation took by now.
As a result, Harry also had admitted that – maybe – he might deserve some of the attention and care he got from the older wizard that was his father, but at least he was ready to admit that he deserved to have him, Snape, his father, to begin with. And that was more than the Potions Master had hoped for in the beginning. Anything else – the boy would learn, and they would be able to deal with.
If only they had more time, he thought wearily while he threw a blanket over the small ghost that was laying on the sofa. The child was startling tired and exhausted still, after his panic attack last night and he couldn't help being worried. So – yes, if only they had more time, because he knew – the more exhausted the child was, the sooner his actual body could die and they desperately needed a solution before that, before the next few days.
Flashback
"Are you sure?" Poppy asked, her fingers trembling, and he could understand the woman being upset as he himself had to hold something in his hands by now to keep them steady – or at least as steady as possible.
Blasted boy! Making an emotional idiot of him.
"Yes." Healer Weed said, taking a deep breath.
"Severus?" Poppy asked him for clarification, and he nodded, unable to form spoken words at the moment, but nevertheless agreeing to Weed's words.
"How long?" Poppy then asked.
"I'm not entirely sure about that, but I guess three or four days, perhaps five if we're lucky." The healer from St. Mungos quietly said.
"And there is nothing …" Poppy gasped, getting off her chair. She clearly had not thought that it would happen so soon, and he had to admit that he himself had hoped for more time.
It was five weeks after the new term had started, five weeks after Harry had come to live with him, or at least in his dungeons, five weeks after they had known – Harry was his son. It was five weeks only …
And now he had not even another week left.
Not even another week. Three days, four perhaps, five if they were lucky!
And still, there was not the slightest sign of Harry being ready to go back into his own body.
End flashback
This had been a discussion held between them by yesterday morning before Harry had woken, and now it wasn't even afternoon and the small ghost had fallen asleep on the sofa again. Yesterday morning, and now it was the afternoon of the next day, of another day – and it was one day gone, it was two days to go, three days perhaps, four days if they were lucky.
Gently running his fingers through that black hair, he sighed.
What bliss ignorance could be sometimes.
There had been times, especially during the past twenty-four hours, he wished he could just fall back into blaming the boy for all his little troubles like he had done last year, but then he met those big, green emerald eyes, saw that small and shy smile that the boy had started regarding him with, barely visible, barely noticeable, but that had become brighter a bit and larger a bit as the days and weeks had passed, and something within him … gave way …
And it really only did give way, because – it definitely had not caused him to soften!
Because he did not soften!
He was Severus Snape, a ruthless Death Eater and a cold hearted spy that only feignedly played the part of a teacher, he was the dark and cold, horrible dungeons bat, the Master of the student's misery and the bringer of hysteric tears for the first and seventh year students and even the sixth and seventh years feared him enough to flee from him! No – Severus Snape did not soften! Anything than such a thing! He – at the very best – allowed, and even that only reluctantly, his normally rigid heart to give, in regards to that particular boy.
Getting off the edge of the bed he took a deep breath and went to the kitchen.
He knew what he had to do if Harry had not gone back into his body by the next two days, even if he didn't like it, even if he wasn't really ready to take those risks, playing with his son's life, but he knew that he had no other chance than taking that risk, because if he did nothing, then the boy would die without a question even, and soon, too soon.
Crossing the kitchen, he took another deep breath before he opened the door that led down into a deeper part of the castle even, that went down into his private potions laboratory, the stairs stony boulders hewed out of the rocky ground itself, thousands and thousands of years ago, perhaps even before this castle had been built by the founders.
His mind wasn't on the masterpiece of architecture however, but on the potions which he had been brewing just a few nights ago during the last full moon – the potions that could either save his son's life – or take it away.
Stepping into the dark and cool stony area that was his private laboratory he approached the shelf with the potions bottles he needed without hesitation.
In the end it was a potion that consisted of several basic potions actually, one of them being a potion to keep ghosts alive, another being a potion to create a temporary copy of any living being, as he needed a copy of the ghost who would take the actual ghost's form within Harry's body, and a third potion that would allow the boy's body to accept a copy of his ghost form instead of the actual ghost that belonged to it. Again, another potion was to change the temporary ghost into a permanent one as Harry's body would die the moment the temporary body would vanish. And last but not least – a potion that would allow the copy of the boy's ghost to grow together with the body after it had formed the symbiosis.
And spells in between to fix each step.
There was no potion that would allow the boy's actual ghost to grow, Harry's ghost always would be the twelve year old child he was now, there was nothing he could do about that, but he would live – at least as long as his body lived – and that was enough for him at the moment, he could deal with having a twelve year old son for the remainder of his life. There wasn't anything he could do about it anyway and he would deal with where to place the ghost child when he, Snape, would die one day.
Taking one of the bottles he swirled its contents within, checking the colour and the consistency before he opened the small vial and then smelled it. Placing his finger at the small opening he dipped the tiny bottle and then brought his finger to his lips, allowing his tongue to shortly come in contact with the potion, tasting its bitterness before he sealed the vial and then placed it in a small crate.
He checked each of the potion bottles the same way, double checked them and made sure that they were securely sealed before he packed them into the small crate, using straw to keep the bottles from knocking together and then he put the lid on the small crate, carried the small wooden box upstairs carefully, knowing that he held his son's life in his hands.
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To be continued
Next time in "The boy that forgot to die"
Alright, bed at seven
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
also, please also note that I have done a 'go over' concerning the house points as I have lost track over the years. I have them now saved in a chart where I can keep them easily updated – I have also installed a new category: Hogwarts, as one reader or another (Jostanos, just for example) prefers to review for Hogwarts itself instead of one of her houses … and who knows, perhaps one day a reader might come from another wizarding school to add their review … thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing, you are making my work worthwhile, and I do appreciate that very much …
House Cup:
At the present time it looks like this:
Slytherin 49
Gryffindor 28
Ravenclaw 25
Hufflepuff 07
Hogwarts 16