Title:
The boy that forgot to die

Author:
evil minded

Date:
November, 22nd 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
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.

The boy that forgot to die
Chapter twenty-two
Alright – bed at seven
Or there is plenty of time

He was always very careful with his potions vials, not only knowing how valuable some of them were but how lethal as well some of them could be, but he was extra careful with those particular vials. If just one of them were to be destroyed – it would condemn his son to death. For them to work, he needed each of those five potions or it wouldn't work at all, and he couldn't brew them again in time as they only could be brewed during the last full moon, or they would be useless just as well.

He still wasn't sure if he really should go down this particular road, if he really should take those risks.

The potion that would keep Harry's ghost alive, it was deathly for any physical forms, only meant for ghosts, one of the very few potions actually that ever had been invented for ghosts even as they normally didn't become ill or unwell. It was possible for them though, as rare as it was, but no one had ever thought of inventing potions for ghosts, for them to feel better if they felt unwell, or were ill. There wasn't even a potion against depressions for ghosts, a rather startling thought, considering that they were rather often depressed to begin with.

However – that particular potion, invented by Nathaniel Detmold for his son, was lethal for any physical form to take, and Harry was not entirely ghost after all. It easily could kill him, not to mention that he didn't know what the combination of those potions would do in the small and weak body that was his son's. They had never been used and tested before after all, seeing that Nathaniel Detmold's son had been killed before they could have been used.

'Who fights might lose – but who does not fight, has already lost.' A strangely known voice whispered, telling him that it was worth fighting against the Dark Lord, telling him that it was worth that perhaps they might lose friends, family or their own life as long as they fought to begin with, because if they didn't fight, then they already had lost, namely their freedom and their free will, and for a moment he was so sure that it was Lily's voice, Lily's voice not sounding within his head, within his memories, but coming from his kitchen he had re-entered and he actually looked around.

Of course there was no Lily sitting in his kitchen, only he himself was present, standing there in the middle of the room, holding the grate with the potions, that could condemn or save his son, in his arms – and taking a deep breath, still remembering, he closed his eyes for a moment before he crossed the kitchen and then entered his living room, where still the boy ghost was laying on the sofa, sleeping, small shoulders rising and falling regularly, and placing the wooden crate with those potions that would decide on life and death of his son onto the table he sat down onto the edge of the sofa to watch the child's sleep, to run his fingertips lightly over the pale face.

Why was it that he felt so deeply? Why was it that he was so sad and so angry at the same time? Merlin! He had his son back, and now the child would be taken from him just weeks after he had learned to know him? He knew that he deserved it, that he deserved it to lose the only thing that seemed important to him right now, after all that he had done in past years, after taking the dark mark, after following the Dark Lord, after partaking in torturing so many of the Dark Lord's victims, even after he had become a spy. He deserved everything he got now, the fear, the worry, the sadness, the anger, the misery over losing the child that was his son. He didn't deserve having a son, he didn't deserve having a child on his own! Never!

But Harry!

This child didn't deserve to die!

This child didn't deserve to lose the newly gained family!

Harry had done nothing! Harry was just an innocent child that had done absolutely nothing, neither to deserve what he already had been through in his short life, nor what he had coming soon. Harry deserved to live, and he deserved to live in peace and in happiness, he deserved to live without pain and fear, deserved to live with a father and a family that could love him!

He didn't deserve to die.

And yet – there were just a few days left, there was just so little time for the child left, time during which he seemed being in pain, in fear, and so very tired and exhausted. He didn't deserve any of this!

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

"Please remember, you will have potions tomorrow, Harry." Severus softly said during dinner this evening. "And after a short lunch we will go and visit the Ministry."

"They won't demand any reports from you after that, will they?" The boy just as softly asked, and he lifted his eyebrow.

"No, they won't." He calmly answered. Why was it so important to the child that the ministry wouldn't get those reports? They were simple reports about his health and his education, something that any guardian would have to do, something that the Dursley should have done if Dumbledore hadn't made sure that they would be unbothered by the ministry.

"Have you already given a report about me to the Ministry?" Harry asked warily.

"Yes, I have." He quietly answered, his dark eyes on the ghost child. "They have already ordered three since you are living with me, but they have gotten monthly reports about you for the past eleven years already, Harry. I do not know what Dumbledore has written in his reports about you, but he had to give them the way I have to do now."

"Three already?" Harry asked, shocked. "But it's only five weeks that I'm back at Hogwarts! Why would they ask for so many?"

"It is only one report a fortnight, Harry, that is not much, and they want to know of any progress you make." Severus explained, trying to sound not annoyed but calm. It wasn't Harry's fault after all that the ministry demanded those reports from him where one only would have been necessary so far. "And as long as I have only guardianship over you, I have to follow their orders."

Not that he gave them any valuable information to begin with, but well, they seemed satisfied with them as he never had seen any complain to his reports.

Flashback

'Hogwarts, September, 14th 1992

To the ministry of magic
Department of child welfare
For the attention of Miss Elsa Harvest

Concerning the requested report about Mr. Harry Potter

Mr. Potter still resides in his ghostlike form. His health is – considering that he is a ghost in the first place – comparatively good. Not the same can be said for his physical form that heals too slowly and we still do not know how far his spinal column is damaged.
His school performance is satisfactory, especially considering the mental strain of having died recently, but of course it is impossible to give a statement only two weeks after the start of this school year.

Kind regards
Severus Snape
Potions Master at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Head of Slytherin house'

Well, reading over his statement he had given – he just as well could have sent a blank piece of parchment and Harvest would have gained just as much information from it as from his report.

It wasn't that he was not ready working together with Harvest, he was, Elsa Harvest was a very efficient woman, and she did for children in need what was possible to her – no, he just was not ready to work together with the ministry in general. If Harvest came to visit him, he would give her a verbal report and he would make sure that she could talk to Harry too – but not in any way of written conversation with the ministry itself.

Not to mention that he knew – his son would not be too happy about him giving away several details about his health.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly he leaned back in his seat for a moment. How had it come to this? Him having a son, and a son that was a ghost, no less?

He, Severus Snape, he was a father, he had a son, he had a twelve year old boy that was a ghost, that hovered excitedly on bookshelves if he lost his – composure or whatever it could be called, that he sometimes could touch and sometimes not, that was a shy and quiet child that had wormed his way into his heart.

Merlin!

And yet – he would not want to exchange his present situation with his peaceful past, never mind how many grey hair the child might cost him because of all his worries lately.

End flashback

"You … you won't …" The boy stammered and he lifted his eyebrow at the child. "You won't write anything that … I mean …"

"Calm down, Harry." He quickly reassured. "Of course, they just get a report about your general health and your marks at school, not about any private things we are talking about and surely not about your breakdowns."

"Know." Harry murmured, drawing his knees to his chest and hugging them close. "Don' like it anyway, even if they got just general information." Green eyes looked up at him in a mixture of – sadness and anger. "They never cared to check on me while I was with the Dursleys, and now where I wouldn't need them anymore, now they intrude into my life."

"I know that it isn't fair." The Potions Master said. "Life never is too fair. But I guess you do know that already, don't you, child?" He then added after taking a deep breath. If anyone knew that life wasn't fair – then it was this particular child. Not even to him had life been as unfair as it had been to his son, as if it wanted to point out – you have made the mistakes, but it is your son, who I will punish for your crimes, it has been you who had made the crimes, but it is your son who will have to carry the unfairness of them.

"Go to bed, child." He softly said. "You need to be rested well tomorrow, it will be a strenuous day for you."

"But it's only seven!" The child protested, looking nearly shocked and showing his first absolutely normal pre-teenage reaction in protesting against an order he had given. "I've never been to bed at seven!"

The Potions Master just looked directly at Harry and raised his eyebrow challengingly.

"Alright." The boy sighed defeated, knowing well that it wouldn't do well to really challenge the Slytherin Professor. "Bed at seven."

"I am glad that we understand each other." Severus replied, his eyebrow still raised and his dark eyes following his son who grudgingly left the dinner area and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed, mentally sighing at the fact that – the child didn't dare reacting like a child for longer than only a moment before giving in and doing as he was ordered.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

The next morning came and to his great surprise Harry woke – realizing that he had fallen asleep quickly after going to bed last night at – seven o'clock – and frowning he got up and quickly took a shower and then dressed. He frowned again while enjoying the hot jets of water from the shower, not at the hot jets of water to begin with, no, but he frowned at the bruises that still were visible all over his body.

Those injuries that had been open wounds, bleeding, some of them having been infected even, they were healed meanwhile, they weren't even bruises anymore, they were gone completely, but the bruises that had been bruises from the beginning on, they were still there, and he didn't understand.

And he didn't like it either.

He could understand that the scars he'd had before he had become a – before he had died, he could understand that they were still there, present, visible, but how could it be that the bruises weren't gone? How …

He really looked like the freak he was, all pale and nearly translucent and all, so thin that it looked grotesque and ugly, his arms and legs sticks emerging from his body, and then his thin torso, with all his ribs poking out and with all those blue and black and yellow bruises, and the scars – like Frankenstein or something like that. It was just ugly, and he hated his body the way it was. Why had they not gone completely like the other injuries his father had healed? And why wasn't he gaining weight? It was unnerving!

And so, it was of course no wonder that Harry Potter finished his shower rather quickly and then dried himself before he hastily dressed himself with the clothes he had laid out – the black Jeans he always wore beneath his school cloak instead of the slacks that were required, the white shirt and the neutral black Hogwarts tie that held the sign of Hogwarts – all four houses unified in one crest. He slipped on a pair of socks before he slipped into his shoes, a pair of boots instead of the black shoes the other children were wearing to their school uniforms as his father feared that he would twist his ankle as it was so weak.

After that he quickly went into the living area of the quarters he now shared with his father, the Potions Master, thinking of how strange all of this was. He, living here with the one man that had made his potions lessons a living hell so far, he, living here with the one man that had hated him so much that he only had to look at him and something spiteful came to his mind.

But so many things had changed and – it was strange now, his new situation, but it also was so great, and he didn't know how he could make it up to his father. The man even was about to have him back as his son officially, acknowledging him openly and it only took his, Harry's signature in a few hours!

Merlin!

Stepping into the living area and over to the dining table he frowned upon finding the table empty. Normally the Professor was sitting there in the early morning hours when he came out of the bathroom or his room, the older wizard reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee, but now the table was empty except for a note that laid on his, Harry's, place and for a moment his heartbeat increased tenfold, hundredfold even.

Was this the moment where Snape retreated and told him in a letter that he would have to go back to the Gryffindor tower as he didn't want to have him here anymore? That they wouldn't go to the ministry later as he wouldn't want him as his son anymore? That he better left now before he came back and would punish him if he found him still being here? What was he to do now? Would he be allowed to get anything from his room before he left?

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to take the note, his fingers trembling when he reached out and with a frustrated sigh he found himself unable to touch the piece of parchment, his hand going through the parchment and the table as well and he nearly cried while leaning closer to read the note on the table without touching it.

'Good morning, brat,' he read.

'I expect you to have breakfast even without my presence to make sure you are eating something as I am in the headmaster's office at the present time. Please ask Zilly to serve your breakfast, I am sure he has already prepared it. If I am not back in time to walk you to the potions classroom, I am sure that you will be able finding your way through the dungeons yourself by now. Please do not be late for my class, I would not like taking points from my own house.

Severus'

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Alright! Harry thought, closing his eyes with a relieved sigh.

He was not thrown out!

And he was not hated by Snape again!

Snape had just informed him of his absence, and he had just told him to have breakfast, and to be in time for his lesson if he wasn't back in time to get him for potions. 'I would not like taking points from my own hose.' Snape had written even! Snape saw him as a Slytherin now, saw him as one of his own!

"Zilly?" He carefully asked, unsure if the small house elf would really come if he called him, unsure if …

"Yes, Master Harry?" The small creature asked just a moment later, popping in beside him and he couldn't help flinching and jumping startled, even if he had known what would happen.

"Uhm … well … Professor Snape said … I mean, would you please …"

"Zilly will bring Master Harry his breakfast in a moment." The small creature squealed. "No need for Master Harry to fret, really."

"Uhm … ok …" He stammered, unsure of how to handle the small creature as he wasn't really so happy upon someone serving him, even if Snape had explained to him that Zilly would be very, very unhappy if he were to be set free and that he wouldn't even understand why his Master had "thrown him out" like a bad house elf. He didn't like it, nevertheless. He had always been a slave to the Dursleys, a house elf in some kind, even if Zilly was treated much better than he had been treated by them, but well, Severus had told him that there were house elves that were treated just as badly as he'd been treated by the Dursleys. So –

Sighing he sat down and started his breakfast a moment later when Zilly re-appeared and brought him a plate with sweet toast and a cup of hot chocolate. The house elf slipped into a chair beside him to keep him company, trying to persuade him to eat somewhat slower as he – he had to admit that – actually had started to wolfing down his breakfast as quickly as possible.

"I have to hurry!" He gasped between two mouthfuls of toast.

"There is plenty of time, Master Harry!" The small house elf said. "Master Harry's class only starts in over an hour."

"Know, but what if I lose my way to the classroom?" He asked between a mouthful of toast and a sip of his hot chocolate.

"Zilly could bring Master Harry to his class." The small creature offered with a kind smile, but Harry quickly shook his head, not wanting to overstrain the house elf that surely had enough to do.

"Don't worry, Zilly." He said, wolfing down his last piece of toast and then already getting off the table. "I'll go early and then I'll have enough time if I won't find my way." And with those words he already was in his room and got his book bag, hurried back to the entrance door with a "bye Zilly, 'till later" on his lips, not hearing the "Master Harry cannot get lost as the classroom is just beside Master Professor Snape's office" Zilly called after him and a moment later he stepped into the man's office – to hit his palm to his forehead.

How could he have been so stupid!

Of course, he wouldn't get lost on his way to potions as the classroom was just beside the office and as the office was just the way out of the Potions Master's quarters! He had fallen for the man's words of 'I am sure that you will be able finding your way through the dungeons yourself by now' that were just the man's strange kind of sarcasm he always displayed! Not to mention that he'd been so very startled and scared, fearing he might be late that he had forgotten about that.

So – should he stay here for an hour and wait until the class started?

Surely not!

So, turning around he left the office and went along the dungeons corridor that – as he thought – went towards the upper level and the entrance hall. He'd gone this corridor a few times by now, in the evenings for dinner at the great hall with his father and in the morning with either his father or Draco and Theodore for classes.

"You're early." He heard a voice coming from behind and whirling around he for a moment reached for his wand – just to remember that he didn't have it.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

To be continued

Next time in "The boy that forgot to die"
He's really creepy sometimes

Added author's note
thank you for reading - and yes, I would be glad if you took the time to review this chapter, thank you

House Cup:
At the present time it looks like this:

Slytherin 51
Gryffindor 28
Ravenclaw 25
Hufflepuff 07
Hogwarts 17