It's interesting – Harry in the original books possesses barely any sense of self, which makes for poor characterisation, but a useful narrator to show us this magical world.
Whether this was intentionally written as a result of Harry's mistreatment at the hand of the Dursleys – neglected, hidden away in every aspect including his entire presence in the Dursleys' house – is anyone's guess. (I personally don't think the author did that on purpose.)
CW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Right. So Harry will have panic attacks now and then and also dissociate quite a lot. The panic attacks will be almost entirely fade-to-black.
1989, childhood
Severus Snape was … different from any person Harry had ever met before. Harry got the impression that the man couldn't decide whether to sneer down his nose at Harry or pretend to be indifferent about him, so Harry did what he always did – keep his head down and his emotions in check.
He still had not received any punishment for what he had done to his relatives. It seemed like Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape had no intentions of punishing him, but Harry knew better than to hold onto such foolish hopes.
The first course of action that Severus Snape had taken once they had left the house, was to take Harry's arm and – teleport – them. Teleportation was not a pleasant experience. Had Harry already eaten lunch, he was sure he would have thrown it all up again. Severus Snape had allowed Harry a brief moment to regain his bearings, before leading him through what Harry's blurry memory told him was some run-down pub of sorts and out back into a small courtyard that had somehow opened up an archway into – it must have been a bustling street or something. All Harry remembered beyond that point was the panic at seeing so many people crowded together.
His next clear memory was from the house. Severus Snape must have teleported him there, but Harry could not remember that part.
He had messed up again.
Yet, still, he was not punished for his mistakes.
To say Harry did not understand, was to make an understatement.
The room Harry found himself in was dark and full of books. Everywhere he looked, there were books. The only parts of the walls that were not covered in books were a single window with a heavy curtain and a small doorway opening to a tiny corridor that functioned as an entrance area of sorts. Aside from the books, there were a sofa – which he was currently sitting on – an armchair and a table, all old and worn-down.
There were no doors other than the front door at the end of the tiny corridor. At least none that Harry could see. He realised, then, that he was alone.
Harry did not know what to do.
So he decided to wait. And wait. And wait.
Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him and he got up from the sofa to have a look at the books. He didn't touch them, just read the titles written on the spines – or tried to, anyway. Some were written in an outdated English he did not comprehend or letters he could not read and others didn't have any titles written on their spines at all.
He almost missed the sound coming from behind one of the bookshelves and only managed to sit back down on the sofa after it had already begun moving. A hidden door revealed itself and from it, Severus Snape emerged.
When he laid his eyes on Harry, an emotion flashed across the man's face. It was gone too fast for Harry to even begin to decipher it.
"You are back with us then."
He looked at Harry as if expecting an answer. Harry nodded.
"I had intended to purchase a few necessities," Severus Snape's lips curled, "considering the state of your meagre belongings. But it seems I miscalculated."
Harry blinked. Did that mean … Would he not be punished?
"Perhaps something to eat, first, and then we can talk."
When Harry didn't reply, Severus Snape narrowed his eyes at him and Harry failed to suppress a flinch.
"Is there anything you want?"
Harry hesitated, then shrugged.
"Anything you dislike? Things you can't eat?"
Another shrug.
(Harry didn't know.)
"Use your words," Severus Snape snarled – or, well, said. In that voice of his. It sounded like a snarl.
Harry gulped. "I don't know." The words came out faint, almost a whisper.
He didn't know why – or what – but something changed in Severus Snape when Harry uttered those words.
A sigh.
"Right," the man said and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Silence reigned for several moments. Harry kept watching him, unsure. Eventually, the man opened his eyes again, looking at the ceiling first, as if torn, before lowering his gaze to Harry.
"When you feel up to it," Severus Snape said, his voice soft in a rather odd way – as if he didn't quite know how to make himself sound gentle, "I would like to visit a Healer with you."
Harry's mind drew a blank.
It must have shown on his face, because Severus Snape made an impatient sound and then said, "A Healer, boy, to take a look at your health."
"Is that … like a doctor?"
Severus Snape made another impatient sound. "Yes."
Harry nodded. "Okay."
"'Okay' what?"
"We can go now, if you wish," Harry said carefully.
A doctor was good. The Dursleys had never taken him to a doctor, but they had always bustled his cousin Dudley off to one at the slightest sign of anything out of the ordinary and whatever ailment had plagued his cousin had gone away.
"Right," Severus Snape said.
Harry wondered, absently, what he ought to call the man. He supposed 'sir' would suffice out loud, but in his mind? Simply 'Snape'? It sounded wrong.
The man in question strode towards the entrance area, pulling a cloak off a hanger on the wall.
"Grab your –" he stopped, made that impatient sound again, and next Harry knew a heavy weight settled over his head, obscuring his vision.
Harry grabbed the thing and pulled it down. It was a cloak. He looked up at Snape, who gestured for him to put it on and so he did. The cloak was warm. Why Harry was supposed to wear a cloak in summer, he didn't know, but he wouldn't question it.
He found his shoes – Dudley's shoes, once, still – by the door. He stared at them for a moment. His shoes hadn't been this clean and whole since – well, long before they had been handed down to Harry.
Once outside, Snape took Harry by the arm and teleported them again. Then they stepped out of a side-alley and onto a main street of what must have been a very big city. Harry had never been to a big city before. The street was thankfully not very busy, but Harry made sure to stick as close to Snape as possible – not that he could have gone far, with the man's grip on his arm never letting up.
Snape finally brought them to a stop in front of a red brick building with a large sign labelling it as 'Purge and Dowse Ltd' and several smaller signs on the doors reading 'Closed For Refurbishment'.
Harry curiously peered inside, but all he could see were some old mannequins that looked as shabby as Harry always did.
"We wish to make an appointment for a medical checkup."
Harry blinked up at Snape, who was looking at a particularly ugly mannequin, waiting for it to … nod …
Harry blinked again, but before he could process what had just happened, Snape had already pulled them both right into – and through – the glass window and Harry instinctively flinched back when he found himself in what appeared to be a very crowded reception area. Only Snape's steady grip on his arm kept him from fleeing and hiding and – Harry took a deep breath. He could do this. He just had to keep his eyes ahead – no, bad idea. He just had to keep his eyes – on Snape, yes – and ignore all else happening around him. Pretend they weren't there. Pretend they would ignore him as he ignored them. They couldn't do anything to him. He was – fine. He would be fine. Everything would be fine.
Harry was so focused on keeping his heart calm and his eyes from straying and his hands from cramping that he barely registered Snape talking to – someone. And then they were –
Harry breathed in. And out. And let go.
They were now in a corridor, following what Harry assumed must be a nurse or other employee of the – well, they must be in a hospital, he thought. Harry had seen hospitals on the Dursley's television before. He had heard about them.
The – nurse? – brought them to a small room and left them there with the words, "Healer Wright will be with you in a moment."
Snape pushed him towards one of the chairs and Harry automatically sat down. The room was nothing special. There was a desk. A cabinet. Several chairs. A second door to the side. Paintings and pictures hung on the wall that appeared to be moving, but were thankfully not looking at Harry.
"You are in luck," Snape said in the drawling voice Harry was becoming accustomed to. "Appointments at St. Mungo's usually take at least several days to go through, if not months."
Harry looked at him, nonplussed.
Snape's lips curled. "They made an exception just for you, as you are a … special case."
Harry kept looking at him. He didn't know how he was supposed to react to that.
"Healer Wright is under special oaths to handle more delicate cases such as famous people and ..." Snape gave Harry a meaningful look, "abused children."
Harry was saved from having to think about that and process it and react to it by the door opening.
The man who stepped inside was elderly, his hair greying at the temples. His eyes were warm and brown and Harry could see the wrinkles at the corners stemmed from the way they crinkled when he smiled. He had a nice smile, Harry decided.
"Hello," the man said and Harry decided his voice sounded nice, too. "I am James Wright. May I know what your name is?"
Harry looked at Snape, who was watching him impassively. He looked back at the man. "Harry. My name is Harry."
"It's nice to meet you, Harry."
Harry blinked. People never thought it was nice to meet Harry. Was he – What was he supposed to say in return? He didn't know. He didn't want to be rude. What should he say? He had to say something, didn't he? But he didn't know what he was supposed to say. How would –
"It's alright, Harry," James Wright said gently. Harry hadn't even noticed the man sitting down next to the desk – next to it, not behind it, Harry noted. "Would you like to have something to drink? Tea, perhaps? Or some hot chocolate?"
Harry had never had hot chocolate before.
As if reading his mind, James Wright smiled and took out a – stick? – and waved it in the air. A cup filled with a rich, brown, steaming liquid appeared out of thin air. James Wright smiled patiently until Harry took the cup hovering in front of him.
"I personally prefer dark chocolate, I hope you don't mind."
Harry brought the cup close to his face and breathed in. It smelled – delicious. He looked at Snape again, who was still watching him impassively. As he brought the cup to his lips, it briefly occurred to Harry that there could be anything in this cup. He didn't know what that 'anything' might be, but … Harry had a feeling he could trust James Wright. Harry had never felt like he could trust anyone. Not even Mrs Figg or her cats. (He was beginning to change his mind about the cats.)
Harry had eaten chocolate before, once. And Mrs Figg had given him some stale chocolate cake, now and then. It was nothing compared to this.
For a moment, Harry allowed himself to close his eyes and savour the treat he had been given.
He wasn't sure what to make of it.
When he dragged himself out of – whatever that had been – and forced himself to focus on James Wright, the man gave him another one of those gentle, warm smiles.
"Now, I would like to cast some spells on you, if that is alright? They won't hurt, I promise. They won't do anything to you at all, simply tell me how healthy you are."
Harry glanced at Snape – still watching, still impassive – and back to James Wright and gathered the courage to give the man a small, hesitant nod. The smile never faltered. If possible, it grew even softer.
True to James Wright's words, the … spells? … did not hurt. The man waved his – stick? – and muttered some words that made no sense to Harry's ears and Harry watched in fascination as glowing numbers and pictures and letters and other symbols appeared in the air between them and then settled slowly on a piece of odd-looking paper Harry hadn't even noticed appearing on the desk next to James Wright. The man gave Harry another smile, before looking over the – paper?
(It didn't look like paper.)
Harry waited. He took another sip of his hot chocolate, wondering, absentmindedly, how it was still hot.
"Alright," James Wright said eventually. "Would it be okay if we left you alone for a little bit, Harry? Or would you rather not be alone right now? That would be fine, too. Whatever you want."
Harry – did not glance at Snape, this time. He attempted a smile. Harry wasn't sure it came out quite right.
"I'll be fine," he said. "You can – er – You can let me be alone for a bit."
"We will be right next door," James Wright said kindly. "If you need something – anything at all – all you have to do is knock, okay?"
Because James Wright looked at him expectantly, Harry formed the word 'okay' with his lips and nodded.
Then James Wright slowly rose from his seat and looked, for what Harry realised was the first time since he had entered the room, at Severus Snape, who stood with the same deliberate slowness.
Then the door to the side closed behind them and Harry was left alone.
o
Harry was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, even after several days of relative peace at what was apparently his new home.
He took comfort in the rules Snape had set, even if the simplicity of said rules made him uneasy. He had to be up and ready for breakfast in the morning, and present at lunch and dinner. He had to keep his room – his room! – tidy and himself tidy and clean up after himself. He was not to bother Snape during the day, when the man holed himself up in the basement – it made Harry wonder what the man did for a living – and he was not allowed to go outside or enter certain rooms in the house … for his own safety.
For his own safety.
Harry didn't know how to feel about that.
With his meals – for which he was allowed to make wishes, but only within the dietary rules Healer Wright had set – and wasn't that an odd thought? Harry was allowed to choose what meal they would have – he was required to drink weird liquids Snape called 'potions' that all had different functions whose meanings went over Harry's head a bit. If he finished a meal, he would be allowed to eat a small dessert. Harry rarely ever managed it. He wasn't used to being not only allowed but also required to eat so much. The first time he did finish a meal and really did receive a biscuit as dessert, he was so taken aback he stared at the treat until Snape made a scathing remark Harry didn't have the mind to pay attention to. Harry had never been allowed dessert before.
Everything was so strange, here.
A week into his stay, Snape came home with a package from Mrs Figg for Harry. The package contained, nestled among several hand-knitted blankets, a young cat. The cat's sleek fur was white with a few random black spots and Harry could tell that it would likely grow to be long and fluffy as the cat matured. It looked at him with eyes the colour of molten gold and Harry knew it was all over for him.
It was alright to refuse. It was alright not to like something. He could say no. Snape had told him so.
(Harry was still trying to wrap his head around that.)
It was alright to want things. He was allowed to. It was alright. He could do that.
Harry looked up at Snape with hopeful eyes. "I would like to keep her, please."
The man sighed in defeat and Harry thought he heard him mutter, "At least it's not a kitten."
Then Snape picked up one of the fur-covered blankets that Harry now realised weren't blankets at all.
"And the … jumpers?"
"Those too, please."
Harry could see at first glance that the jumpers were way too big for him, but it appeared Mrs Figg had knitted them just for Harry and that made them special. No one had ever made anything just for Harry.
Snape sighed again and then took out a wooden stick and waved it – Harry flinched. That was – He was using –
He had forgotten.
The man was a freak just like Harry.
Harry had known and he had seen many weird things over the past weeks – especially during their trip to the hospital. But no one had ever so blatantly used it in front of him until now.
It was nothing special, truthfully. The white fur disappeared from the jumpers and that was all that happened. If Harry were still at the Dursleys, they would have locked him in his cupboard for a week for that. Or worse. Probably worse.
Thinking about it, hadn't Healer Wright also waved around a stick and then –
Ah.
He had forgotten.
This wasn't the first time, after all.
It hadn't really registered as – as freakishness, back then.
He wondered what was different, this time.
"-ry?"
He blinked.
"Are you alright?"
Harry looked up at the pinched face of Severus Snape. He looked like he had swallowed something bitter. Displeased. Or maybe that was what worry looked like on the man's face? Harry wasn't sure.
"Harry?"
Oh. Right.
"I'm alright." He tilted his head. "Was that – How did you do that?"
"Do what?"
Harry nodded at the jumper Snape was still holding. "The fur. You made it disappear. I can never do it on purpose. Things just happen around me."
Snape's expression soured further. "You will learn how to use magic when you start at Hogwarts."
"What is Hogwarts?"
"Did they not – Right." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hogwarts is a school for magically gifted children. Children like you."
"Like me?"
Harry tried mouthing the words 'magically gifted' to himself. They sounded like a fancy way to say 'freaks.' He found he liked them better.
"Your parents both went to Hogwarts."
"Oh."
And now Snape was giving Harry this look – as if he was expecting more from him. But Harry didn't know what. He averted his eyes, trying to find something else to focus on, and his eyes fell on the cat that had curled up beside him on the sofa.
"Do you know if she has a name?" Harry paused. "Or should it be 'he'?"
Snape followed his eyes to the cat. Ignoring its protests, he picked it up under its front legs, its lower body dangling in the air.
"It's female."
Harry nodded.
As soon as Snape set her down again, the cat scurried off the sofa, growling, and fled underneath the table from where she fixed her golden eyes on Snape, tail swishing back and forth.
"I don't think she liked that," Harry said.
Snape hummed and Harry turned his head to watch him skim over a letter that must have come with the package.
"Arabella says you may name her, yourself."
Harry blinked. "Oh." He looked at the cat. "I don't know how to name things."
Snape made an odd sound at that. "Just choose one you like."
Harry turned back to him and blinked again. "But I don't know any names."
There was a pause.
Harry thought, for a moment, that he had said something bad – but then Snape straightened up with a sigh and walked over to one of his many bookshelves to retrieve a book.
"Here," he said, holding it out to Harry. "Maybe you'll find something in there."
Harry carefully accepted the book. The cover read 'A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot' in red letters on a pretty, golden cover.
After what might have been several minutes of Harry simply staring at the book and Snape standing there, watching him, the man finally cleared his throat.
"Anything else?"
Harry hesitated.
"Can I … I would like to wear skirts to go with the jumpers." He ducked his head, barely daring to look at Snape.
The man seemed taken aback for a moment, before nodding curtly.
"And can I … I mean, what if I would like to … to grow out my hair?"
"I don't see why anything would stop you from doing that."
Aunt Petunia would have already shrieked in horror at the idea of a boy wearing skirts. Hary didn't like to remember what had happened the one time he had tried to wear one. (Harry had liked that skirt. But Harry hadn't been allowed to own and wear things he liked.) Aunt Petunia had always cut Harry's mop of hair as short as she could. It had always grown back the next day, but Harry had never dared to allow it to grow back longer, to go further than his ears.
"If you grow it below your shoulders," Snape said after a moment of silence, "then you must remember to tie it back for your lessons at Hogwarts."
Harry gave him a questioning look and the man's lips curled in reply. Harry was mostly sure it wasn't directed at Harry.
"The art of potion brewing, for example, is a very delicate one and my students should know better than to let loose hairs fall into their cauldrons or risk setting their hair on fire out of simple carelessness."
'Potion brewing,' Harry mouthed.
As if reading his lips, Snape went to retrieve another book for Harry. This one read 'Hogwarts: A History', this time in golden letters on a red cover. It had also been written by Bathilda Bagshot.
Harry looked up at Snape.
"Thank you."
The nod he received in turn almost looked friendly, though it had an air of bewilderment about it.
In the end, Harry finally decided to call the cat Hedwig, after a name he found in the first book Snape had given him. Hedwig seemed to like her name. She was quick to learn that it was hers and she always came whenever Harry called her, no matter where she was.
When he thought back on the time he hadn't been fond of Mrs Figg's numerous cats at all, he couldn't remember how he must have felt back then. Even with all the new things he was experiencing and learning and – things he was allowed to do, now … Hedwig, he decided, was the most precious of them all.
AN
According to my research, the consequences of abuse and malnutrition can include stunted growth, a weaker immune system and delayed mental development, as well as reduced intellectual capacity. Huh.
Ehh, good thing Harry's getting magical treatment and I won't have to worry about writing that.