Archive of Our Own

I'd like to walk around your mind someday.

 

http://members.madasafish.com/~cj_whitehound/Fanfic/Location_Location/artwork/2up2down_return.gif regard bedroom one as having its own bathroom with a tub. Bedroom one= parents room, bedroom two= severus’s childhood bedroom/ study, bedroom three= potion brewing room

 

Sorry this took so long, Guys can someone make a deal with me, i’ll give you early access to fics if you agree to proofread. I can’t proofread this cringe anymore.

If you see a mistake or a flaw that could be fixed please tell me, but do it nicely i’m sensitive

–

Harry is lying in his cupboard on his back, staring at the cracks of the cupboard door where the light shines into the dusty space.

He’s been locked away early tonight because Dudley had insisted was ruining dinnertime. Uncle Vernon had gotten sick of his whining and wrenched him up and out of his seat by the back of his dungarees and tossed him into his cupboard to stop the tantrum.

So, Harry was lying on his moth-eaten mattress with two fingers in his mouth. He was mostly done picking at the greyish pork chop and soupy mashed potatoes put on his plate, this wasn’t much of a loss to him.

Harry sticks his legs in the air in front of him- stretching as he daydreams, he’s started to grow tall enough to touch the spandrel if he lifts his hips enough. He was kept a secret, never allowed out to play like Dudley was. He was kept in a cupboard like all the books Dudley never reads.

He takes his shoes off, stuffing them in the gap between the door and the mattress. He spits on his muddied hands, wiping them on the denim shorts of his overalls to clean them.

Harry likes overalls because when he wore them, Uncle Vernon wouldn’t go for his hair but instead yank him by the straps of the dungarees. It hurt less, but it’s still scary because the front panel sometimes catches his chin and makes it hard to breathe when he’s really mad.

Harry was turning three in a month or two, next year he would be four and if he was lucky he would get to go to nursery. Dudley has been going to nursery school during the day since last year, Harry feels just green with envy but it doesn’t matter what he feels, he’s Harry.

He guessed it was about seven o’clock at night, Harry was even remotely tired. But Harry knew they would hear if he played with his things, and he would be beaten until he was quiet. Harry thought this made little sense as beating him only ever made him cry out loudly.

Harry wasn’t stupid, he understood cause had an effect. He understood the patterns and relationships that happened around him. He understood what made what happen, just not why.

Dudley was treated better than him in every way because he was Dudley. Dudley never got bread for dinner. Dudley didn’t need to scrub windows and tiles, Dudley got toys and sweets. Dudley wasn’t ever beaten. Dudley didn’t have to sleep with spiders on a stained mattress in a cupboard under the stairs.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never seemed to have a concrete reason for why Harry was so different from their son; a reason that wasn’t an insult or a strike to the back of his head.

Harry is treated like dirt because he was Harry. He is not important. He is scum and he was forever indebted to his Aunt and Uncle for raising him. Hearing these things constantly must mean they are true, after all- Harry could have been dumped in the creek behind the church like Petunia threatened when he was little.

He must be deliberately causing trouble when he manages to escape right from under Dudley when he was petrified.

He couldn’t explain why some things happened. He doesn’t know why he seems to get away from Dudley most times. He can’t explain the way he can make flowers bloom with giggles, or spark flames in Dudley’s hair with his eyes when he’s jealous. He can light candles with his fingers if he pinches and focuses, he can make the pages in his books turn without touching them.

Uncle Vernon said he was a freak, so did Aunt Petunia. So he hid it. Harry pinched himself when he felt it flow through his hands, he bit his tongue and dug in his heels. He needed to be normal, then they would love him. Then they would stop hurting him.

Harry spent most of his time hiding- daydreaming, reading when he could. Oh how he loves to read. Dudley hadn’t learned to read yet, despite being offered all the books he could want and being five whole weeks older than Harry.

Reading had come second nature to Harry. Yes, he needed to get really close to the pages to make out the letters, but still- he loves books. He loved Fantastic Mr Fox and Amelia Bedelia. He adored Peter Rabbit and Paddington, but his favorite was the pop-up books with all the textures.

Sometimes he would sneak into Dudley's second bedroom early in the morning before anyone else was awake to bring books back to his cupboard for later. As long as he didn’t disturb the dust that had gathered in the room too much, nobody would notice the missing objects.

His prized possession though, was his torch. He was not proud to admit he had stolen it from Dudley. It was part of a bigger present for his one-twelveth of a way to four year birthday, a toy involving mirrors and little pen laser pointers, claiming to make holograms. Also, Dudley had deserved it in his opinion. Not that that ever mattered.

Dudley was apparently not pacified sufficiently by the toy. He threw a tantrum and won a trip to the toy store for his efforts- sticking his tongue out at Harry in mocking as he followed his parents out of the door. Harry was utterly disregarded. They had even forgotten to yell at him. He was alone.

Harry waited until he heard the car leave, then scrambled to the toy. He dug the torch out from under the sofa where it had rolled after Dudley threw it, the mirrors were thankfully plastic and cheap so they didn’t break upon impacting drywall.

Many months later, he had used it sparsely- only ever on the low setting- but he was going to need to replace the batteries soon. Harry was trying to think of a way to get them. He had taken it apart before- it needed two of the batteries with the big ‘AA’. The telly remote took the same kind, he would simply switch the two when he was next left alone. Then Dudley would complain about the clicker not working and Uncle Vernon would take the batteries down from the top shelf and would switch them out for new ones. Then Harry would switch the batteries originally in the remote that were now in his torch for the new ones.

The tricky part was finding a screwdriver to undo the back panel of the remote, and finding an opening to do his plan. Harry coos to himself, bored and locked in his cupboard.

Harry rolled onto his stomach, lying his head on his arms and blinking. The television blares with channels that Uncle Vernon likes, It must be 8 by now. Dudley got to go to bed at 9, but all the clocks said 8 when his parents ushered him into bed. Harry figured out they were lying to him because he couldn’t tell time. Bedtime was usually Aunt Petunia’s job. Dudley would get a bubble bath every other night and then Aunt Petunia would read to him before bed.

Harry knew this because he can hear enough to seethe with envy, but not enough to listen into the story.

Harry’s insides constantly burned with jealousy. It consumed him. He wanted to be Dudley as much as he hated Dudley. He wanted soothing hands and a birthday present. He’s constantly an arm’s reach from the love he craves.

His baths were short, cold, and usually with a bar of hand soap.

Aunt Petunia didn’t care if she properly rinsed the soap out or got it in his eyes. They were more a form of punishment. On Saturdays when Dudley got to go to the arcade with uncle Vernon, Harry would be scrubbed with the scrub brush Harry uses for dishes. Aunt Petunia would hold him against the tile wall and scrub his skin till it was red. At a certain point Harry would cry out and squirm- Aunt Petunia would be offended by the splash of water now on her apron and hold Harry’s head underwater until he was ‘ready to say sorry’.

Then he was given a new set of clothes to wear for the week and left to dress himself. Then he would be dropped off at Miss Figg’s while Aunt Petunia got her hair done and did the groceries for the week.

It terrified him. He hated water. He hated being grabbed. He wanted to be alone for most of the day after that. He would get dressed and find somewhere to hide until it was time to go.

It wasn’t that bad. Harry could take it. He’s not weak.

Harry deserved it when Uncle Vernon would take off his belt and aunt Petunia would take his cousin out of the house for an ice cream.

He deserved the bruises and the burns. The worst was when Aunt Petunia hit him with a frying pan. Half the time it was right after breakfast, hot bacon grease would splatter his face and send him into hysterical crying- which only ever made it worse. Aunt Petunia would wet a cloth and hold it to his face for the burns but it panicked Harry, making it hard to breathe as she held him still by his hair.

Harry struggled to hold a fork in his right hand- but uncle Vernon bent his fingers back if he used his left. It’s the Devil's hand. Usually he ate by taking bites with his hand when they weren’t watching him.

He was mainly guessing how to use the bathroom the ‘right way’. Often he wouldn’t know he needed to go until it was much too late. He learned he should sneak off before bed and stuff loo tissue into his pants so if he had a nightmare and had an accident he didn’t have to sit in it until he could have new clothes.

–

Harry’s four now- It seems he can’t do much of anything right, He’s nearly always getting yelled at or getting smacked. He can’t remember the last time the welts on the back of his thighs weren’t a sickly purple colour from Uncle Vernon’s belt.

He wasn’t allowed to go to school, he had to stay home- in his cupboard.

He’s stopped chewing with the left side of his face gradually, the teeth there ache especially bad at night. Harry’s face feels swollen on that side, the pain is unbearable when aunt Petunia does remember to brush his teeth.

The ordeal has been the same since Aunt Petunia started thinking his breath smelt terrible a month ago. She grabs him by the hair, puts him in a headlock and pries his jaw open. If he bites, he’s smacked on the back of the head. She shoves a toothbrush with soap in his mouth and aggressively scrubs. He cries and gags violently. She forces him to spit, ignoring if there’s blood.

He usually cries under the quilt those nights, the drool on his pillow is pinkish with blood and his face blotchy when he wakes. He hates his aunt.

He didn’t know why they hated him so much. They seemed to wish him dead. He wished the same for them, but he didn’t say that.

Harry didn’t like it at home. He spent most of his time at the library, he was allowed to go as long as he promised to never admit where he lived to anyone. He wasn’t their Son. He should remember it. He was a maggot.

—

Last night was bad. Harry remembers little of what happened, but it was bad. He knew he was hurt, injured worse than he’s been in quite a while.

Uncle Vernon had been ‘let go’ from work. Whatever that means.

It was thundering- so the cable satellite was out, which was somehow Harry’s fault. During dinner- Dudley wouldn’t stop pinching him. Harry had dinner taken away as punishment the previous nights, he was feeling weak from it by now- but he sat up in his seat. Uncle Vernon seemed to hate it even more when he acted weak.

He would dig his grubby fingernails into the soft of Harry’s arm and pinch like he was trying for blood, then he would twist. Harry would yelp and thrash- Uncle Vernon would yell at him to ‘Shut your brat mouth!’ and Dudley would steal off his plate as Harry sniffled.

After dinner, Harry was typically sent to his cupboard while the rest of the family had pudding and watched the telly.

“No!” Harry stomped his feet. There, he was standing up for himself. “Dudley ate all of my dinner- I- I’m hungry!” He whined, tears were threatening to spill. No- He needed to keep them in. Uncle Vernon didn’t like when he cried. He stiffened his face and held his wobbling lip between teeth.

Uncle Vernon seethed. He yanks Harry up three feet into the air by his arm, the pain came instantly- a tearing sensation that boiled him to his core with pain. Almost electric in sensitivity as his arm came loose out of its socket with a sickening pop. He feels like vomiting. His eyes are blurry with tears and full of stars, he feels his body topple onto the mattress.

He sobbed into his flat pillow, it hurt. There was no good descriptor, it felt yanked in every direction and every small brush like a thousand pins into his skin. He tried to calm himself enough to look it over with the torch, but it had died. Harry settled on his back, sucking his fingers off his uninjured arm to soothe himself.

When he woke up, the house was empty- the car was gone from the driveway.

They had gone to church without him like usual, but neglected to drop him at Miss Figg’s. He cradled his arm to his chest as he tried to use the bathroom and drink some water from the bathroom sink.

His arm looked all purple and yellow, the joint was weirdly shaped and really puffy. He opened his mouth, the teeth that hurt were still decorated with the little black dots.

It’s still thundering, he’s scared of the thunder. Harry is in so much pain, but he knows one thing. He will leave today, he’s going to run away. He’s going to steal some things and leave.

He decides rather quickly. If this isn’t a breaking point, what is?

Harry finds Uncle Vernon’s wallet and takes thirty pounds from it, he goes upstairs on all fours like Dudley gets to, which is awkward not using his left arm.

He empties out Dudley’s ‘Postman Pat’ Backpack and fills it with some clothes that look like they fit him, he stuffs the money into his pocket and scoots down the stairs.

Harry crawls onto the counter- taking a whole loaf of bread with him and an empty glass milk jug full of water. Half full, he decided after feeling the weight. Harry checked the clock, He had two hours before he knew they would be back. It was 8 am, they had only just left.

Harry had his bag packed, he decided to wash up and change clothes to his favorite overalls and warmest shirt. And fluffy socks- he would take some of Dudley’s nice socks, ones with no holes. He ran up the stairs, still cradling his arm- and found what he wanted. A soft, black jumper, the denim overalls that fit him, new pants and fluffy socks.

Harry stepped into the bathroom with his haul, he strips off his clothes and wets a rag. He washes his body with it slowly, using warm water- taking his time. He pulls on the clothes and pushes the hair out of his face. He’s in too deep to second guess running away now.

He can’t pretend he’s not terrified as he steps out of the house with his backpack. His still-hurt arm tucked into the two front straps of his overalls, keeping it like a sling against his chest.

Thunder roars, rain soaks into his hair. It’s very cold, the wind is whistling as he walks. It bites his skin. He’s walking away from where the church is. He wants to get as far away from them as he can.

He expects to want to come back, to decide that he needs them.

But he reaches the end of his block.. No such feeling.

Harry marches on. The pain is getting much worse. He’s started to bite back a whimper at every step.

A dog barks from someone’s yard, chained outside in the rain. Harry would feel sorry for the poor thing if he wasn’t so terrified of dogs.

He crosses the street to be far away and runs down the rest of the block. The cold air burns the back of his throat, rain soaks through his collar and runs from his hair down his back.

Harry walks for what feels like days, the sun is just starting to set though. Rain has soaked through him. He wishes he had a raincoat.

He’s very cold, he closes his eyes for a minute to rest.

A vision of a dark, broody house visualizes in his mind. Somewhere full of bats and scary bad guys. Thunder strikes again, but this time- it sounds almost on top of him. A sharp crack. Harry’s eyes shoot open, looking around for the tree that was hit by the lightning.

He’s standing only a few houses down from that house. Weird. He could have sworn.. Where is this place?

Harry looks around, he.. He’s lost. At least he looks really far from his house.

Harry keeps walking, nobody else is outside today- the heavy summer rain is a fantastic deterrent. Oh no.. he’s really lost. He’s never even seen somewhere like this. The sun is nearly almost down by now. His legs really hurt, his shoes and socks as soaked through as his clothes.

The backs of his heels feel raw and burning, he whines- rubbing his eyes. He’s tired, he wants to stop. His arm really hurts, he’s cold. And he’s hungry.

Harry suddenly realizes has nowhere to go. Does he go to an orphanage? No.. Uncle Vernon always said they beat kids worse than he ever could at home. Definitely not. Harry can’t go to the hospital, for one- he has no idea where he would even head to get there, and he knows they would ask questions that resulted in him back at home.

He could go to the park and hide under the slide, yeah. He could live in the jungle-gym. He just needed to find a park that wasn’t the park Dudley got to play on.

Too bad he’s lost. Harry wishes he thought to bring a map. And an umbrella.

He starts walking again, his steps feel slowed with shivers- he’s not making it very far at all. By the time he’s near the scary house, he can’t avoid the man coming out of the door and opening the gate.

He’s suddenly aware of how loud he’s crying, shuddering, full body hiccups and warm tears that roll down his chilled skin. He’s getting dizzy. He sits down on the pothole ridden littered pavement

Oh- Oh no, is he headed for Harry? He looks weird, his clothes are girly. He’s wearing a black dress type of fabric with lots of flowy layers.

He looks mean. His skin looks pale and shiny, his hair is long. Aunt Petunia says boys shouldn’t have long hair. His nose is hooked and he’s glaring. He looks like the weird people that wave at him in shops. Uncle Vernon would drag Harry to the car by his ear when that happened- abandoning any shopping cart they might have had.

The man is squinting at him, muttering to himself in frustration. He crouches down and looks eye to eye with Harry. Before Harry knows it, he’s pushing back his bangs- the ones plastered to his forehead with rain. His finger traces over Harry’s ugly scar- the one he got from the car crash.

He’s… gentle. His hands are devout of pressure against Harry’s skin, they don’t claw or scratch. They don’t yank or tug his hair, His hands are soft and warm. Harry can’t help but notice how the raindrops seem to be avoiding him, as if he had an invisible umbrella.

“M’sorry.” Harry stammers through hiccuping cries, deeply terrified of the adult male in front of him. He shivers, tears mixing with the cold rainwater that flows from his hair down his face. He’s surprised by how heavily he’s sobbing.

“You’re going to catch a cold out here.” The man’s voice is deep and flat, it’s hard to read him. How did he know Harry’s name? Oh no.. Is Harry supposed to know his name? What if they’ve already met and Harry's being rude? He’s standing up, looming over Harry.

“What happened to your arm?” The stranger questions, before Harry can form a response, the man is reaching down at Harry.

Harry expects him to maybe strike Harry for not answering him quickly enough, or yank his arm out of where it’s tucked inside his overall straps. He closes his eyes, bracing himself.

And then he’s lifted. Not by his hair or the scruff of his collar, but the man wraps an arm gently under Harry’s uninjured arm and puts a supporting arm under him, resting Harry against his chest. The cloak is wrapped around him, holding him like a joey.

He’s being held. Not dragged around like a ragdoll. But held. Harry expects to feel terrified. He expects to be dropped. He doesn’t expect to stop crying in favor of tucking his frozen nose into the strangers neck, sniffling and hiccuping.

Harry holds no protest as the stranger carries him inside, ignoring every bit of advice about stranger danger he’s ever heard from his storybooks. It’s dusty inside, like Miss Figg’s house. But no cats.

“My name,” The man introduces himself as he steps inside, Harry could swear the door closes by itself. Maybe he’s a freak like Harry is.

“.. is Professor Snape. I will heal your wounds and warm you. Then you will answer some questions for me.” Harry lifts his head from the man’s shoulder, feeling embarrassed of his pathetic behavior.

Professor Snape sets the smaller one down on a bench and starts to take off Harry’s socks and shoes for him. It’s weird, being cared for like this. Harry can take off his own socks and shoes. He always has. But he doesn’t correct him. The heels of his socks are soaked with blood as much as rainwater. Harry bites back a whimper as Professor Snape gently pulls off the socks.

“Harry, what- where in the world do you live?” The man questions, pulling bandages from.. Somewhere? Harry blinks, his vision was much fuzzier than usual.

Mr Snape is strange. He’s nothing like anyone Harry’s ever been allowed to talk to before. He’s gentle though.. And Harry does need help with his arm. And he’s quite cold.

“...Privet drive, surry” Harry murmurs- despite the affection, he’s terrified of the man. He’s scared of a lot right now, the storm, his relatives, his body’s injury, the cold, and the man’s stern gaze.

“How the hell..” The man mutters, sighing as he rubs his temples. “Go sit by the fire, I'll make you something to eat.” He instructs.

Harry toddles into the living room without his backpack, shoes or socks. His feet leave small damp footprints on the hardwood floor. The hearth is warm and the fire flickers healthily, the moisture from his clothes evaporates into steam unnaturally fast as he sits near the fire, it feels like a buzzing energy. The same one that comes when he does freak things.

Mister Snape comes back with a cheese and cucumber sandwich and a mug of something warm.

He sets the plate and the cup next to Harry. “What happened to your arm?” He asks softly, pushing the plate towards Harry.

“I fell.” Harry lies compulsively.

He nods with raised eyebrows, picking up the mug and handing it directly to Harry. “Drink, It will help.”

Harry takes a testing gulp. It’s the best thing he’s ever had. It’s heavily sweetened cocoa. It coats his insides and warms him. He nearly drains the mug, licking it off his top lip.

“Mister Snape.. How did you know my name?” Harry asks on impulse.

“It’s a long story. Call me Severus.” He gently unclasps the straps of Harry’s overalls, his hands pause. His words don’t reflect the cold, nonchalant nature of his tone. “Is this okay?” Harry nods hesitantly. “Tell me what hurts.”

Harry whimpers as he takes his arm in his hands, Severus makes concerned noises, humming and hawing over Harry. “I don’t know.” The words seem to eject themself from his chest.

It’s so soothing to be fussed over, Dudley being a jerk makes no sense.

“Ow..” Harry whimpers involuntarily as Severus pulls back the sleeve of his jumper to reveal the dark red bruising around his shoulder, his arm even more swollen than this morning. Since his nerves have been warmed the pain has ebbed back in from a dull ache to a terrible series of sharp pangs.

“Sorry, this will only take a second. Can you close your eyes?” He soothes, Mr. Severus is odd. Harry trusts him for this very fact.

Harry closes his eyes, feeling himself brace. “Good. Count to three.”

“One.. two..” Harry felt a zap through his arm, every little nerve and pore ache for a split second before all the pain was over. His eyes shoot open. Severus is holding a stick to him. It’s a nice stick, but just a stick.

“What’s that?” Harry questions, utterly bewildered. “And how did you know my name?”

“I knew your parents, and it’s a wand.” Severus redirects. “Have some sandwiches. Where is your Aunt?”

“A wand?” Harry picks up a sandwich, the fire is making him sleepy. He has to be careful to chew with the right side of his teeth.

“Magic isn't real. Aunt Petunia was out at church. Do I have to go back? I don’t want to go back.” Words spill from his mouth without his permission.

“Harry, listen to me. Magic is very real, only people that have no magic for themself say that it’s not. You are a wizard. Your mum was a wizard, so was your father. So am I. When you are of age, you’ll move into the wizarding world.”

Harry should be scared. He should bolt out of the room. This man is clearly crazy with the matter-of-fact way he spouts their shared hallucinations. Harry’s probably drugged and gonna wake up without his kidneys like in the horror shows Uncle Vernon lets Dudley watch.

Something, somewhere, buried deep in his chest wants to believe. Harry wants to feel special. To be rescued and to be loved. He’ll play along. For now.

“Don’t you wonder what happened with that sharp noise when you seemed to just appear here? The magic knew to carry you to safety. Why it chose me, I don’t know. I’m terrible with children.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels a giggle erupt from his chest.

“Are you my dad? Aunt Petunia said my parents died in a car crash- they were a bunch of drunks.” Harry asks through a yawn, rubbing his eyes.

Severus chokes on his tea, coughing. Harry backs up from the man, startled. “No. No I am not. Your parents,” He takes a sip of tea. “Were Lily Evans and James Potter. I..
Didn’t know James too well, but dear Merlin, you are the spitting image of him. But you have Lily’s eyes. Exactly her eyes.” He hides his face behind his teacup, finishing it off.”

“You should wash up. It’s late. I have no idea how long you were walking for. I’ll find you a toothbrush and some clothes-” Severus stands up, looming over Harry.

Harry sobs, his body overwhelmed by fear. “NOOoo!” He screeches, hiccuping as snot runs down his face. Brushing his teeth means being held in a headlock and gagging on agony. He curls into a ball, this is the part where he’s pulled up by his hair and someone has their way with him.

The sobs wrench themselves free from his chest, it’s impossible to conceal any emotion, they flow out of him without Harry having a single chance to possibly filter them.

—

Severus watches as a miniature version of James crumples into hysterics on the den floor of his own private domicile, unhooked overall straps letting the denim pool around his waist.

All he had done was encourage him into bed so that Severus could get ahold of Dumbledore. He had no idea what he had done to upset the stray toddler he had managed to keep mostly regulated up until now.

“Harry.” He tries to be soothing, fuck. He’s really terrible at this whole parenting thing- He already felt guilty about the vertiserum in the cocoa, he had no idea how to stop the crying. He was going to be having words with Petunia if this is how scared Harry was of simple things. Words with Dumbledore.

Obviously he had run away, from the contents of his backpack and the terrible injuries- not to mention he was apparently scared enough to apparate to the closest magical house his nervous system could find- it was obvious to any teacher who had been forced to go through those mandatory Underage Wizarding Welfare classes.

He had been walking for long enough to soak his trainers through with blood. He’s thin as a rail and incredibly sensitive to touch. He had hand-shaped bruises over his body, he is terribly underweight. Something is going on here.

“Harry…” He sits down next to the practically seizing child, placing a hand on his back. Harry is wailing so terribly that he’s started to cough, wheezing painfully. Merlin, that’s asthma if Severus has ever heard it. And he’s a teacher for school-aged children.

Harry is in a fit, his body shakes like the trees outside. He’s in need of a nap in Severus’s opinion. “Harry.” He lowers his voice, trying to find a soothing tone.

Harry continues to sob loudly, his body shaking with the violence of his emotional episode.

Severus has no actual rhyme or reason to approach this with. Children- the ones he’s ever met- aren’t typically this emotionally disturbed. He usually can just send the hysterical ones to Madam Pomfry for a sedative.

Severus doesn’t keep sedatives in the house. In case you were wondering.

He knew the general theory at play, the relationships a child like him would develop with the likes of Petunia. He knew what it felt like to be under the belt of an angry father.

The Veriserum was an impulse, and an expensive one at that. But- from experience, children at this age have typically already developed a pretty strong sense of Stockholm syndrome. Harry would be too scared to ask for help on his own. Severus was too scared to ask for help when he was that age.

The Vertiserum had clearly applied itself to not only his words but emotions- causing him to have very little control over the internal mood swings of his adolescent subconsciousness.

Harry was lying on his side now, hiccuping painfully hard. Harry has rested his head on Severus's folded legs. Odd.

It was funny, he had turned out so much like James- despite barely ever knowing the man. James was always incredibly touchy, he loved to push and shove his friends. The amount of PDA with Lily felt almost intentionally mocking to Severus. But here Harry was, self soothing.

“Are you alright?” The words come out much softer than Severus was aware he is capable of. Harry moves off of him- looking embarrassed of his fit.

Harry just.. Stares, confusion peaking in his eyes. He crumples into a ball on the floor, overtired and whiny. Severus sighs, doing his best to be gentle as he picks him up.

Goddamnit. Fine. He can sleep here tonight. He had planned to get Harry to just relax and then get Dumbledore to deal with him- This was not a motel for scared children. But Severus didn’t think breaking trust with this child was exactly the smartest move right now.

Severus holds the child on his lap, waiting for him to calm down. Harry is sticky with tears and sweat. Why are children always so fucking sticky? Regardless, he needs a bath. No amount of tenure is worth this.

His cashmere blend cloak had been subjected to an offensive amount of elements today. The wind outside had only picked up over the hour and a half Harry had been inside. The wind is whistling through the trees, lightning can be heard cracking through the sky

“Harry, what's so bad about a bath?” Severus tries to suppress the sarcasm he filters his emotions through, he fails. Harry’s lower lip is wobbling. Severus runs a hand through his hair. The kid basically melts, he looks disgustingly like James.

“Cold. Hurts.. Can’t breathe.” Harry mumbles, barely awake as Severus lifts him under his arms and holds him to his chest. Severus was expecting something whiney and petulant. Not words a child would use to describe waterboarding.

“I’ll be gentle.” Severus chuckles, trying to hide his shock and horror as he carries the child upstairs. Setting Harry on the sink countertop and easing the toddler out of the still-damp overalls.

This was all far too domestic for Severus to be truly comfortable with.

He had long since given up on the idea of children. The only woman he ever loved marrying his bully, then being murdered was enough to put him off for life.

Severus Snape was done with loving anything. Anyone.

He had decided this not in a single point of time, but over years and years of building up a bitter, cold and sarcastic demeanor that every emotion was filtered through. A shell that protected him from the world

He could not place a single point in time where letting himself feel deep, raw emotion has not shredded his insides for long periods of live

The fact that he was currently running a bubble bath for the child of his sworn foe was unimportant.

Yes, James Potter was simply the worst. Yes, Harry is the spitting image of the man. But Severus is not too blinded by bitterness to be able to turn a blind eye when a child is being terribly abused. No amount of grudge that Severus harbors close to his chest can justify subjecting someone to another carbon copy of Severus’s childhood.

“Do you want help or do you want to be alone?” He offers in a low voice, leaving Harry in his pants. He wasn’t the boy’s guardian. It felt beyond wrong to do that.

“I do it..” Harry mumbles, easing himself off the sink counter. He was clearly terrified at the sight of the bath. Severus was feeling that his presence only exacerbated this reaction.

Severus nods, backing out of the room and leaving the door open just a crack. “Just call if you need me. I don’t mind.”

He was planning on using what time he had to send a Patronus to Dumbledore, then maybe make up the sofa for Harry to sleep on. Transfigure some robes to fit him. But he couldn’t seem to drag himself more than five feet from the bathroom door.

Harry was half asleep- it’s not like Severus could just leave him to possibly drown. Yeah- there was only a half foot of warm water, but Harry was only about sixty centimeters tall. No. The responsible thing to do was to sit on the floor, listening to Harry sniffle and whimper.

Ten or so minutes pass, Severus spends the time just.. Trying to process. The so-called savior of the wizarding world had appeared onto his doorstep beaten and sopping wet. Severus had only known this from the frighteningly loud crack that accidental apparition always made.

Harry had apologized to him on impulse and instantly started to sob. He had been so exhausted as to not protest when a stranger lifted him into their house. He was hungry enough to accept food from a strange man. He was in enough pain to let a stranger soothe him.

He had become relaxed enough to practically fall asleep on one of the coldest people in the wizarding world. In comparison to his supposed home life, Severus was kind.

This simple fact is terrifying. Severus is accustomed to terrifying children, to scowling and cruel jeers. Teaching life is not fair in any manner.

He’s not used to toddlers who look up at you with the tear-filled eyes of the only woman you’ve ever loved and the face of the man who stole her.

“Mr Professor Snape?” A faint voice calls from inside the bathroom, Severus nearly jumps out of his skin- easing himself back onto his feet.

“Alright?” Severus responds, not looking into the bathroom. Merlin this whole experience was beyond being out of his comfort zone.

Severus has to strain, but he can hear a faint yawn. He pushes open the bathroom door- looking at the ceiling until he confirms the existence of a thick layer of bubbles in the tub that Harry is shielded with.

Harry hasn’t gotten his hair wet. Or really washed himself. He’s mostly just tried to not fully doze off in the warm water.

Severus sighs. He mentally reassures himself he is doing this because he doesn’t want the tyke to smell like the wet dog he arrived as. “Can I help? I’ll be gentle.”

Harry visibly inhales, swallowing thickly. He nods, his lower lip starting to wobble. It’s hard to express the way Severus perceives him. Pathetic, but devoid of arrogance. The boy looks perpetually scared.

Severus folds a towel, setting it under his knees as he kneels next to the tub. Not even middle aged yet and ridden with knee pain. Fantastic.

He summons a measuring cup from his study- something with a spout and handle. He fills it with warm water, and the boy is transfixed on his wand. Severus feels a smirk pull at his face.

“Tilt your head back.” He tips the warm water over Harry’s hairline, wetting his tangled mop of hair. He has cowlicks in precisely the places James used to-

Harry’s scar was much different then the media had ever shown. Not a cartoon lightning bolt- it was thinner, and much more complex. A crackle of an angry stormcloud that went down to his left eyebrow.

Severus found Harry relaxing under his fingers, He lathers a 3-in-1 soap elixir into Harry’s hair, gently taking a comb through the knots. Harry clearly doesn’t like the comb, but he stays still.

It’s nearly midnight when Harry has been rinsed, dried, dressed, and is now staring fearfully at a toothbrush.

“You don’t have to.” Severus offers, wanting to go to his own bed by now. He knows he should encourage Harry to brush his teeth, but the boy looks petrified. He’s nearly hiding behind Severus’s leg.

Harry nods, following the professor downstairs. Severus manages to make a decent enough bed for the child on the futon. Harry settles down without much fight- Severus goes upstairs to his own room.

“I’m the door on the right if you need anything.” He mumbles to the half-asleep boy. Harry gives a mumbled thank you in response.

Severus had planned to cast a patronus, maybe tell it to say something snarky to Dumbledore. Perhaps write a letter to send in the morning when the storm cleared, but he found himself exhausted.

Severus didn’t often bathe anyone else, or soothe emotional fits. He did not carry children- needy, soaking wet, injured children up and down stairs. To say the entire day exhausted him thoroughly was a gross understatement. He was out the minute his aching body hit the bed.

—

The clock read 3:43 when he woke up. .

Severus is beyond freezing. He had neglected to cover himself with a quilt, opting to lie on his back, dead asleep.

Additionally, the storm was incredibly loud, tree branches outside were breaking off in the wind and rattling the house. Rain could be heard like bullets hitting the rooftop, the windows rattled in their frames.

None of this seemed even remotely as loud as the small, choked sobs he could hear coming from downstairs.

Severus dizzied himself with the speed he sat up, lit his bedside candle and walked downstairs.

There Harry is. Curled up on the futon in the dark, terrified of the storm. It’s much colder downstairs. The glow of the candlelight warms their faces as Severus sets the lit dish on the side table. Lily’s eyes are filled with glossy tears, his face snotty and red. He’s struggling for air and hiccuping.

“Harry. Would you like to sleep upstairs?” Severus offers, although- it’s not really an offer. He’s already holding Harry and carrying him upstairs. He’s setting Harry down on his bed and casting a muffling charm on the walls. It’s bad for the wood, but whatever.

Severus pulls back the blanket on the king bed- he lies down on the very opposite end of where he’s placed Harry. He sleeps with his back to him.

He’s not the type to want to share his bed.

This whole day has been exhausting, he vows to get ahold of Underage Wizarding Welfare tomorrow. Severus Snape was not taking in strays.

–

When Severus wakes, he’s tangled with the child.

More specifically, Severus is lying on his back- Harry is on his stomach, lying chest to chest with the professor, Severus has his arms around him and Harry is dead asleep with his head in the crook of the man’s neck. He sleeps weirdly- All scrunched up and tense with his thumb in his mouth.

Severus has a hell of a time untangling himself from the barnacle, and it’s only when the professor is walking into the hall that Harry wakes up.

“Go back to sleep.” Severus mumbles, fighting a losing battle as Harry yawns and stretches.

The storm is over, both the one inside the house and outside it.

Harry has placed trust in the professor. He sits with his legs swinging under the table as Severus presses a drinking glass into slices of bread for toad-in-a-hole. The blisters on his toddler-sized feet still bandaged- he was too afraid of any salve Severus had to hold still.

“Are you sure Magic is for real?” Harry asks, biting his nails.

The Professor fixes two plates, cutting Harry’s up for him. “Yes. Now eat something before you blow away.” Severus sighs as he pushes the plate at him. Harry is sitting on top of several large, dusty books as a makeshift booster seat.

Severus could swear toddlers were not typically this small. Perhaps it was James’s genetics. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

Severus steps into the hall, looking behind himself to make sure the thing isn’t following him. “Expecto Patronum.” He finds the doe forming in front of him exceptionally easy today. The wispy figure stares up at him, big eyes blinking innocently.

“Find Dumbledore, tell him to visit immediately. Regarding,” Severus rubs his temples, he needed coffee before this bullshit. “..Harry Potter. I expect him before noon.”

The man felt the previous day’s events filter back into his conscious mind through his headache. And he was now realizing that the potion he had left brewing in his study was lucky to not have boiled completely off. Fantastic. James hasn’t stopped inconveniencing him even from beyond the grave.

Upon returning, Severus found Harry ignoring his fork entirely and using a very poorly developed pincer grasp. Harry clenched most of his hand to feed himself. It’s disgusting. And incredibly alarming from an educator standpoint.

“Harry,” He leans against the countertop, watching the child watch his wand as he gives a lazy flick at the kettle.

Severus needed a shower. And a drink. A strong drink. From the moment Harry had appeared on his doorstep he had been reluctant to leave him alone for long enough to change out of his clothes.

“The Headmaster of the school I teach at is coming here today to... Talk with me about some things. Is it alright if he talks to you?” Severus asks, pouring hot water and coffee grounds into the french press.

He did usually have tea, but he didn’t usually spend all night curled up next to a sticky, needy toddler.

Severus knew very little about nursery-aged children, other than they like to put things in their mouth. This one is no exception, he sucks his thumb, he sucks on his sleeves, he’s.. Only chewing with one side of his mouth.

Regardless, he was hesitant to let the twerp run around his house and use a toxic, expensive ingredient as a binky.

—

“Well, what do you think should take place, Severus?” The headmaster asks, leaning in forward and pushing his glasses up with a slight smile.

Severus glared, normally he would yell- say something snarky and crude. But given the skittish four year old currently dozing off on an armchair about one and a half yards from Severus- he refrains.

“What in the world do you mean- ‘what should take place’?” Severus smolders, something about the man's giddyness only served to get under his skin.

“I mean exactly that. How should we proceed?”

“He can’t stay here! And he certainly can’t go back to the muggles.” The younger professor hisses, glaring into the smirk that the elder wore.

“Would you suggest he be placed with a foster family?” Dumbledore suggests as if the idea is an outlandish concept.

Severus feels his nose scrunch and his eyebrows knit, is the man being purposely obtuse? “Yes, Obviously! He needs a home that’s not full of deadly potion ingredients and a guardian that is even semi-competent.”

“And you think a foster family would suffice?” Dumbledore raises an eyebrow, drinking from his teacup smugly.

“...Have you hit your head on something?” Severus responds wryly, glaring through the man. He sighs, rubbing his temples “Have the muggles made any attempt at finding him?”

“None that I know of. From Arabella Figg’s perspective the Dursley’s seem to have assumed him a runaway, seeing as they never had any muggle legal guardianship- they’ve not filed a report.” Dumbledore sighs, solluming his tone with an air of superiority.

“Severus, the blood ward put in place means he must return to th-”

“Oh fuck off with that, will you?” Severus hisses in a hushed voice, anger flickering in his chest.

He feels over the worn down thumb-groove in his wand, adjusting his wand inside his robe pocket. “He doesn’t call the place home, he hates it there. He’s beaten and thin as a house-elf. He’s got rot in his teeth and mats in his hair, it’s neglect and you know it.”

Severus stands, feeling more furious than he has in a long time. “I will not allow you to leave him to the same fate I was left to.”

Albus opens his mouth to speak, Severus does not yield to the floor.

“This has nothing to do with prophecies, nothing to do with James or the Dark Lord. He’s four- and already apparating away from whatever those muggles are doing to him!” He shouts, feeling his lunges heave in his chest. He’s out of breath from the outburst.

“Severus, lower your voice.” Dumbledore warns, pointing his gaze at Harry.

The boy has curled up on the armchair in a tight fetal position, he’s soundly asleep.

Severus had previously exhausted the overexited toddler by floating a feather around the back garden and letting him chase it until the headmaster arrived.

Severus sits back down with a furious sneer. The gloomy midland sun shining through the fraying drapes.

“If you feel so strongly about the matter, you are free to raise him yourself.” Dumbledore bluffs, adding a third sugar cube to his tea.

“He’s going to need somewhere to go during the school year.” Severus points out, crossing his legs tightly.

“Does he like other children?” Dumbledore sighs, using a refilling charm on his teacup.

Severus stares at the man. “Why in the world would I know that?” He glances over at the toddler, Harry is drooling on his upholstery.

“What do you know about him then?” Albus eggs on, leaning back into his seat.

“He’s afraid of most things. Absolutely silent if he doesn’t have something to say- prone to panic attacks, in which he’s deafening. Quite fast, energetic but easily distracted. Likes to be held, but only when he’s initiated it. Definitely needs glasses.”

“Severus, you’ve known this child for less than 72 hours.” Dumbledore chuckles.

The professor rubs his temples, rolling his eyes. “The… thing had a nightmare, snuck into my bed. It’s been a very touchy 48 hours. I need my study back, Albus. I need my time back. He can’t stay here.”

“...Hagrid could take him during your classes. He’d be delighted.” The elder of the two offers without missing a beat, taking a sip of tea.

“Harry is scared of me.” Snape refutes, turning up his nose and shifting which leg is crossed over which.

Albus raises an eyebrow. “Harry Potter, the one who slept in your bed is scared of you? Severus, he’d eat out of the palm of your hand if you asked. He trusts you. That’s a lot for someone like him.”

“Someone like him?” Severus scowls, offended. “Elaborate.”

“My apologies. I only mean that the two of you come from similar backgrounds. For him to trust you this quickly is abnormal- we should use it to our advantage.” Dumbledore muses, suppressing a smile.

“Have you gone mad? Have you been confunded? Should we get you to St Mungo’s? I am not adopting James’s boy!” Severus shouts, sitting on the edge of the sofa.

Harry stirs, uncurling and rolling onto his back. His knees hung over the armrest and his head propped up the opposing armrest. His thumb is firmly in his mouth, a behavior which Severus had made zero progress in discouraging.

“Severus, perhaps you should take him upstairs.” Albus offers unhelpfully. “It’s unwise to get anyone else involved, the best course of action is a memory charm on the Dursleys and the boy alike and then returning him under the close eye of Arabella.

Severus glares, fuming. “You’ve proven your incompetence on this matter, I will find a fitting home for him on my own. Good day.” He stands, exhaling sharply.

Dumbledore sighs, setting his cup down. “I’m only an owl away if you need me. I’ll have some resources sent over and a few formalities to transfer the responsibility to you.

Dumbledore left that house getting exactly what he had suggested in the first place, even if Severus was too stubborn to take a few steps back and see that in the bigger picture. He had just adopted the boy in an effort to not adopt him.

–

Harry woke up on someone’s lap with their arms around his body, lying with his chest pressed into someone else's. He stirred- whining. The behavior felt so.. Right. It felt natural, it felt safe.

“Harry, would you like some lunch?” Severus asks him quietly.

It had been three weeks since he ran away, Harry trusts Mister Severus with his whole heart. He was still scared of having his teeth brushed, but he was always so gentle. He had never so much as raised his voice at Harry.

Harry shook his head, whining into the man. It’s raining softly outside, Harry feels as Severus takes Harry’s glasses off the table and fits them onto his face.

Harry found his head hurting a lot less since Mister Severus brought him to some shop and a guy looked at his eyes really close. Harry wasn’t really paying attention- he hid behind the professor for most of the appointment.

“How about some fruit?” Severus sighs, setting his book down on the table. He had been reading with his arms around Harry- the only way he would go down for a nap is if he was held during it.

Harry had gotten much more comfortable whining and pouting. He had found there was little punishment for pouting or crying when he was upset. It had taken some time to get used to feeling emotions on the outside of his body.

“How about a cucumber sandwich?” Severus groans as he stands up with Harry attached to him like a leach.

Harry whines as his legal guardian turns around, letting Harry fall on his back into the cushions.

“Harry, you have to eat something. You can’t just have fruit pouches and shredded cheese for the fifth meal in a row.” Severus takes a comb from the sidetable junk drawer, running it through his hair.

“Nooo..” Harry whines, rolling onto his stomach as he pushes his palms into his forehead to smooth his hair back- mirroring the grooming behavior.

Severus rubs his temples- he really needs to get in contact with a proper foster family soon. He had only signed the document of temporary guardianship to get the ministry’s letters about underage magic being detected in his household off his back.

The waiver was only really good for six months, but the term was starting before that- He had a month to place the tyke in a home and make sure he was happy there. Severus didn’t exactly get the idea that Harry had many things to collect at home that could not be simply replaced.

He didn’t think Petunia was the type to both give Harry a teddy bear and waterboard him.

So, Harry had been taken to the shops. He had been fitted for a few sets of clothes, shoes, glasses- because he clearly needed them- and simple things. Cutlery that fit the size of his hand and cups that he would have less trouble not spilling. Severus Snape now owned sippy cups. Temporarily. He had bought a trunk for the boy. He would be leaving. Eventually. When he got around to it.

For an underweight toddler, Harry was incredibly food-adverse. He did not like tomatoes, he did not like pork, he did not like tinned fish. He hates bananas, he does not like gravy- he only eats the yolk of eggs. He does not like fish sticks or baked beans. He does not like dried fruits, nuts, or granola. He hates yoghurt. He’ll eat jam on toast, but only the jam.

So, mealtime was a long negotiation. Severus sits down at the table, practically begging Harry to just eat the fucking mash. Harry did like some things, he likes fruit pouches. And berries, and cold shredded cheese. Which- are not enough to complete your 5 a day, if you were wondering.

And now there was an eight-hundred gram tub of Kendamil toddler formula in Severus Snape’s pantry. Splendid.

Harry would eat maybe four or five bites of food and then get knocked cold under the spout of a sippy cup- every, single, mealtime. He had put on some healthy weight, Harry loved to run around and play. He seemed equally fascinated and terrified by any displays of magic- his own or not. He could make flowers grow and bloom by laughing.

Harry could speak Parseltongue. That… that terrified Severus the first time he noticed it. Harry loves animals, he was not scared of them in the slightest- he would pick up rollie-polies and spiders out of the garden, he would lift rocks to watch the grubs squirm. He made friends with the neighbor’s cat, and the other neighbor’s cat.

And one day he got into the potion supplies- and was in hysterics to find that live snakes were often a potion ingredient. Which he had sobbed in parseltounge- causing fifty Galleon
worth of snakes to wriggle violently out of their containment and escape.

Harry would play in the rain, and come back into the house just- caked in mud. And Severus would have to help him bathe because he was four years old. He would pinky swear to stay in his bed every night, and without a doubt- Severus never woke up alone.

About the bed situation- Severus had moved into his parents bedroom long ago. His childhood bedroom had become a study and the guest room had become his brewing room. He couldn’t make the child sleep on the couch every night, whenever Harry did sleep on it- he rolled off the edge.

Severus had spent an afternoon moving the cauldron’s mounting, his potion ingredient collection and his empty snake enclosure partially into the scullery and partially into the study. He had bought a self-assembling bedframe- which did self assembly, and also put deep scratches into the original hardwood floors.

After all this work, Harry didn’t even sleep in his own bed. He took naps on the man, he slept in Severus’s bed, he followed him around like a lost niffler- asking a constant parade of questions.

He was spending several hundred Knuts a week on coffee grounds.

–

Turns out, it was much harder to find a foster family or a group home then he thought, Most homes were overpopulated with children or all too excited to have the famous Harry Potter in their grasps- coming off incredibly insensitive towards the matter with probing questions and disregard for personal space around Harry’s scar. Severus had left most homes holding a very upset Harry

Severus needed a long term solution for the boy- he couldn’t hop from foster home to foster home until he was seventeen.

–

It was August 20th and Harry was joining Severus on the staff train ride to the castle.

 

Severus had originally planned to arrive extremely early to the platform, exhaust Harry with the large amount of walking around the station, draw the shades on the compartment and set Harry up for a long nap over the ride.

Turns out getting a four year old up at five in the morning, fed, bathed, dressed, and out of the house by five-thirty is nearly impossible. Harry was exhausted

Severus had endured the stares from the likes of Minerva and Flitwick when he showed up to the platform with Harry out cold on his hip.

The boy was only going to be there for the first few weeks- he had a meeting with a group home that Severus thought would be a good fit halfway through the first semester. Harry would have a home before the end of the year.

The train ride was long and full of many, many questions. Harry was right to be curious- his world had been flipped on its head over the past month or two. That was not what he was curious about. Harry wanted to know why the clouds looked the way they did and how the train stayed up so high. Harry didn’t particularly care about the answer, he asked another question halfway through the answer.

“Where does the magic come from?” Harry asks, lying on his back and stretching his legs up into the air above him.

“I don’t know. Eat your sandwich.” The professor sighs, scratching out a sentence of his lesson plan with his quill.

“Is god mad at me?” Harry asks casually.

Severus chokes on his thermos of coffee. “Pardon?”

“Is god even real?” Harry asks, rolling off the seat and onto the floor by accident. He giggles.

“Harry, I don’t know- Nobody does.” Severus looks over at the compartment door, finding an incredibly amused Minerva McGonnagall.

“Severus. Is that…?” She asks, stifling a laugh at the toddler hiding from her under the flap of Severus’s robes.

“Harry, we just talked about this. You know Professor McGonagall.” Severus feels Harry shake his head into his side. “...She’s the one who turns into a cat.”

Harry pokes his head out of the fabric, just enough for his eyes and the tip of his nose to peak out. Severus fixes his frizzy raven hair to be out of his eyes.

“Hello Harry,” She smiles at him, giving a small, friendly wave. “How did you end up here?”

Harry, being four and overtired- responds nonsensically while rubbing his eyes. “Kitty?”

“Toddlers are just tiny drunks.” Severus sighs, trying to find the snack he packed for Harry in his bag.

“Severus Snape, with a nappy bag? Are pigs flying?” Minerva mocks with a smile.

“It’s temporary- And he won’t eat anything else.” Severus sneers, uncapping a fruit pouch and giving it to Harry.

“I want to do the lid.” Harry whines.

Severus replaces the plastic cap of the fruit pouch, irritated by this entire scenario, he hands the pouch back.

Harry struggles to open it- he hands it back to the adult. “You open it but not open.. so that I.. I can open it if that- I want!” He starts to throw a fit.

Severus is going to find him a fucking forever home. Soon.

—

Introducing Harry to Hagrid went better than expected. Harry was terrified of the man, Hagrid nearly died of hydration blubbering through cries. But after that, Hagrid and him had got along pretty well after Harry was shown Fang and given copious bribes in the form of chocolates.

Harry would sleep in the faculty tower with Severus- Dumbledore had put in a children’s bed which Harry neglected to ever sleep on in Severus’s room. He spent Severus’s lessons being babysat by Hagrid or Madam Irma Pince in the library, who would only babysit Harry because he was content to sit quietly and read.

It came as a shock to Severus that Harry even could read. He needed such heavy glasses to begin with, and he had clearly been self taught. He would lie on his stomach, letting the pages flip for him when he was done with the pages.

The meeting went badly, Harry had broken out in hives from the dust bunnies and the owners were incredibly religious- which terrified Harry.

—

By the time the year was over, it was clear that Harry was here to stay. There was no place for him to go. Severus couldn’t say he was surprised by the outcome. He had anticipated this. What he had not anticipated is Harry starting to grow up, and growing incredibly close to the man.

He had grown out of most food aversions by the time he was five, a change Severus found himself not ready for. He started to shower on his own and sleep in his own bed. Harry stopped going up the stairs on all fours and he stopped needing a stepstool to reach the countertops. He was incredible on a broomstick, not a toy one.

Harry was ten now, he had been coming to Hogwarts for years, he knew the layout of every corridor and was very close with Hagrid, he could only faintly remember living at the Dursleys. They had never found him, and had been too ashamed of his existence to ever seek help in the matter.

He could not pretend he understood Severus’s thought process in any way. He seemed so cold and cruel to anyone who wasn’t Harry. And he tried to pretend their relationship wasn’t any different. Harry liked to believe the man cared for him as deeply as he cared for the man though.

You don’t hold a child’s hair back when they get the stomach flu as they vomit onto something expensive, or home school them for years and years if you don’t care.

Harry had grown his hair out down to his shoulders, just like Severus. He had the same scowl and he wore the same silk robes. He had read every book on potionmaking in the library front to back.

Harry still loves to follow Severus around like a duckling.

–

It was 1991, August 22th. Harry had recently turned eleven- His envelope from Hogwarts framed on the mantle. It was a cool summer evening, Severus had decided to stay back from attending Hogwarts early to set up his classroom and accompany Harry to King’s cross before simply taking the Floo to Hogwarts.

Severus marked his height on the wall, Harry had grown two whole inches since last year! They ate dinner sitting in the back gardens, Severus held Harry’s hand as Harry brushed his teeth, they read together in bed, Harry asked dumb questions about the moon, and Severus answered them.

Harry would sleep in his own bed, but he would crawl into Severus’s when the summer storms got loud.