Chapter Text
The cauldron hissed putridly, and echoed through the cold air of Spinner’s End.
His blade flattened atop the brewing bench with a crunch, crumbling the brittle beetle wings beneath it. Severus Snape took a watchful eye over the mixture and delicately brought the knife away and the pile was promptly scraped into the brewing potion. The protesting screech of the brew subsided enough for Severus to hear the unexpected, rhythmic crick of an owl's beak protesting the wavering pane of glass. A sound which he knew to be coming from his sitting room window.
Dumbledore, perhaps.
Snape rose. His wand flicked an impatient spell towards the rolling potion. The spoon within it stirring to life, making rapid and precise half turns as he left his study within his peeling home at Spinner’s End, Cokeworth.
A pale owl sat a-perch his sill. White and slow blinking, its feathers stark against the gloomy grey skies of the muggle English Midlands. Its golden eyes peered at him as she impatiently clawed at the disintegrating wood of the windowsill. Unmistakable as that of an almost 16 year old Harry Potter.
The snowy owl immediately raised alarm bells. Harry J Potter was not altogether known to write to Snape, not even within the school term. Nor was Snape likely to write to the young boy. Snape heaved the window open. Dried flecks of paint spontaneously covering the 70’s carpet below. The bird– Hedwig, as he had once overheard Potter’s Weasley friend exclaim– let out an impatient hoot and flapped her wings indignantly as Snape hurriedly unfurled a scrunched napkin from her talons.
The tissue unraveled delicately. A green and red mistletoe adorned the white Christmas dinner napkin. The paper was ripped around a hastily written biro:
“Professor Dumbledore. Please help me. Please let me live at Hogwarts. I promise to—---Uncle Vernon is away—--”
The note was spotted with a deep brown smudge, unmistakable as blood. The second paper was quickly untied from Hedwig's claws. A simple embellished parchment. It read:
“Severus, I am away on Order business. Please attend to Harry at his home with the Dursleys as necessary. 4 Privet Drive Little Whinging, Surrey.”
The note was short, concise and otherwise extremely detached from emotion. Had the note not mentioned the boy's name, Snape would have thought the note had not been seen by Dumbledore at all. The only conclusion was that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore not only had read the letter (stained in blood!) but simply dismissed it to the head of Slytherin to manage.
Not Minerva? Madame Pomfrey? Rubeus Hagrid, Merlin forbid?!
The owl before him pecked again at the sill alerting Severus again. And he quickly strapped the letter from Dumbledore back to her leg, with a hastily scribbled reply.
I will see it is done.
S.S
As soon as Hedwig was set flying beyond the perimeter of Spinner’s End, he had turned around and marched back to his study. His hands darted around gathering many vials of murky potions and tossing them hurriedly into his potion satchel. As soon as the necessary potions clinked together in the bottom of the bag Severus was gone with a loud crack telltale of apparition. Immediately he arrived at the end of the perfectly trimmed driveway to Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey.
A sliver of an orange sun peeked just above the hill, deep gloomy clouds quickly shrouding the last light of day and Severus himself. He marched forth. Two sharp knocks echoed into the suburban home.
No one answered. Severus thought back to the note: “Vernon is away” it instructed,
“Alohamora.” Severus muttered with his wand drawn near to his body.
The door creaked slowly open, revealing a dark and empty house, save for some furniture in the entryway wrapped in dustcovers. He stepped through the doorway cautiously.
“Homenum revelio”
His wand pulsed shortly toward a small cupboard beneath a carpeted staircase. As Snape stepped toward it he heard a low gurgling noise. He quickly snatched the latches (two thick iron barrel bolts with considerable wear and tear) and wrenched the tiny door open.
From within the dusty cupboard beneath the stairs, a singular tiny cot with a deep depression in its centre,a Hogwarts crested trunk, a lightbulb which did not light, and a shelf which hung loosely on its bracket- nothing but junk lay atop it.
“Mr. Potter?” Snape whispered into the short space.
An almost inaudible choked gasp came from within. Snape pointed his ebony wand inside and whispered “homenun revelio” once more and the curtain of invisibility lifted from the boy who lay stricken with pain and panic.
Shallow breaths twitched in Harry’s chest. Sweat coated his face and matted his once curly hair to his forehead as well as drenching his entire body, which was thin and pale. A quick check of the Boy-Who-Lived revealed to the alarmed professor that he was suffering from a number of injuries, old and new. A series of deep purple welts covered the expanse of the boy’s bare back, as well as a highly concerning number of bruises. Each visible rib also told a story of horror.
Never had Severus Snape in ten whole years of teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry seen such a sight on a students body.
Welcome to the year of 1996, Professor.
Harry’s eyes remained closed as Severus withdrew a bottle of wiggenweld potion and tilted Harry's chin back to slip the potion onto his tongue. It made quick work of sealing his open cuts and soothing some of the raised welts on the skinny boy’s back. Potter suddenly coughed and scrunched his features reacting to the sharp sting of his wounds. His eyes cracked open into slits. Green eyes looking up at the man before him.
“N..no uncle..Vernon” he shuddered before his eyes lulled back involuntarily. Snape's hand cradled the back of his neck which suddenly fell as Harry lost consciousness once more and he raised Harry with a quick enchantment of levicorpus. He twisted the boy's frail body through the tiny opening to the cupboard into the flat floor of the completely empty lounge and made quick work of a full diagnostic spell which swirled from his wand onto a floating piece of parchment:
-Harry J. Potter
-2 fractured ribs…
-19 welts upper back, lower back, left shoulder blade…
-malnutrition….
-dehydration…
-3 severe bruising….
The list simply went on as Snape began to feel ill. He flicked the parchment to his bag. He would have to take the boy to Dumbledore.
“Potter?” He waited for the boy to groan and peek his eyes back open. “Potter we will be disapparating now.”
“ ‘m sorry, uncle Vernon..” he gasped with a pained face.
“Take my arm, Boy,” Snape said. Harry did from his position on the floor and the two of them immediately stretched through space into Snape’s home. Harry struggled to keep his footing from the sudden movement and upon landing, suddenly lurched forward and emptied the contents of his stomach right onto Severus’ bedroom floor. A mixture of acidic stomach contents and liquids sloshed into the carpet squelchingly. With his sleeves rolled up, Snape heaved the boy up onto the bed and settled the blanket over him. He covered the boy's shaking and feverish body carefully with sheets that he was embarrassed to admit hadn't been washed in some time.
“Accio Skele-Gro. Accio dittany” Snape listed a few additional tonics and promptly administered them to the sweaty boy. He ensured that the boy was resting and stable and hurried to his study fireplace. Snape knelt swiftly and kept his face from wincing as his knees hit the hard wooden floor. He grabbed a generous pinch of floopowder and tossed it into the chute and watched as the fire blazed a glowing green, and his head vanished into the flames. Aloud, he spoke very clearly.
“Dumbledore’s office, Hogwarts.”
The headmaster's office looked as it usually did. It had a frankly offensive amount of golden infrastructure, too many maroon tapestries and an eclectic collection of all things magical. The Headmaster himself sat knowingly at his large wooden desk.
“Ah, Severus. How are you, my boy?” Dumbledore smiled pleasantly.
“Pardon my ignorance… Headmaster. Am I to believe you are truly unaware of the grave situation at hand?” Snape replied tersely.
“How is Harry, then?” Dumbledore amends, as pleasantly as his introduction.
Snape’s features settle into an agitated contemplation. He unfurls the canvas cover of his satchel and produces the diagnostic charms parchment from within.
“There are a large number of concerns, Headmaster. I am highly suspicious of dark magic at hand. His guardians are nowhere to be found and Potter is extremely unwell– a dangerously low weight of a child of fifteen.. I have had no word from The Dark Lord, but these are highly unusual wounds.”
“That is precisely why, Severus, I am entrusting you to mind Harry during the Summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts. As you know, these past four years alone Voldemort has appeared to the boy thrice and imposed a serious risk to himself and all of our pupils. I fear that our efforts at Hogwarts cannot withstand the mental bond between Harry and Voldemort and the great threat the boy poses to the safety of all this year.”
Snape's upper lip curled back at the mention of the Evil lord’s name, which slipped with ease from the elder professor's wrinkled lips.
“And what is it that you are asking me to do?” He managed as calmly as he could, allowing his face to remain blank through the shield of occlumency.
“The boy’s guardians have not been back to their residence in Little Whinging for sometime. Your home in spinner’s end has the same wards that Lily Potter left behind. I trust you as one of the oldest members of The Order to protect the boy with your life- As I recall was your promise to dear miss Evans– Ah! Miss Potter.” He added tactlessly.
“Grimmauld Place is highly coveted and secure. Why not allow the boy to stay there with the likes of Lupin and the mutt?” He contended.
Dumbledore smiled regretfully. “And yourself Severus? Are you comfortable with Harry Potter's placement with a werewolf and an Azkaban escapee?” His words were pointed and manipulative.
The potions master stayed silent but assumed a withering look towards Dumbledore.
“I supposed not.”
And that was that. Severus’ head retreated from the green fire and his own dusty office came back into view. His calloused hand came up to furtively rub his aching temple. Sighing he pushed his cracking body up from the dusty floor and returned to his bedroom.
“Scourgify,” He hissed at the sour patch of carpet. The threadbare carpet cleaned itself with ease, but left an unfortunate grey stain behind in its wake. Snape scowled at the mark. Just another hindrance in his already busy day. He raised his wand and wordlessly summoned an array of muggle detergents. As he scrubbed the stain away, he peered up at Potter, who was still sleeping deeply within the confines of the plain grey comforter. He would break the news to the boy when he awoke. For now, his lumpy couch would have to be his bed.
Snape slipped down the hall onto the staircase which he was careful on to avoid the loud, creaky top steps. He opened the linen cupboard to remove a very old knitted blanket in a pattern in which could only be described as “doily-like” and resigned himself to sleep.
-
The room was hot. The four stone walls glowed a sickening orange as the flames grew taller. Enclosing the two of them in. It was hot. So hot he struggled for air He raised his uniformed arm to gather the droplets as his forehead dropped a continuous stream of sweat and it fogged up his glasses. No, it wasn't sweat. He was crying. It hurt. He had never felt anything more painful than this. Harry pressed on, his small hand covering as much surface as possible.
Quirrell's face blistered and broiled beneath his hand and he watched the meek man's eyes become wide and panicked. Tears sprung from them, which instantly evaporated away as his former professor became a blinding burst of light. He's a murderer.
Quirrell was dead, Cedric was dead. Everyone he has ever met is going to die. His knees gave out and he shot to the ground. His eyes locked in on himself in the mirror. He looked unusual, as if he was meeting someone for the first time and couldn't remember where they had met before. His face was obscenely flushed and his glasses sat crookedly in a place they never sat.His scar had burst wide open in an ugly streaky gash. Harry peered through as the scar began to swell further open, revealing the disgusting image of Voldemort with his curling yellow grin.
“Potter!”
There were large calloused hands on the side of his head, smoothing the damp curls there.
“Potter wake up,” his professor's voice came urgently. The timber of his voice made Harry jolt forcefully against his chest and he grasped the bedspread for purchase to scramble away from him. The man luckily remained silent.
“Where am I?!” he whisper-shouted from the corner of the bed which was squeezed against a cold peeling wall.
The room was plain, barring a few stains and several cases of books.There was a deep orange glow of the sun outside, which had a too-similar resemblance to the stone dungeon walls from his dream. The dark look of the English midlands sky made it impossible to immediately tell whether the sun was setting or just beginning to rise. Professor Snape was here, and he was no longer at the Dursley’s home.
“Dumbledore has requested my particular skills in teaching you the art of Occlumency while you await the beginning of the school year.” Snape said slowly and deliberately.
“I need to see Dumbledore-,” Harry said immediately
“You will do no such thing.” Snape's face was pinched and stern. “Dumbledore has left strict instructions that you are to remain at Spinner’s End, under my care. Dumbledore is away on highly consequential ministry business and shall not be disturbed by the likes of you. Especially not under the pretense of petty complaints.”
Harry stared at the slender man hotly with his brow darkened.
“Are you able to walk yet?” Snape prodded.
Harry looked to his legs, which were still in his muggle tracksuit pants, and slowly stood trying to sway away the jelly-like feeling . He made a non-committal noise, sitting again and watched as Snape turned his back toward the entry to the room.
“Dinner is normally at eight. I will serve it now. Make your way down the kitchen.” Harry watched as his back disappeared through the door until he was gone.
Spinner’s End. Harry pushed up from the bed with his weak legs, which wanted to collapse under his full weight. He took careful steps on the lumpy carpet and looked out the window to the darkening streets. A singular street lamp flickered to life at the entrance to the court. From what Harry could tell, it was incredibly dull, as much of England was. Below, there were simple cobbled pathways and a horizon of large industrial factories. Judging from the angle, he was only on a second floor, and definitely not in a large Malfoy-like mansion that towered over all the muggles menacingly. He sighed. He hoped he wouldn’t be here too long. Dumbledore had received his letter, since Hedwig was able to find the Headmaster. It seemed likely that this was only a temporary hold. He hoped Dumbledore would move him on to The Burrow with the Weasley's or maybe even Hogwarts.
Harry drew away from the window which was ice cold, despite the lack of snow. He was wearing a too large black knit sweater that swayed slightly as he walked. As he made it to the stairs he had to grasp the handrail tightly for fear of falling from his unfaithful legs. The top three steps groaned as he wobbled atop them, so he hurried his pace. The last thing he needed to do was fall over and break his neck on his Potion teacher’s stairs.
The kitchen was nearby. Everything in this place appeared to be very tight quarters, which was much unlike the Dursley's spacious picket fence home. Except for his cupboard Of course. He had long outgrown that. Despite the tight squeeze, he found that he sometimes longed for the solitude. There was some semblance of peace in there. Despite being trapped in, He also had no chores within the cupboard, nor was Dudley “Duddikins” Dursley very much interested in jumping down each stair anymore. Likely due to his bacon filled body, Harry thought spitefully.
Harry waited silently at the door to the kitchen, watching Snape stir a fragrant dish at the stove. It surprised Harry to sniff the air and find that his mouth watered at the food.
“You may sit down, Mr. Potter.”
How he knew Harry was there even with his back turned, Harry did not know. In spite of the groaning steps, Harry had been completely silent in his descent and study of his professor's home. Still, he wordlessly sat. Harry regarded Snape thoughtfully. He hoped that the pleasant smells coming from the pot on the stove weren't from any kind of charm meant to make the dish more appealing.
He remembered a time where Aunt Marge had insisted she cook instead of his Aunt Petunia. The meal was a dreadful tasting and rather burnt roast beef, which she smothered in minced garlic in her attempt to cover up its mealy taste. He was lucky that she was not fond of serving him a large portion.
However, when Snape turned to plate the dish, Harry had to hold back a look of shock. Not only did the food smell amazing, but it also looked incredibly palatable.
“Erm, thank you. What is it?” Harry said in mild wonderment.
“Complaining again. Potter?” Snape quipped, as he summoned the utensils that were not yet at the table..
Harry shook his head.
“It is chicken biryani. An Indian dish I thought you'd be well aware of.” Snape told him matter of factly. “Now eat.”
“My aunt never cooked it before. Actually, my aunt and uncle don't even order Chinese takeaway.” Harry said, a bit flustered that Snape appeared to be challenging him. Snape did not comment, going back to eating his own meal, which was delicious.
“After your meal we will be discussing your state of disarray and how you found yourself to be so injured. Likewise, where your relatives are.” Snape said as he neared the end of his plate.
“It’s not-” Harry started to speak.
“After dinner.” Snape said with a stern tone of finality. Harry sighed internally. He wondered what Dumbledore had already told the man, and how much he would need to give away now.
Dinner continued in awkward silence, Snape's watchful eye surveying every movement, until Harry's entire plate was cleared. Harry softly stood with his plate and
Held it in a clenched grip as he wandered towards the kitchen sink. He had hoped that his legs had strengthened up by now, but of course his luck was ever thin. Suddenly, the plate twisted away from his grip and sped towards the sink to wash itself, something he had only seen in passing at the Burrow.
The force of the dish leaving his hands, as harry tried to hold on tightly brought Harry crashing to the titled floor. Harry scrunched his eyes closed to will away the sudden wetness behind his glasses.
‘Mr. Potter!” Snape called out from his place in the lounge.
“The dish! It-!” Harry started to explain frantically, looking between his hands and the dish rack where the plate was being fussed by the tea towel.
Snape looked at him in exasperation.
“Well I was holding on so tight professor- and I had no idea it would- and my legs are still a bit-!” Harry continued on, without leaving a gap for Severus to cut in.
“Mr. Potter!" He raised his voice, stunning the boy into silence. They boys mouth hung gaping before he seemed to realise his rudeness.
“You should have told me that you had side effects from the potions I gave you.”
Well of course the boy was having side effects, a dosage for his age group typically consists of a full vial of wiggenweld potion. In his haste. Snape had administered the full vial, thinking nothing of it– only to now be faced with consequences of a seriously underweight fifteen year old with a bad case of Wizards Wobbles.
Harry, still flat on his arse, looked up at the slender professor and attempted to will his cheeks to stop burning.
“Sorry Sna- Professor Snape.” He finally landed on. The clenching of Severus's jaw was severe and a throbbing vein appeared at the man's temple as he watched the boy attempt to climb to his feet a swift flick of his wand had a small sack of something levitating into the kitchen. Snape carefully fished through it and found a small speckled stick of muesli.
It was roughly thrust at Harry, who was told to eat it. Harry, without much examination, took it and chewed. Though slightly stale, it was still pleasant enough to eat. It reminded him of his aunt's "Special-health" Christmas slice. He mulled over the taste as he chewed slowly. Muesli, cinnamon, brown sugar and something…well he wasn't quite sure he had ever tasted this ingredient before.
At this point Severus' senses must have tingled. “It's infused with a candied asphodel root. Asphodel can be found in wiggenweld potion-this you should know by fourth year., Mr. Potter. It's use here is to dilute the dosage of the more potent ingredients here. Given half an hour your symptoms shall be alleviated.”
Harry really wasn't in the mood for a lecture, rolling his eyes discreetly. Not in the mood at all, whether is was about his lack of drive in potions classes or about the Dursley’s.
With that, Snape turned, his robes swaying with force behind him. Harry had just been about to continue in his attempt to stand again when a sudden mutter of the words “levicorpus” were heard. /Oh no./
Snape positioned his wand as the boy let out a struggling yawp and writhed midair as he was transported to the couch in the equally grey living area. Harry clambered for a moments and was finally set down.
“I could do it myself!” He shouted in disbelief.
“You will address me as Professor Snape or Sir while you reside here.” Snape said, deflectively.
“Now, pay close attention. I will not repeat.”