After watching Potter at dinner, during which the boy managed to eat two slices of bread, Severus strode to his potions lab in the dungeon. His dark cloak flared behind him and students scurried to clear his way. Severus sneered at them.

The potions lab was as he had left it, not one ingredient or tool out of place, not one speck of dust to sully the pristine brightness. Severus ran his gaze along the rows of ingredients in flasks and jars with proper legible labels. They were organized not alphabetically, but by property and reactivity, in an intuitive system specific to Severus but easily grasped by any Potions Master. No unwanted reactions would occur in this lab due to improper ingredient storage. Bright colors shone in some vials, ooze and pickled creature parts lurked in others. Severus took a deep breath and exhaled. He was master of this domain.

After taking a few deep breaths, he had reached the proper mindset, with stillness and calmness welling up from his center to coat the exterior of his mind and guide his thoughts. His senses enhanced, he was poised to monitor a potion with care and neutralize any adverse reactions almost before they happened. This was the creative state reached by a Potions Master at work in his field of mastery, a deep synthesis of all his knowledge and experience guiding his hands and his decisions as he brewed.

Severus began to assemble his ingredients, his hands taking vials from the shelves while his mind divined the structure and details of the potion. Each component of the potion would be poised to react when needed, knowing its place in the intricate dance of fluids that made a body. That was what he brewed. Ginger and nettles were for absorption, and newt liver and calf’s blood, he chose for their nutrients. Severus added chopped sunflower roots to encourage a growth spurt. Now that he was fed properly, there was no reason for the boy to remain so short. Peppermint to mask the taste of the potion and make it palatable – not the usual practice, but for a frightened child raised among Muggles with no knowledge of potions, the taste of the potion should be familiar.

Chopping and mixing, Severus judged the correct proportions, the balance of components that would work together as a harmonious whole. Thoughts of Harry Potter lurked in one corner of his mind while he worked, his intuition as a Potions Master directing him to modify the nutrient potion to best suit the boy.

The synthesis, the subtle balances and decisions that Severus made, the specific adjustments, and the precision obtained without an external guide, these were the things that elevated Potions from science to art. Subtlety, control, the precise addition of a spark of his own personal magic, these were the flourishes that Severus added. These were all reasons why his students were miserable failures, he reflected as he bottled the finished potion. None of them understood the supreme transcendence, the crossing of the line between science and art, the personal sacrifices required. It was not enough to memorize properties and reactions and recipes, for to brew a true, effective potion, the brewer lost and rediscovered his self in the process, subsuming himself in his art. Severus had immersed himself in the potion as he had brewed it, had lost touch with the world for an hour, and now he emerged, reborn once more into himself.

Severus found the Potter boy alone in the Slytherin common room, dozing in a chair by the fire with an open book on his lap. Laughter and chatter could be heard from the first year boys’ dormitory and Severus frowned. He knew that Potter was rather isolated from his classmates, but to find him alone, apart from the other boys – he remembered now Draco’s words, “He barely talks to anybody in Slytherin, he just looks at me with those big green eyes of his and I don’t even know if he understands when I insult him, he doesn’t even respond.” It struck him then that Potter was alone in every sense of the word, alone before his destiny – as every man was in the end – but alone in his every day world and in his childhood as well.

“Mr. Potter,” Severus said with a sharp bitter tone in his voice, to wake the child and break his own reverie. “Mr. Potter.” At the second call, the boy jumped, the book falling from his lap, and he flinched at the noise.

“S-sorry, professor,” he said, scrambling to retrieve the book, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I’m sorry.”

Severus watched the boy run his fingers along the spine of the book. “There is no rule against sleeping in the common room, Mr. Potter, although I imagine you would find yourself more comfortable in your bed. That is not what I am here to discuss with you now, however.” Severus withdrew a vial full of the nutrient potion from one of the many pockets in his robe. “This is for you.”

“For me, sir?” The boy stared at the vial but made no move to reach out and take it.

“Indeed.” Severus placed the vial in the boy’s hand. “You will take one spoonful every morning before breakfast. This potion will help you to better absorb the nutrients in your food, as well as providing you with any additional nutrients that you do not receive. Something, which I might add, is very likely to occur if you continue to eat only bread and chicken broth, Mr. Potter. Have you no idea of the complex nutritional requirements of your body?”

“I … what do you mean, sir?”

“I mean that you need to be eating fruits, vegetables, and meats, child. Your body continues to grow, or it will if you are properly nourished, and two slices of bread at dinner is not sufficient.” Severus frowned at the boy, at his wide innocent eyes. “I do not know the details of your upbringing among the Muggles, but here you are not to be starved or to eat scraps and leftovers. It may take some time for your stomach to adjust to normal food, but you will eat balanced meals and not only bread, is that understood?”

“You’re … you’re sure that it’s allowed, sir?” Potter stammered.

“Yes, of course it is allowed. You need to understand your situation here, Mr. Potter. You are the famous Boy Who Lived. You surely cannot think that you would be denied food and basic necessities by the wizards who owe our current state of peace to you?”

“I don’t know … I mean … I … There must have been a mistake about that, sir. I’m not anybody special and the … the thing about the Boy Who Lived … I mean, probably they just made a mistake, didn’t they? Whoever thought that I did something special, I mean?”

Severus scowled. It was the longest speech that the boy had uttered to date, and he didn’t even know where to start correcting it.

“You are indeed the Boy Who Lived,” he said at last. “You are indeed responsible for the fall of Voldemort.”

“I don’t … don’t remember anything about it.”

“You remember nothing?” Severus raised an eyebrow, an expression that often sent his youngest students into panic attacks.

“I … I did have a strange dream once … a woman, I think she was my mother… there was a bright green light and a flying motorcycle … but Uncle Vernon said that motorcycles don’t fly, of course I know that but … well, broomsticks fly, don’t they, sir?”

“You were very young and perhaps it is understandable that you do not remember much. I can tell you that after you survived the Avada Kedavra cast by Voldemort, which as you noted does manifest as a green light, you were brought by Hagrid to your relatives in a flying motorcycle.”

The boy’s eyes widened even further. Severus cursed Lily Potter for giving her son such expressive eyes, such appealing waif-like eyes. It was hard to hate a boy whose eyes were so large and innocent, hard to hate him for his parentage or his celebrity. Severus folded his hands behind his back. The boy’s eyes appeared so wide because his face was so thin, that was all. Severus would ensure that he was properly fed and when the boy was no longer half-starved, his eyes would not be so large and appealing, freeing Severus to hate him again.

“Remember,” Severus said, “one spoonful of the potion before breakfast each day. That vial should last for a week. Come to me at the end of the week and I will provide you with another vial of it.”

“I … thank you, sir. Nobody’s ever done anything so nice for me before,” the boy said, his head turned down and his eyes focused on the floor.

“You are welcome,” Severus said and made his usual exit with a dramatic flourish of his robes.

----------

The Potter boy took a piece of bacon for breakfast the next morning along with his now usual slice of dry toast. Severus, watching him, felt his lips twitch in his effort not to smile at the child. Potter’s green eyes met his eyes and Severus nodded, aware of the curious glances that Draco Malfoy directed toward them. Draco watched Potter suck the last taste of bacon grease off of his small pale hand. Severus scowled, displeased by his godson’s interest in the boy. Draco could not be permitted to interfere with his plans, with his revenge. When Draco turned to speak with Crabbe and Goyle, Severus darted a furtive glance at Potter, at wide green eyes and thin fingers that clutched at his precious slice of toast. It was harder and harder to remember the importance of his revenge when he was confronted with this child.

Severus shook his head. It was still revenge against James and Lily Potter, regardless of his attitude toward their child. If he rescued the boy, saved him from his pathetic excuse for a family, it did not matter if he regarded the boy with scorn or pity or compassion. The crux of the matter was the unchangeable fact that the spirits of James and Lily Potter had watched their child suffer and had been helpless to rescue him. The crux of the matter was that they would now watch their hated enemy rescue their son, would watch and be helpless still. This was his triumph over them, and if in rescuing the boy he came to see that Harry Potter was more than the sum of James and Lily Potter, if he felt some concern for the boy’s suffering, it was irrelevant and did not change or lessen this triumph. Severus set down his empty teacup and stalked from the room to his Potions classroom, filled with the renewed desire for vengeance. He would save Potter and he would laugh at the graves of Potter’s helpless parents.

The first year Slytherins and Gryffindors had Potions first that morning. Severus paused outside the classroom door until the exact instant at which class began and swept into the room. He kept his footfalls and the dramatic motions of his robes silent as he made his way to the front of the classroom. The students jumped when he spun to face them.

“Page thirty-four in your text, class. Mercurius Hopstick invented the Befuddlement Draught in an attempt to counter the most potent truth serum then known, the Au Claire Serum. Can anyone tell me why his attempt failed?”

Severus scanned the class. Hermione Granger was squirming in her seat with her hand raised high and she looked like a seal begging for fish. He snorted to himself at the thought. The other Gryffindors were bent over their texts, quills scratching at their notes in an attempt to avoid being called to answer the question. The Slytherins were calm, as those who didn’t know the answer had the sense not to draw his attention by scrambling for it. Gliding between the rows of students, Severus’s gaze paused on his godson. “Mr. Malfoy?”

The poised young man glanced down at his text before meeting Severus’s eyes. “Is it the … rosemary, sir?”

“No,” Severus snapped, disappointed. His godson, who had studied potions with him for two years now, should have known the answer. The class was full of blank faces and one squirming overachiever. Severus sighed. He hated to boost the girl’s ego, but perhaps it would give Draco the boost of incentive to study harder if he was shown up by a Muggle-born girl. “Granger?”

“The reaction of the rosemary with the newt eyes neutralizes the licorice root and gives the potion its effectiveness, sir. Licorice root is a stimulant of higher brain functions, and the stimulation followed by its rapid neutralization, leads to …”

“Incorrect, Miss Granger. Please note in the future that concise and correct answers are required in this class. We have no use here for a … faulty … encyclopedia.” Severus sneered at her. “Does anyone else know? Or were you all too preoccupied with your insignificant social lives to complete the assigned readings?” Severus scanned the class, enjoying the squirming of the students in their seats. First year students were pathetic, far too easy to castigate.

He quirked one eyebrow at the tentative motion the Potter boy made to raise his hand. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

The boy blinked and swallowed, and when he spoke his voice was just audible in the silent dungeon classroom. “In – in the combination of the two potions, sir, the snakeskin in the Befuddlement Draught would react with the juniper in the Au Claire Serum. Because the snakeskin must react with the licorice root in order for … for it to be neutralized by the newt eyes and rosemary, this … this keeps the Befuddlement Draught from working, sir.” Potter looked down at his desk when he had finished. His shoulders were slumped and his shoulder blades protruded.

Severus scowled at the reminder that the boy was still skeleton-thin. “Correct, Mr. Potter. Ten points for Slytherin and ten more if you can describe a way to avoid the problem which you just described.” He held his breath to hear the boy’s answer, not willing to break the silence with an over-loud exhalation.

The boy stuttered, “Gr-ground moonstone, if it were added before the snakeskin.”

Severus nodded. “You may make the appropriate modifications to your potion if you wish, Mr. Potter. The rest of you incompetent dunderheads will follow the recipe as presented in the text as you hadn’t the wit to research the potions properly. You will never make any experimental additions to your potions in this class without first researching them thoroughly. Get to work now. You’ll find your ingredients on the third shelf in the student cupboard. No partners today, this is a quiz. You’ll be testing your potions at the end of the period.”

Stalking through the classroom, Severus paused to correct mistakes. “Granger, cut the snakeskin into thinner stripes. Weasley, only three pinches of rosemary, are you too incompetent to read? Have you ever attempted to breathe and walk at the same time, or is that too taxing for your intellect?” He stopped by Neville Longbottom’s workstation, which resembled a jungle overrun by guerilla warfare more than it resembled a potion. “Longbottom, take a zero for the day and get out of my classroom before you manage to injure someone. Return when you’re prepared.”

Severus smirked at the demoralized Gryffindors before moving on to the Slytherins. “This is quite acceptable, Mr. Malfoy, although you’ve ground your licorice root too fine. Note that the potion is a few shades darker than the proper pale blue.” A half-smirk was the subtle signal that told his godson that he was forgiven for his earlier error.

Crabbe and Goyle, though working separately, had produced identical purple-gray sludge in their cauldrons instead of a potion. Goyle copied Crabbe, who copied Malfoy’s actions but missed at least two steps out of every seven. Severus sneered at them, refusing to comment, and moved on.

Severus stopped by Potter’s cauldron. The potion, the proper shade of blue, was simmering, and Severus could tell from the faint scent of the vapors that the boy’s potion was correct. He glanced at Potter and saw that he was pale and trembling, that he was avoiding his Professor’s gaze. “Well done, Mr. Potter,” Severus said, keeping his voice as low and soothing as he could make it.

Potter jerked and stiffened, turning his eyes up to look at Severus for one brief second. Severus saw shock and fear there, the cringing dread of scathing remarks such as the ones which had been directed at the other students. All of these emotions poured off of the shaking boy with such intensity that Severus required no Legilimency to read them. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Mr. Potter,” he said. It was rare of him to compliment his students but Potter was shaking and afraid. For some reason, Severus wanted to reassure him, to stop his shaking. “Your potion is perfect,” he said.

Severus had considered the possibility of keeping Draco Malfoy after class to give his godson a much-needed talk about his study skills and more importantly, distract him from his constant surveillance of Harry Potter. He discarded the idea, realizing that the object of his godson’s surveillance was still pale and frightened. “Mr. Potter, please stay after class. The rest of you are dismissed, clean up after yourselves and get out of my classroom. Do attempt to concentrate when you read chapter three in your texts for next week because I will make you rue the day of your birth if you dare to repeat today’s pathetic incompetent performances again.”

Potter began to clean his workstation, but Severus stopped him before he could discard his potion. “Bottle that,” he told the boy. “We’ll keep it in the stockroom. It’s not a potion in great demand, but there’s no need to waste it.” He spoke to the boy in a soft voice that went unheard by the hurrying, fleeing students around them. Potter nodded, his shaking a little decreased, and followed the directions.

“Let’s go into my office,” Severus said after the last student had scurried out.

“I … I have Charms next,” the boy said.

“I’ll write you a pass.” Severus led the boy into his office, closing the door behind them.

“You did well in class today,” Severus said, trying to soothe the nervous boy. “How did you learn so much about potions?”

The boy rarely fidgeted. Standing there while Severus was seated behind his desk, the boy did not move. It was a trait Severus had admired but now found disquieting. It was unnatural for an eleven year old boy to hold himself still. Potter was tense, held himself poised to flinch or retreat, always wary. “I … the library, sir. There are so many books there.”

“Do you like books in general, or are you interested in potions specifically?”

“I … I like books, sir. I … the school I went to before I came here … there was a library where I could read during recess and my cousin never found me there.”

Severus watched the boy, waited for him to say more. Potter had stopped trembling when they moved from the classroom to the office, but he did not make eye contact. Severus waited for the silence to weigh upon the boy and loosen his tongue. Subtlety was required in dealing with this boy just as it was required in the precise brewing of complicated potions.

Patience was its own reward. “I … I feel safe in the library, sir. And … and … perhaps, if I study Potions … perhaps you …” the boy shivered and leaned backward. “Sorry, I’m sorry, never mind.”

Severus frowned. “Do have a seat, Mr. Potter,” he said, “and finish your sentence.”

The boy came forward, all timid angles and sharp skeletal lines, to sit in the chair. “I … I just … I thought maybe if I studied and learned a lot about Potions you would like me a little bit,” he said in a barely intelligible scramble.

A flood of emotions hit Severus, shock and outrage predominant among them. “How dare you presume to say such a thing, Mr. Potter?” The boy began to stammer an apology but Severus stopped him with a glare. “I do not like my students, Potter. If you are looking to be coddled or liked, I suggest that you find yourself another Head of House. I do not tolerate wishy-washy emotional nonsense and I will not be swayed by any work or bribery on your part.”

“I – I – I didn’t mean it, I … I’m s-sorry sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I just … I’m grateful, sir, I really am grateful for everything you’ve done for me, I … I … please, sir, p-please.” The boy gasped and trembled, folding his thin body into the corner of the chair that was furthest from Severus. “P-p-please, sir.”

Severus groaned to himself. Every step he made toward gaining the boy’s trust, toward rescuing him, toward achieving his revenge on the boy’s parents, was almost immediately neutralized by his own mistakes. This child had trusted him last night, had thanked him, had studied hard in order to impress him, and in return Severus frightened him in class and reduced him to a shaking bundle in the corner of a chair afterwards.

“I … Mr. Potter, please cease this emotional display at once,” Severus said. “I … I do not dislike you as much as I had expected … you must realize that I do not like any of my students, it is nothing that you have done wrong.”

It is nothing that Harry Potter has done wrong, and it is everything that Potter’s father has done wrong. Potter’s father has wronged me and Potter … and Potter has been wronged, wronged by every soul he had reason to trust. Severus would not give the boy reason to trust him and then betray that trust. He moved forward from behind his desk and came to stand by Potter’s chair.

Severus set his hand, tentative and light, on Potter’s shaking shoulder. The boy flinched and froze in his shaking. The muscles of his shoulder were taut against the bones, tense and poised. Severus grasped his shoulder more firmly, held the boy in place.

“It’s all right,” he said in a quiet voice. “Please don’t cry. It will be all right, it will. You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing at all. There’s no need for you to be frightened.”

Potter looked up at him, his green eyes dry and his face pale. “I-I’m sorry, sir. I really didn’t mean it. I’m not asking you to like me, sir, I’m not. You’ve done so much for me already, sir. I don’t want you to think that I’m ungrateful, I’m not, I really appreciate everything. You’ve been so kind to me, you don’t have to like me, I …” The boy stopped and buried his head in his arms once again.

Severus rested his thin potion-stained hand on Potter’s shoulder and left it there. “You’re not accustomed to being liked by anyone, are you Harry?” he asked.

The boy looked up at Severus again. “I …” he swallowed, his throat moving with the motion. “I … please, sir, can I go to Charms now?”

Severus held Potter’s thin shoulder, felt the boy’s bones move under his skin when he moved. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

Potter – Harry – looked away again. Severus felt the boy’s muscles tense under his hand, the fibers of muscles banding together and holding themselves stiff and ready. Skin and muscle and bone, fragile and warm and living, under Severus’s hand, not trusting Severus’s touch. Now was not the time for confrontations or difficult emotions. Severus let his hand drop, let it fall to his side and he took a step back from the child.

“I’ll write you a note for Professor Flitwick,” he said.

Severus brushed his hand against small tense fingers in a fleeting caress when he handed Harry the note. He held the boy there for an instant, long enough to feel the chill from his cold hands. “Mr. Potter – Harry,” Severus said. “If you’d like to come down to the dungeons after dinner on Friday, I’ll teach you how to make the nutrient potion that you’re taking.”

For a long second, silence hung between them and Severus wondered if there would be a response to his peace offering.

The boy grasped the note and drew his hand back. He gave a quick jerky nod and then fled Severus’s office.