The Head of Slytherin House leveled his most intimidating glare at the fidgeting first year students. Severus Snape issued his curt welcoming speech by rote, his gaze wandering across the Slytherin common room. The first years were huddled together in small clusters and some of them were shaking. Severus met the calm pale eyes of Draco Malfoy and gave the boy a faint but visible nod of approval.

Severus concluded his speech with, “Remember that you are now Slytherins and your misbehaviors will reflect poorly on a House that has been proud for centuries. I won’t say that you must behave perfectly, only that you must do so when others are present. Do not bring disgrace upon Slytherin, or I will make you regret it.” Before sweeping out of the room, Severus let his gaze rest on the small figure in a pathetic huddle away from the other clusters of students. Vivid green eyes, too large for the boy’s face, were focused on his Head of House. In response to Severus’s glance, Potter ducked his head and looked at the floor.

Harry Potter sorted into Slytherin – his parents are beating on the lids of their coffins to come back to life and rescue their pampered little prince. Severus snorted as he let the door to the common room close with a wooden clack behind him. “I’ll just ignore the brat,” he muttered to himself. “He’s got enough attention without needing any of mine, he has the whole wizarding world to fawn over him. I won’t even acknowledge him – I can’t treat him as I will the other Slytherins, but he must have some redeeming virtue since he was sorted into Slytherin.”

The Bloody Baron floated past Severus in a wave of silver dignity. “Talking to yourself so early in the semester, Severus? That’s hardly a good sign.”

Severus snarled at him and stalked down the hallway to his chambers. The Potter brat, with his waif-like emerald eyes, was driving him mad already.

Three days passed and Severus forgot some of his initial indignation at having the Potter brat in Slytherin House – after all, the boy had caused no trouble yet. He graded summer essays in his office, secure in the knowledge that his students were too intimidated to come to his office hours. The sound of his quill scratching against parchment was the only sound in the blessed quiet of the dungeons. He was startled enough to splatter red ink in a violent pattern across a Hufflepuff’s essay on Mandrake restoratives when a knock came at his door.

“Enter,” he called, hiding the splattered essay in a desk drawer. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” he asked his godson.

Draco Malfoy hovered in the doorway, one unelegant wrist twisted at an odd angle to keep his hand on the doorknob. “May I speak with you in private, Professor Snape?” he asked.

“Of course. Shut the door, and have a seat.” Severus set his quill down and cleared stacks of books, rolls of parchment, and dusty potions vials off of a chair with a practiced flick of his wand.

Draco perched on the chair, one hand fidgeting with his silvery locks of hair. Severus suppressed his concern at seeing his godson’s agitation and conjured a pot of tea. “What troubles you, Draco?” he asked with a voice that had gained only a few degrees of warmth.

“It’s Potter,” Draco said, kicking his heels against the legs of his chair and looking at the floor. “I mean, it’s what Potter isn’t and what he doesn’t do.”

Severus waited. Silence could induce coherent thought faster than any other stratagem he knew.

“He isn’t what I expected,” Draco said with a hint of frustration in his voice. “Is it – I don’t know, Uncle Sev – I just don’t understand him and maybe it’s because he’s meant to be in Gryffindor – everybody says he was meant to be there. 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.”

Draco took deep gulps of air, light beads of perspiration shimmering on his forehead. He brushed them away with a quick gesture.

Severus poured a cup of tea and pushed it towards him. Draco took the cup, cradled it in one careless elegant hand, but did not drink. “Is it because he’s been raised by those Muggles, Uncle Sev? Is that why he’s so strange?”

Severus hesitated, looked at his desk and studied the dark grain of the wood rather than meeting the confusion and frustration that were pooled in Draco’s eyes. “What are some specific examples of his behavior that disturb you?”

“He doesn’t talk. I said that, Uncle Sev. He talks when a teacher asks him a direct question, otherwise he just stares.”

“He may be shy, though we all know how unlikely that is. He may be arrogant. The Muggles that raised him might have thought he was above simple things like manners. What else?”

“He never gets any mail,” Draco fiddled with his teacup, his pale fingers tracing the gentle curve of the handle.

“Probably can’t be bothered to write to his Muggle relatives. They wouldn’t have an owl to write to him. What, Draco, you’re surprised that the Boy Who Lived is too arrogant to write to his doting family?”

“Well, then, there’s meal times.” Draco spun his teacup in circles on the desk, making a rough scraping sound. “He doesn’t start eating until everybody else has finished, and he only eats a tiny bit.”

“So he’s sulking because he misses the meals his adoring relatives prepare for him,” Severus retorted.

Draco’s eyelashes fluttered. “He ate a piece of burnt toast for breakfast – without jam or anything. He usually takes just a piece of bread or something. Uncle, have you seen how skinny he is?”

Severus shrugged. “He’s a picky eater. All boys your age are skinny – it’s a consequence of growing too fast.” With an arched eyebrow, he asked, “Any other peculiar behaviors from the perfect Boy Who Lived?”

Draco caught his tongue between his teeth and held it there for several seconds. Silver-blond hair swung in front of his eyes and he pushed it back. “He sleeps in the closet. I don’t know, maybe it’s a weird Muggle thing or something. He waits until he thinks we’re all asleep and then he creeps into the room and sleeps in the closet. He uses his shoes for a pillow.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment before it broke and snapped back on Severus like a broken elastic band. “How peculiar.”

“It isn’t some Muggle custom then?”

“It is not a custom of which I’m aware, no. I will speak to Potter about this, Draco, thank you for bringing it to my attention.” Severus sighed after Draco closed the door behind him. “A conversation with the Potter brat – what joy is mine.”

Potter approached Snape’s desk after being told to remain after his Potions class. Severus bent his attention to the work on his desk and watched Potter through his eyelashes. The boy stood as still as a winter lake, with none of the fidgeting or sighs his classmates would have displayed. Severus considered the boy’s strange behavior, the trepidation evident in his pose. The brat had brewed an acceptable potion, hadn’t misbehaved in class, and yet he held himself wary and tense.

Severus set down his quill. “Let us adjourn to my office, Mr. Potter. Follow me.”

Severus seated himself behind his desk. Potter remained standing several paces away from the desk, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Do you know why I wished to see you, Mr. Potter?”

The boy darted a glance up at Snape before staring at his feet again. His eyes were emerald bright. “Er … I’m sorry, sir,” Potter mumbled.

Severus hated those wide innocent eyes. “Speak in a clear and distinct manner when you address me, Mr. Potter. I will not tolerate indistinct muttering from you. For what are you sorry?”

Another quick glance upward and then Potter stared at the floor again. “Er … I don’t know, sir. I guess,” he said, with another quick look at his professor, “I guess I’m sorry for … for the potion I made?”

“What was wrong with the potion you made, Mr. Potter?”

Potter chewed on his lower lip and risked another glance at Severus. “I was … umm … reading last night … this great book, I found it in the library … I didn’t think you’d mind if I read it, sir.”

“How does that book relate to today’s potion?” Severus kept his tone of voice neutral despite his annoyance with the boy’s skittishness and evasion.

“Well, sir .. umm … it suggested that the reaction of comfrey with thyme would stabilize the interaction … the belladonna with the hedgehog spines … I’m sorry, really I am, sir.” Potter looked at him again before ducking his head.

“You added comfrey before adding the belladonna, then? That would explain why your potion was a few shades off. You were correct about the reaction of the comfrey, but it is often left out of this potion. It strengthens the potion, but it also shortens its shelf life.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” The Potter boy stared at the floor.

“Can you tell me why it shortens the shelf life of the potion, boy?” Severus asked in a silky voice.

Potter jumped as though he’d been slapped and took a step backwards. “Umm … umm … is it because the comfrey reacts with the powdered beetles?”

“Correct, Mr. Potter. I must admit that I am impressed. Did you study your Potions textbook before your arrival here at Hogwarts?”

The boy took another step backwards and kept his gaze on the floor. “No … no, sir, I’m sorry.”

Severus exhaled. Take deep breaths, release your irritation, he told himself. “I’m not angry with you about the potion or about the reading,” he said.

Potter started to fidget for the first time. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor and leaned backwards. He was now closer to the door to Severus’s office than he was to the desk.

Severus sighed again. “Have a seat, Potter. Do you really not know what you’ve done?”

The boy slid into the chair that had been cleared off for Draco. He looked tiny in the large wooden chair. Severus decided that he was even scrawnier than Draco had described to be. “I won’t do it again, sir,” Potter said.

“Oh?” Severus leaned forward, his elbows scraping against the edge of his desk. “What is it that you won’t do again?”

Potter, who had perched on the edge of the seat of the chair, slid backwards until his back was ramrod straight against the chair’s back. “What … whatever you think it is that I’ve done wrong, sir,” he said.

“Oh no,” Severus said. His Slytherin senses scented a weakness. “I think it would be best for you to tell me what transgression you’ve committed.” The boy cowered, and Severus reveled in his power for a moment before pressing his advantage. “Surely you did not expect to come to Hogwarts to be coddled as you were coddled by your adoring relatives, Potter. I am your professor, as well as your Head of House, and I will hold you responsible for your infractions of the Hogwarts rules, just as any other student.”

Potter looked up at him for the briefest second, his green eyes dark and immense against his pale skin. “I … I’m sorry, sir. I knew it was wrong of me, to take the food, but … umm … no one else was taking it and they all were done eating … I’m sorry, sir, I thought it might have been okay. I won’t do it again, sir, please don’t punish me.”

Severus’s hands clenched into fists around the arms of his chair and unclenched. “I … what food are you talking about, Potter?”

He saw another flash of green as the boy dared to look at him for an instant. “The food in the Great Hall, sir … I ate some of it. I … umm … well, it disappears after the meals, so I thought – I thought it might not be too wrong of me to take some but … well now that I know it’s wrong, I won’t do it anymore sir, I won’t. Please … please don’t tell my uncle, sir. You can punish me however you like.”

“Potter …” Snape paused. With a nonverbal Legilimens he brushed against the boy’s mind and felt overwhelming fear and hunger and desperation, but nothing to indicate that the boy was lying to him. “Mr. Potter, let me assure you that I am not angry with you about the food that you have eaten. On the contrary, I wish to assure you that you are welcome to eat as much food in the Great Hall as you wish to eat. That food is provided for the students to eat, it is provided for all of the students, and you need not wait for the others to eat or starve yourself unnecessarily.”

The boy sat hunched against the back of the chair, his shoulders slumped and his arms wrapped around himself. Severus could see the outlines of his frame now that his overlarge robe was pulled tight around his body, could see that the boy was very thin. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a house elf. “Tea for two, toast and chicken broth for one,” he said.

The Potter brat was trembling at the sight of the house elf. Severus suppressed his irritation at the Muggle-raised boy. Now it was more important to ensure that the boy managed to consume some calories rather than sniping at a boy who hadn’t seen a house elf before or worrying about old rivalries. The slights that Potter’s father had committed against Severus, the condescending kindness of Potter’s mother – Severus pushed those to the back of his mind. Potter was a child and he was a Slytherin and he was so thin.

The house elf returned with a tray and set it on Severus’s desk. Steam rose from the bowl of soup and Severus pushed the bowl towards Potter, setting a spoon next to it. “Eat this, Mr. Potter, but eat slowly. If your stomach is unused to food, it would be unwise to upset it.”

Severus picked up the teapot and poured tea into the two cups that the house elf had brought. The porcelain of the teapot left a pleasant warmth on his fingers in the cold air of the dungeons.

Potter looked up at him and his green eyes were wide and his gaze rested on Severus for more than a second. “Is this for me, sir?” he asked.

Severus suppressed a sarcastic retort – it wouldn’t encourage the boy to eat. “Yes, Mr. Potter. The soup and the toast are for you. I expect you to eat them.”

The boy made a movement towards the food but then he jerked back. “Professor – what – what would I owe you for the food?”

Severus suppressed a sigh and made his voice gentle. “You would owe me nothing, Mr. Potter. The food here at Hogwarts is for everyone.”

The boy jerked backwards. He pressed his body tight against the back of the chair that Severus wondered if the boy could melt into the wood. “It’s for … everyone? What sort of everyone?”

Again Severus suppressed a sigh. “The food here is for all of the students. This food, here, is for you. You owe me nothing for it. Your parents paid for your tuition, room and board at Hogwarts before you were even born.” Severus kept his thoughts away from James and Lily Potter. He was a trained Occlumens. He could organize his thoughts so that Harry Potter did not remind him of James and Lily Potter. The boy was a separate entity after all.

Harry Potter made a tentative movement toward the spoon. When Severus did not react, he picked up the spoon and took his first mouthful of chicken broth. The boy made no noise as he ate, and he glanced frequently at Severus. It was as though he expected the food to be taken away from him, or as though he expected to be punished for eating … Severus shuddered. The sudden motion made Harry drop his spoon with a metallic sound on the saucer underneath the bowl of soup.

“Eat all of it,” Severus told the boy. “Eat the toast as well.”

The boy nodded, his wide green eyes fixed on Severus for a fleeting second before he looked down at the bowl of soup. It was half-empty, and he resumed eating.

Severus put cream and sugar into one of the cups of tea and pushed that toward the boy. “Drink some tea, Mr. Potter,” he said, ignoring the way that the boy jerked away from him.

Severus toyed with his own teacup while the boy ate and drank. Steam rose in faint pale wisps from the tea, which cooled rapidly in the cool dungeon. Severus pretended to be focused on his teacup but instead watched the boy eat. It was clear that the boy had been starved – he was so thin, and the half-grateful half-wary looks he shot at Severus made it obvious that few people had ever fed him.

Severus ran a fingernail around the rim of his teacup. This was extraordinary. The Boy Who Lived, precious treasure of the wizarding world, beloved son of – Severus stopped himself from reciting the litany of reasons to hate the boy. A wizard, a child who could not protect himself, a Slytherin under Severus’s care – that was the boy who sat before him, a boy who had been starved and neglected. The boy is a Slytherin, Severus reminded himself. A Slytherin, and therefore he was the responsibility of the Head of Slytherin House – Severus’s responsibility.

Severus smiled a sharp vicious smile. The Marauders would have recognized his expression for he had worn it when he was about to retaliate for one of their pranks. The Potters can beat their fists on the lids of their coffins, but it will do them no good, Severus reflected. The boy is mine now – my responsibility – and it is their fault for not having taken better care of him. The sainted Potters, Lily’s Muggle relatives, the interfering old Albus Dumbledore, had all failed this child. It would be the sweetest vengeance possible to rescue this forlorn waif, child of his enemies, to care for him as they could not. Severus smiled his sharp vicious smile and hoped that the deceased Potters were watching their boy from the afterworld beyond the grave, that they watched him care for their boy, and that they suffered, knowing themselves to be helpless and in his debt.

Severus was drawn from his musings on the sweetness of vengeance when the boy finished eating the last crumb of his toast. The boy moistened a finger with his tongue and ran it across the plate to catch any last morsels.

Severus grimaced. “We will discuss table manners at a later date, Mr. Potter,” he told the boy.

“Sir?” the boy looked at him with those huge green eyes and Severus sighed and set his teacup down on the desk.

“There are certain topics which we will discuss now, Mr. Potter, and certain topics which we will discuss later. We will discuss your lack of table manners at a later date, as I am more concerned now with what you eat rather than how you eat it.”

“I … I won’t …” the boy began, but Severus interrupted him.

“Do not take my use of the word “discussion” literally, Mr. Potter. In this case, I will be speaking and you will be listening. I will be sure to let you know when and if your input is required, but until then you will be silent and you will listen.” Severus tried to keep his voice gentle, or to at least be less intimidating than his classroom persona. “I am concerned with the low caloric intake that appears to have been the norm for you and with your dietary habits in general. You are to understand from this point forward that the meals provided in the Great Hall are intended to be eaten by the students at Hogwarts and that you are included in this. You are not obliged to wait for the other students to finish eating before you take your meal and you should understand that there is no shortage of food here.”

Severus paused and regarded the boy, who had raised his gaze from the floor to the desk. That was progress of a sort, Severus supposed.

“I will be present at all three meals in the Great Hall, Mr. Potter, and I can assure you now that I will be watching you at every one of them. If I find that you are not eating, I will call you into my office and we will discuss the matter further. While I am prepared to be lenient with you for a short period in which you will be adjusting to this … change … let me assure you that you will not be happy if I am forced to discuss your eating habits with you in more detail than this. You are a Hogwarts student now, and a Slytherin, Mr. Potter – and we do not starve ourselves. Do you understand me?”

The boy looked up from the desk to glance at Severus for a second before plunging his head down to stare at the floor. “I … umm … I don’t think so, sir.”

Severus silently reviewed the first ten ingredients for the nutrient potion that he would have to make for the brat in an attempt to calm himself. “How precisely was I unclear?” he snapped.

The boy curled further in upon himself and scooted back in the chair further. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry, I …”

Severus interrupted him again, trying to make his voice soothing. Vengeance on Potter’s parents might be sweet, but it was much more work than Severus had expected. Mollycoddling the boy was the last thing he wanted to do. “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said – he would not apologize directly to the brat. “It’s all right if you don’t understand. Just tell me what you didn’t understand and I’ll explain it again.”

The boy looked at him with wide eyes and Severus fought to keep his expression calm and reassuring. “I don’t … don’t, um … understand the part about eating, sir.”

Severus suppressed a sigh. “You are expected to eat food three times a day in the Great Hall, every day, and I will watch you to make sure that you do so. Is that clear enough for you to understand?”

“I …” the boy ducked his head to look at the floor again. “Are you … are you sure that there isn’t some mistake, sir?”

Severus waited, fixing his dark eyes on the nervous boy. Patience and silence and a damnable amount of mollycoddling, that’s what it would take to rescue the boy from the plight to which his lamentable parents had left him.

“I … I just mean … I don’t deserve it, sir … I … I don’t want Uncle Vernon to be angry with me, sir, I … I don’t mean to question you … I just … please …”

Severus interrupted the boy before his incoherence could descend into babbling. “You must understand that the food provided at Hogwarts is for all of the students, including you, Mr. Potter. There is no question about any of them deserving or not deserving food. It is – it is expected that you will eat the food that is provided for you. Your uncle will not be angry with you for eating, I am sure.”

The Potter brat trembled and shook his head. Severus tried another approach. “Your uncle will never know about it,” he said. “Is he the only thing that is stopping you from eating?”

Another darting glance from huge green eyes and the boy clutched at the arms of the chair. “He said – he said that freaks like me don’t deserve to eat.”

With slow, unthreatening movements, Severus leaned across the desk toward Potter. “He was wrong. He was wrong, do you understand me?”

The boy looked up and held Severus’s gaze for a full moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.

Severus leaned back in his chair again. “That’s very good, Mr. Potter. That will be all for now – I think that we will need to have another discussion in a few days, but until then, remember that I will be watching you to ensure that you are eating proper meals.”

The boy nodded and slipped out of Severus’s office, needing to open the door only a sliver in order to slide his thin body out of the room. Severus heard his footsteps echo in the hallway in a frantic beat that indicated that the boy was running.

Severus allowed his body to slip out of its rigid perfect posture and slumped at his desk, his head coming to rest in his hands. This was the brat who was meant to save them all – this shy, flinching waif. He sighed. It would take a lot of work to turn this boy into a savior.

Potter sat at the end of the Slytherin table, apart from the other students. His eyes flickered over the students seated closest to him, Draco Malfoy and his followers Crabbe and Goyle. Potter’s eyes were fixed on them, his gaze was nervous and jerky as he traced their movements. He jerked back and flinched whenever one of the boys reached for the bacon or eggs or toast.

Severus glared at the boy from the Head Table. He had been watching the boy throughout breakfast, watching him stare at the other students and the food as they ate. Potter had not yet eaten anything.

Severus glared at the boy as he reached for his own mug of coffee. It was early in the morning. Quirrell sat beside him, twittering and stuttering like a useless Muggle doll programmed to talk. Albus Dumbledore had offered him a lemon sherbert. The ceiling in the Great Hall was slate-gray and stormy, suggesting that he wouldn’t be able to collect necessary potions ingredients in the Forbidden Forest that afternoon due to the rain.

On a typical day, any one of these would be an excellent reason for Severus’s headache and bad temper. Today his ire was focused on only one topic: Harry Potter was not eating his breakfast.

The boy sat at the end of the table, shoulders hunched and eyes wide as he watched other students devour their breakfasts with nauseating table manners and bright cheerful chatter. Potter watched Crabbe and Goyle compete with each other to cram the most rashers of bacon down their throats. He watched Draco butter his toast and sip his pumpkin juice with aristocratic manners. He watched the plates full of food, a variety of breakfast delicacies both hot and cold, being emptied.

Severus watched the boy watching the food and scowled. The boy remained oblivious to his glare and his plate remained empty. Yesterday’s discussion had not produced the expected result. If anything, Potter had eaten more before his forced confession than he did now.

The boy’s cheekbones jutted out, casting shadows on his pale skin. He was too thin.

If the boy was too thin, another professor would notice and intervene. Severus did not tolerate the meddling of other Hogwarts faculty with his misunderstood Slytherins and they did not care enough to intervene, but the entire wizarding world would leap to the rescue when it came to Harry Potter. That would not suit Severus or his plans for sweet careful vengeance. He would be the one to save the boy. He would be the one to smirk at James Potter’s grave.

Potter flinched when Draco and his two companions stood to leave for their first class. The boy shrank in on himself and looked even smaller when Draco eyed him for a brief instant. Malfoy gave the boy a curt nod and left the Great Hall with his characteristic elegant poise. With the three boys gone, Potter looked down the table to see that none of his classmates were looking toward him. He reached out and grasped a piece of toast with one thin hand, and then devoured it with clumsy speed. Severus watched him eat, watched him lick every last crumb from his fingers before darting from the table and out of the Great Hall.

Severus scowled at the place at the Slytherin table where Harry had been. The boy had not looked at him once.

-----

Lunch in the Great Hall was more animated than breakfast, the sun having emerged from behind the slate-gray clouds to sparkle on the dark wood of the tables, the students having shaken off their morning drowsiness and the professors having renewed their stocks of conversational topics. “Did you hear?” Quirrell babbled at Severus, “one of Flitwick’s first year students managed a perfect Wingardium leviosa on her first try, he was so pleased.” Except for a sneer at the man for his obvious incompetence, Severus ignored him, his attention fixed on the Slytherin table.

Harry Potter was not there. The isolated seat he had claimed at the end of the table was empty. The other students chattered and laughed and ate, ignoring his absence and the corner where he had sat at breakfast. Draco Malfoy, of course, was the exception and he cast frequent glances at Potter’s seat and then at Severus. The boy’s silver-gray eyes were troubled though his expression was unreadable.

Severus forced his facial muscles to remain motionless, his expression neutral. He nodded once at Draco and focused on his own meal of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes to avoid Draco’s curiosity. He would learn of Potter’s whereabouts and the reason behind his behavior, but he would not involve the Malfoy heir more than necessary. His revenge on James Potter would be ill served if he allowed information to be fed to Lucius. While Severus was capable of the precision and art of potions, Lucius cast blunt hexes and obvious attacks, an approach that was not likely to succeed with Dumbledore protecting the Potter boy.

No, Severus was a Slytherin and was more than capable of subtlety. He smirked at his plate, toying with the string beans that the interfering Poppy Pomfrey had piled there with snide comments about the importance of proper nutrition. He stacked the string beans in careful piles, building a green tower in the center of his plate. Revenge in the form of physical harm done to the Potter brat was easy, pedestrian and unimaginative. Lucius, for all that he’d been in Slytherin, would never understand Severus’s revenge. Despite his elegant poise, the man had no appreciation for true elegance, for subtlety, for imagination.

Severus speared a piece of chicken with his fork and sawed it into minute pieces with his knife. Lucius would have to be kept from Harry Potter, kept from harming the child, and that meant decoying Draco with a plausible story. The Malfoy heir had been too attentive to Harry, spying on him and questioning his behaviors, but it would not do to have him sending reports to Lucius. The boy would have to be distracted, stopped or subverted. Nothing, not even his godson, could be permitted to endanger Severus’s plans.

Severus smirked at Draco, watched the slender boy bite into an apple with pale perfect teeth. The apple was a shocking red against the pallor of his face. Draco was Narcissa’s son and had inherited some subtlety from her, but he had been trained by his father. The boy would be easy to manipulate. No, the Malfoys posed no challenge to Severus. Nothing would interfere with his revenge.

Severus would have the pleasure of knowing that his enemy owed him a debt that could never be repaid. He scowled at the boy’s empty seat. He would have vengeance on James Potter if he wasn’t driven to strangle the boy first out of sheer infuriation. Where was the child? Had he concocted a diabolical plan to wear down Severus’s patience and thwart his revenge? Was he determined to starve?

Severus let his fork fall to his plate, where it landed with a thud on a tower of string beans and sent it toppling down into his untouched mashed potatoes. Quirrell gave a surprised squeak at the abrupt noise. With a last menacing glare at him, Severus strode from the Great Hall in search of Potter.

-----

The broad stone corridors of Hogwarts were empty. Most of the students were still at lunch, and Harry Potter did not make it easy for Severus to find him by lingering in the hallways. Severus headed toward the dungeons, his boot heels tapping a rhythm on the stone floor in time with his heartbeat.

The Slytherin common room was deserted, as was the first year boys’ dormitory. Severus lingered there, his eyes resting on the open closet door. Had Draco spoken the truth about Potter’s sleeping habits? Why did the wretched waif sleep in the closet? Severus spun on his heel and strode from the room.

The boy was infuriating. He was disobeying Severus’s explicit orders regarding meals and now he was hiding. Severus scowled and cast a quick locator spell to find him. Where would a first year student, here for less than a week, hide?

Yes, the library, Severus realized as he followed the faint silver trace of the spell. The boy had mentioned reading a “really great book” yesterday. He enjoyed reading then, just as his condescending, obnoxious, smirking mother had. She’d been so high and disdainful, with her books and her pity and her laughter. Severus shoved her out of his mind.

Her son was perched in a large armchair in one of the study areas of the library. His knees were drawn up to his chest and a thick book was balanced on them. Potter was engrossed in his reading, his gaze fixed on the page, and he did not notice his Head of House approach.

Severus studied the boy who looked to be younger than eleven years old, he was so small. With his legs pulled up to his chest, his uniform slid aside, exposing his ankles. They were so thin that Severus imagined he could encircle them both with one hand. How the Potters would react if they could see their cherished son now – Severus could almost take their anguish, pluck it out of thin air and wrap it around himself like a tangible, comfortable cloak.

Severus took a step forward to catch a glimpse of the book on the child’s knees, but his movement startled the boy. Potter’s gaze rested on Severus for an instant, his shocked emerald eyes crystal with fear, before he dropped his gaze to the book again. Potter brought his arms up around himself, clutching his legs to his chest and dislodging the book. Potter huddled in the corner of the armchair.

Severus stared at the boy. Potter was afraid of him? This was sweet, considering the fear James Potter had once inspired in Severus, but it would not do. To have Potter cower and shiver in terror before him was satisfying, but it was not true revenge. It did nothing to the boy’s father. Severus did not question his sudden realization that the son was not responsible for the sins of the father. It was only logical that James Potter should be made to suffer for what he had done, and Severus would see that happen. Harry Potter might be the instrument of his revenge, but he would not be harmed by it, Severus decided.

He bent to pick up the fallen book before sitting in the chair nearest to Potter. He was close, but more than an arm’s length away. Surely that distance would calm the skittish boy. “Mr. Potter?” he asked, keeping his tone of voice calm and steady. “Whatever is the matter?”

The boy’s shoulders shook. His tears, if he was crying, were silent.

“Mr. Potter, let me assure you that you will not be disciplined. I am concerned about your eating habits, yes, but as I informed you yesterday, I am prepared to be lenient with you while you adjust.”

The boy was silent, his shoulders still trembling.

“Can you tell me why you did not attend lunch? Were you afraid?”

The boy gave a quick jerky nod but refused to look at Severus. His skin was pale against the cream color of the armchair and his hair and uniform were small dark blobs against the expanse of whiteness.

“Mr. Potter, please have the courtesy to look at me while I am addressing you. I have assured you that you will not be punished. You have nothing to fear from me.” Severus tried to sound kind and reassuring. The cold tones in his voice thawed a few degrees, but he was otherwise unsuccessful. The boy huddled in on himself still, holding himself in a tight small ball.

“Mr. Potter, you will look at me and explain yourself,” Severus snapped. “Do not test my patience.”

The boy trembled. “Please, sir. Please don’t make me.”

“Be more specific, Potter. What don’t you want to do? I assure you that you will eat. You are far too thin and you will eat if I have to cast an Unforgivable Curse on you to make you do it.”

The boy clutched his knees to his chest, kept his face buried. “N-no, Professor, I – please, don’t make me look at you.”

“Why are you afraid of me, Mr. Potter? Why don’t you want to look at me?”

The boy pressed himself further back into the armchair, making an impression in the cushions in his attempt to move further away from his Professor and the questions he was being asked. Severus sighed, looking down at his pale thin fingers. Why was the boy so terrified? What had happened to frighten him since yesterday? Was he still afraid to eat? Severus’s eyes fell on the book clasped loosely in his potion-stained hands. The book that the Potter boy had been reading was entitled “A Comprehensive Survey of Occlumency and Legilimency for Beginners.”

Severus paled, his gaze going from the book to the frightened boy. He rose, the black folds of his robe falling into place around him. “Let us adjourn to my office, in order to continue this discussion in private,” he said. “I give you my word of honor that I will do nothing to harm you during the discussion, nor will I employ any of the techniques discussed in the book that you have been reading.”

Green eyes streaked with crystal met Severus’s eyes for a second before the boy nodded and let his gaze fall. The boy unfolded himself from the armchair, rather like a marionette being taken from its box, and stood to follow Severus.

-----

“Mr. Potter, please enlighten me as to the source of your interest in Legilimency and Occlumency,” Severus said, taking an oblique opening to the topic after they were both settled into his office. A house elf had popped in with tea and a tray of food for the boy, a steaming bowl of chicken broth and crisp slices of toast. The boy had looked at Severus out of the corner of his eye when he’d requested a repeat of his last meal here. Severus couldn’t fathom the expression on his face, and was tempted to reach out and brush against the boy’s mind with Legilimency. No, it would not help matters, not after he’d promised the boy.

Potter fiddled with the spoon before answering. “I was afraid, sir, that you would … do that thing again, where you touched my mind. I … I didn’t like it,” he said.

“Do you have any questions about the material that you have read thus far?” Severus asked, skirting around his real question.

“I … I don’t think so, sir.”

“Tell me what you have learned, then.” Severus’s stomach rumbled at the rich salty smell of the chicken broth, reminding him of his own half-eaten lunch. “Eat while you are explaining. It wouldn’t do to have you miss lunch.”

“The … the only defense against Legilimency is Occlumency, sir. But most Legilimens have to make eye contact, so if you don’t look at them, then you’re safe.”

“Correct, as far as it goes,” Severus said when the boy paused to take a tentative spoonful of his chicken broth. “Did you learn anything about the legislation that regulates the use of Legilimency?”

The boy froze with his spoon halfway back to his bowl. “I wasn’t going to … to do anything, sir. I know it’s illegal and I would never … please, sir. I wouldn’t.”

The boy knew what Severus had done to him yesterday then. Severus took a deep breath and folded his hands on the desk. “The thought had not crossed my mind. I was more concerned with whether or not you will be reporting me to the appropriate authorities.”

“Report you, sir? What for?” the boy asked with his spoon still poised in midair. Severus gestured at him to continue eating and the boy obeyed.

“Report me for my unauthorized use of Legilimency on you yesterday, of course. You’ve read the laws and know that what I did was wrong.” Severus held his breath, waiting for the boy’s response. He had never before been caught. It was not that he had made a habit of snooping through his students’ vapid minds, but the occasional brush to check their veracity or their emotional state was sometimes useful. Not once, in all his time at Hogwarts, had a student possessed the subtlety and talent to detect his intrusion. That Potter, an untrained first year student, had been able to do so spoke of the boy’s potential.

Severus watched the boy’s large green eyes blink rapidly. The boy might have the talent to save the Wizarding World, but that did not save Severus now. “But what you did wasn’t against the law, sir,” the boy finally said.

“No, Mr. Potter? Do enlighten me. Perhaps I’ve forgotten asking you for your consent, hmm? That is the only scenario where it would be permissible to invade your mind.”

“But those laws don’t apply to me,” Potter said, “I’m just a child.” He took another careful spoonful of chicken broth, his big eyes watching Severus.

“Laws don’t apply to you, Mr. Potter? What an interesting notion. Does that mean that we can look forward to a year full of rule breaking from you?”

“Oh no, sir. There are laws to keep children from doing things. There just aren’t any laws to protect them. I’ll follow all your rules, Professor,” the boy promised.

“Who told you this?” Severus asked, his hands clutching the arms of his chair.

“Uncle Vernon,” the boy said, taking a bite of his toast.

Severus closed his eyes and forced each muscle in his body to relax, one by one. His hands now loose around the chair arms and his breathing slow and calm, he opened his eyes to see the boy watching him. “Mr. Potter, your uncle was mistaken. There are in fact a great number of laws designed specifically to protect children. The more I learn of him, the more I suspect that anything he has ever said to you should be disregarded. Do you understand me?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I am prepared to make you an offer for your silence, Mr. Potter. My offer is not unlimited, but I will grant you anything within reason.”

“For what, sir?”

Severus gripped the chair arms again in his frustration. “Do pay attention to the conversation that we’re having, boy,” he hissed.

Harry Potter turned white and shrank back into the chair, dropping his spoon to the floor. “P-please, sir, please, I’m sorry,” he said.

Severus closed his eyes, relaxed each muscle in his body, and began to recite the list of potions ingredients stored in his cabinets. He opened his eyes to find the boy still white and trembling.

“Calm yourself, Mr. Potter. I have no intention of harming you. I have given you my word,” Severus made his voice as low and soothing as possible. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Potter opened one eye. “I won’t do it again, sir.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. Don’t be frightened.” Potter had stopped shaking, but remained in the corner of the chair, as far away from Severus as he could get.

“Have some more tea and toast. I’ll conjure you a new spoon,” Severus offered.

When relative peace had been restored, the child licking crumbs of toast from his small fingers, Severus tried again. “Perhaps I didn’t explain myself very clearly,” he said. “I meant that you may stipulate a reasonable price, something which I will give you, and in return you will inform no one that I used unauthorized Legilimency on you. Do you understand now?”

The boy hesitated. “Does that count just this one time, or does it mean I have to be quiet about it in the future too?”

Severus blinked. “I will not perform Legilimency on you again without your consent. It was wrong of me to do so in the first place.” Not quite an apology, as Severus hated to apologize, but the boy had been terrified and he could offer him this much reassurance.

Then the boy asked, “And you won’t tell anyone what you saw in my mind, will you, because then they would know.”

Severus nodded. “That is correct. You need not ask for that, Mr. Potter. Nor need you ask for food, as your meals at Hogwarts do not depend on anything that you do. What is your price, then?”

The boy stared at Severus’s desk, and his empty plate and bowl, for a second. “I … I guess … I want your silence, too. In return for mine, that seems fair, doesn’t it?”

“You wish to have my silence about what?”

“The … the food and everything, I don’t want you to tell anyone about that. You can’t tell the Dursleys, or anyone else, because they might tell the Dursleys that I’ve been eating food here.”

“Did you mean to phrase it that way, Mr. Potter? Surely you will want to have my silence about the food that you will eat, as well as the food that you have eaten.”

The boy’s head turned up, his bright green eyes fixed on Severus. “The food that I will eat? Am I still allowed to eat then?”

Severus stared at the boy for a long instant. “Why do you doubt that? I thought that I had made myself clear. You are not only allowed to eat, you are required to eat. There will be no more missed meals.”

The boy looked down at the floor and Severus sighed. It was one step forward and five steps backward with this boy, but it would do no good to force him to make eye contact. “Why do you think that you would not be allowed to eat?” he asked.

“Well, you … you … with the Legilimency, sir. I figured that since you’ve seen how … horrible I am on the inside, you wouldn’t want to give me any more food.”

“Nonsense,” Severus said. He contemplated whether it would be best to inform the boy that he had only brushed the surface of his mind, or whether deeper reassurance was required. Severus bit his lower lip, disquieted by his own sentimentality for the son of his enemy. Still, Harry Potter had done nothing, and no Slytherin child should endure this self-doubt. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you on the inside, Mr. Potter,” he said at last. “There’s no reason at all why you should be denied food.”

Severus glanced at the clock and banished the boy’s empty dishes. “Very well then, I will give you my silence, about past and future food, in exchange for your silence, Mr. Potter. You’d better head off to class now before you’re late. I expect to see you this evening, eating dinner.”

He sat, his head cradled in his hands, after the boy had darted out of his office. His optimistic thoughts about the simplicity and elegance of his revenge against the Potters had faded. This revenge would involve more effort, more tact and care than Severus had anticipated. Was revenge against the Potters, who were cold in their graves, worth it? Yet, he would have done so much for any other Slytherin without the thought of revenge to drive him. Severus sighed and headed to his next Potions class. There would be plenty of time to deal with the Potter boy later.

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.

Potter, that blasted, irritating little brat, missed lunch and dinner in the Great Hall that day. Severus glared at the Slytherin table, glared at Potter’s empty seat, and deducted ten points from Gryffindor for their vacuous and insensitive behavior. No one but the empty-headed, swollen-hearted Gryffindors would have the audacity to chatter and laugh when the Wizarding world’s malnourished savior missed two meals in a row. Severus glared at the Gryffindors, deducted another ten points from them and glared at Potter’s empty seat again.

The boy was probably trembling in an abandoned corner of the library, clutching a potions textbook, afraid that he had lost his Head of House’s approval and with it the right to future meals. Severus stabbed at his roasted potatoes with the point of his knife, unable to banish the mental image. Potter would be sitting in the corner of a chair, his knees pulled up to his chin and his elbows sticking out at sharp angles as he hugged his legs close to his chest. The boy was nothing but skin drawn taut over sharp lines and sharp angles.

If Severus were to approach Harry, if he spoke in soft gentle tones and offered the hungry boy food, the child might forgive him his earlier harsh words. The child might forgive him, or flee from him, or burst into tears at the sight of him, and there was no predicting Harry’s reaction. Severus glared at the abandoned corner of the Slytherin table. He wanted to soothe Harry, wanted to feed him and reassure him and mollycoddle him and he didn’t dare approach him for fear of worsening the situation.

Severus scowled and demolished the pile of carrots that Poppy Pomfrey had pushed onto his plate. The school mediwitch was an interfering mother hen and he refused to encourage her maternal tendencies. It might be appropriate for her to coo and cluck over the students, but Severus would not submit to her regiments of vegetables and potions and exercise. He cast a sidelong glance at her and then at Potter’s empty seat. Among the Hogwarts faculty, Poppy Pomfrey was the one he would trust first with his plans, his revenge, with Harry’s secrets. Severus reached for his goblet of pumpkin juice, but the thick sweet liquid was tasteless tonight. Harry was hungry, felt betrayed by his professor, felt abandoned. He couldn’t betray that child’s secrets to Poppy. The boy didn’t trust him now as it was.

His remaining Slytherin students were stuffing their faces with braised lamb and roast potatoes and carrots and rolls and trifle. Some of them ate like wide-mouthed baboons, plowing their way through the food, while others ate with dainty aristocratic flair. Draco sipped his pumpkin juice and wiped his mouth clean with a napkin, using manners that would make his mother proud. Harry belonged at that table, eating with Draco.

Severus watched his godson eat. Draco cast a sly glance at Harry’s seat and then looked at his godfather, a question poised unspoken in his expression. With his gaze fixed on his godfather, Draco grabbed two dinner rolls, one in each hand, and closed his fingers into fists around them. He stood and paused behind Potter’s seat, showing Severus the bread hidden in his hands, before he left the Great Hall.

Draco’s own dinner remained half-eaten on his plate when he had left. Crabbe and Goyle, taking advantage of the blond student’s absence, scooped up the uneaten food and devoured it quickly.

----------

After a long night spent marking papers and not looking for Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, Severus took a second cup of coffee with his breakfast. The strong bitter aroma was enough to overwhelm the greasy smell of bacon and eggs that permeated the Great Hall, and the taste of it on his tongue was enough to make Severus forget that he was surrounded by a horde of rowdy, hormonal adolescents. Coffee was the only vice that Severus allowed himself, the only beverage he drank that had a strong taste able to mask subtle poisons or potions. Albus, who presented him with exotic Costa Rican coffees every year for birthdays and Christmases, saw to it that Severus had his coffee every morning and saw to it that no one could tamper with the coffee. The Headmaster’s personal house elf, loyal and discreet, brewed it every morning. It was the only way to keep the volatile Potions Master in a half-decent temper in the mornings.

Severus curled his long fingers around the smooth warm comfort of his coffee mug. The sun escaped from the dark gray clouds that masked the ceiling of the Great Hall, and Severus winced at the sudden brightness.

Harry Potter slunk into the Great Hall then, just as the sun made its appearance. The thin boy took his usual place at the end of the table and reached a tentative hand out to take a piece of toast. The uncertain gesture was aborted when Draco Malfoy stood and walked down to the end of the table. Harry clutched his hand to his chest and trembled. “S-sorry,” he said.

“No, no, it’s my fault,” Draco said. “I apologize for startling you.”

Severus watched the two boys stare at each other, one with big green eyes and the other with calm gray eyes. What had happened between Draco and Harry last night? What were his godson’s intentions toward Harry, and what had he told Lucius? Severus gripped his coffee mug with fingers that had somehow turned cold, envisioning his revenge on James and Lily Potter gone, slipped away like a nightmare in the sunlight.

“May I eat breakfast with you?” Draco asked Harry. Green eyes wide and startled, the small boy trembled and nodded.

Crabbe and Goyle, abandoned by Draco further down the table, looked at each other and then at Draco and Harry. A swift glare and gesture from Severus convinced them to remain in their seats and they turned their fingers and their attention back to plates piled high with crispy bacon. Severus turned his attention back to Draco, who was buttering a slice of toast, and Harry, who was frozen in his seat. A subtle wand movement and a muttered charm ensured that the boys’ conversation was relayed to Severus’s ears. He would not trust the safety of the Potter boy with his godson.

Harry’s shoulders were hunched and he had scooted to the absolute end of the bench, as far from Draco as he could move. Draco ignored Harry’s obvious fear with the poise and manners that were the birthright of the Malfoy heir. “Shall I pour you a glass of pumpkin juice, or would you prefer a cup of tea, Harry?”

When Harry stared at him, still silent, Draco poured pumpkin juice for both of them as though Harry had voiced a preference. Watching the boy, Severus could see that Harry’s muscles had tensed when Draco moved close to him to pour the juice, but had relaxed when Draco moved away again. Severus sipped his coffee, enjoying its dark rich flavor, while Draco began drinking his pumpkin juice. “It’s very good today, Harry. You really should try some,” Draco said.

Severus frowned at Draco. Years of etiquette lessons and pureblood upbringing were enabling the young Slytherin to carry on an awkward one-sided conversation with elegant poise, but he had not yet succeeded in putting Harry at ease. Potter, the infuriating skinny brat that he was, had not eaten a crumb. Severus transferred the frown from Draco to Potter. Just like his father, inconsiderate and incapable of learning – the brat was disregarding Severus’s instructions about meals.

Draco rescued a platter of bacon from Crabbe and Goyle, offering it to Harry. The two boys sat frozen in this tableau, an extended plate of food almost connecting them. Draco held the plate steady with no hint of impatience until Harry reached out to take a slice of bacon. The movement was slow, all the muscles in Harry’s arm tense as he leaned away from the other boy. When he had claimed his prize, he shoved it into his mouth. The entire piece of bacon disappeared, went into Harry’s mouth at an angle and distended his cheeks.

No comment was made about table manners. Instead, Draco continued to hold the plate out to Harry. “Have another piece,” he offered.

Harry looked down at the plate of bacon and then toward the Head Table at Severus. Severus gave the boy a small nod of encouragement and Harry’s eyes dropped again to watch the food that was being offered to him.

Severus saw Harry’s muscles lock up, the boy tense with uncertainty. Hands clamped around the smooth sides of his coffee cup, Severus held his breath and began counting the number of poisons stored in his potions lab. One … belladonna, two … Runespoor venom, three …

With a quick sharp movement, Harry reached out and grabbed a handful of bacon. Several slices slipped from his trembling fingers and fell to the floor as the ill-mannered brat fled the room.

Lunch and dinner passed in the same fashion, with a polite Draco sitting next to an unresponsive Potter, making gentle remarks and trying to feed the boy. Severus renewed the eavesdropping charm at both meals and listened to Draco’s meaningless chitchat about the pleasant weather and delicious food. The boy’s manners were impeccable, but after his first success he did not succeed in convincing Harry to eat.

It was at dinner, when Draco had moved past the stage of holding plates out to Potter to offer him food and on to serving Potter himself, putting small aesthetically arranged servings of chicken and rice on Potter’s plate, that the silent boy finally spoke. “Why are you doing this?” he asked Draco, who was arranging green beans in an unruly cross-hatch pattern on Potter’s plate.

“If you aren’t going to eat it, it might as well look pretty, don’t you think?” Draco twitched one last green bean at a ninety degree angle to the others.

“Why are you feeding me at all?” Potter asked.

Severus watched the boy, whose hands twitched near his silverware. Harry was smart, then, cunning enough to question Draco’s motives. Severus had known that the child was gifted from his performance in Potions, that he was strong based on his reaction to Legilimency, but this, this showed why he had been Sorted into Slytherin. An understanding of base human nature, an acceptance of the fact that true philanthropy is rare and that men are self-centered, self-serving animals, Potter had these Slytherin qualities. He refused to accept a stranger’s help until he had seen the attached price tag.

Draco’s silence hovered between the two boys for a moment like a fog. “Look,” Potter said, turning to look directly at Draco for the first time, “you can go back to your friends and brag to them again about how your father’s going to kill me, or you can go back to insulting me and mocking me, but stop sitting next to me and stop trying to feed me, got it?”

Harry rose to leave the table, but Draco reached out and yanked on his arm, touching him for the first time and pulling him back down into his seat. “Listen,” Draco said, his politeness and arrogance tossed aside, “it’s not like that, but I can’t explain it to you here, okay? I’ll tell you after we’re done eating, somewhere private. We can go see Professor Snape, he might give us tea and biscuits. You trust him enough to eat food if he gives it to you, don’t you?”

Potter’s flash of spirit had deserted him and his shoulders slumped. He reached one hand to the table and toyed with his fork, drawing it across the knife with a shrill scraping noise.

“Look, Professor Snape is watching us,” Draco said as he sliced his chicken into bite-sized pieces. “Do you think I would poison you right under his nose?” When Potter didn’t answer, Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, taking swift bites of his chicken, rice and green beans. “I’ll swap plates with you – look, I’ve eaten some of everything on this plate, it’s perfectly safe. Just go ahead and eat something, Potter, you look like a walking twig.”

When the two boys rose from dinner, Severus strode out of the Great Hall and took a shortcut to his office. He waited there, marking papers so it wouldn’t appear as though he was waiting, until Draco and Harry arrived. The former was pulling the latter along with a hand loosely clasped around a thin wrist, and Severus saw at a glance that the unwanted physical contact was driving Harry further into his shell.

“Gentlemen, what a surprise,” Severus said. “Do unhand Mr. Potter and sit down, Mr. Malfoy.” A flick of his wand cleared a chair of its precarious tower of books and scrolls, and another flick closed the door with a silencing ward. “Have a seat, Mr. Potter.”

“Uncle Severus,” Draco said, “There’s something I have to tell you, and I want Harry to understand it as well.”

Severus nodded, summoning a house elf for tea and biscuits. “I believe that Mr. Potter and I are both curious as to the nature of your intentions toward him, Draco. Perhaps you had best start by explaining that.”

Draco fidgeted. “I want … I want to be friends with you,” he told Harry. “You … you’re interesting and … I know I’ve been a prat, but I do think we could be friends if you’d give me another chance.”

Draco took deep calming breaths. “I’m going to tell you something secret, Harry. I have to tell Uncle Sev because he’s my godfather, but I don’t have to tell you. I’m going tot ell you and trust you with my secret because I want you to someday trust me.”

“Lovely sentiment, Draco,” Severus said. “Are you sure the Sorting Hat didn’t mean to put you in Hufflepuff?”

Draco straightened his spine and glared at his godfather. “I’m sure that was unnecessary, Professor. There are more important things than snide comments, you know. You – you’ve hardly been here for me at all this week, even though you’re my godfather. I don’t mind that you want to help Harry, I know he needs it more than I do, but you don’t need to insult me.”

Severus ran a finger around the rim of his teacup, a stab of guilt hitting him. “I apologize, Draco,” he said.

“It’s all right,” Draco said. “I … I didn’t want you to know, not at first anyway, because I needed some time to think. Now … now can I just tell you what’s happened, without any interruptions, please?”

After a nod from Severus and silence from Potter, the blond Slytherin began his story. “The first evening here, I wrote home to tell my parents that I’d been put in Slytherin. I’d mentioned that the famous Boy Who Lived had been Sorted into Slytherin as well, and told them how skittish and badly dressed you were, Harry.”

Draco paused to sip his tea. “I … now I know that maybe I shouldn’t have done that. I got a letter back from my father, of course, encouraging me to spy on Harry and make his life miserable if at all possible. I … I wanted to do it at first, but then I opened the letter from my mother.” Draco dropped his gaze from his godfather’s face to the desk and traced the grain of the wood with his thumb.

“Mother sent me a package with a book about abu…” Draco cut the word off at a glare from Severus. “…about children like Harry, and she gave me a Souvienieve.”

With a quick glance at Harry, Draco explained. “It’s a magical device that can counteract an Obliviate, a spell that makes you forget something specific. It doesn’t give you the memories back directly, because that can traumatize a person, but it lets you watch them from the outside. I saw … I saw things that my father … that Lucius had done to me and to other people.”

Severus dropped his teacup at the implication that his godson had been abused. Lukewarm amber liquid flooded the desk, drenching the half-graded stack of papers. With a drying charm, Severus set the desk and parchments back to their original states. He reached across the desk to touch Draco’s hand, lightly tracing the pattern of veins on the back of his hand. Draco closed his eyes for a moment and continued.

“It … it really wasn’t all that bad, because fath- because Lucius didn’t want to damage his only heir. I was always fed and clothed properly, but … he hurt me, sometimes, with magic, and I wasn’t big enough to protect myself. Then he took the memories of it away so that I would still love him.”

“Mother … she couldn’t cross him, because he was quite vicious to her as well. She … she did what she could do, and she always helped me, afterwards.”

Severus felt Draco’s hand tremble beneath his own. He stroked it gently in the familiar pattern to comfort the pale boy.

“Mother wrote me to say that I’d have to choose whether I wanted to be like my father or like you, Uncle Sev. Father hurts weaker people, and that’s what I’d do if I hurt Harry, taking advantage of him for not knowing our world when it isn’t his fault that he was raised by Muggles. I … Mother doesn’t want that for me, and I don’t want it either.”

Draco leaned toward Harry. “Do you understand what I mean, Harry? Professor Snape is my godfather and he’s always helped me instead of hurting me. I’m going to be like him, and not like my father, and I’ll be here to help you get accustomed to the Wizarding world, just like he will, okay?”

Harry leaned backward in his chair and drew his legs up to his chest. He sent short frantic glances at Severus and Draco. “I-I … umm … I …”

“You don’t have to trust me all at once,” Draco said. “I understand that you can’t do that. But will you at least let me try?”

Harry nodded jerkily, his hair falling aside to reveal the pale scar on his forehead.

Severus summoned a house elf and asked for chicken broth and toast. “Harry, you didn’t eat very much at lunch and dinner today. Remember, I told you that I expect you to eat three meals a day. Why don’t you have a small meal now while Draco and I have a discussion?” They left Harry with his food and retreated to the sitting room in Severus’s personal chambers through an entrance hidden behind one of the bookcases in the office.

“Draco, how are you doing?”

Draco sat in an overstuffed green armchair with his habitual grace. “I … mostly okay. Some days are easier than others, and some days I just can’t stop thinking about what … what he did. I … after reading the book that Mother sent me, and watching Harry, I … I feel guilty about it. I mean, he’s suffered so much more than I have, the boy is afraid to even eat, and I’m sitting here whining and whinging because L-Lucius cast a few Dark spells on me?”

“Your suffering is not any less valid than his suffering because it differed in degree,” Severus said. He paced in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. If his hands were free, they might take the opportunity to grab his wand and some Floo powder, and shortly thereafter he would cast some of those Dark curses on Lucius Malfoy himself. “You should not feel guilty, Draco, because of Harry’s situation. It is admirable that your compassion for him moves you to help him, but you should not lose sight of the fact that you may also be in need of assistance.”

Draco fidgeted and toed the throw rug near his armchair. It was green, with intertwined silver serpents forming a border, and Draco traced the lines of the serpents with the toe of his black boot. “Mother’s taking care of everything, now that I’m out of the house and he can’t hurt me. She’s set up counseling sessions and everything, so I’ll need a pass from you to leave the castle on weekends. I’ll be okay, Uncle Sev. It really wasn’t that bad.”

“The fact that you are justifying it is in itself evidence that you need help,” Severus said. “Although the counselor that Narcissa has hired is certain to be competent, you should know that you may speak with me as well.” Severus stopped his pacing and turned to make eye contact with Draco. “You know that any concern that I may feel for Harry does not in any way negate or diminish our relationship, don’t you? I am always your godfather.”

Draco nodded, and then looked down at the throw rug, tracing the lines of the serpents with his toe. “I was a kid, Uncle Sev. I had no idea what was happening, with Harry or with me. I – he really does need your help. He barely eats, and he sleeps in the closet, and he flinches if I get too close to him. I want to touch him so that I can reassure him but he won’t let me get that close to him.”

“I – if I had known the way your father treated you, I would have removed you from his care. Has Narcissa made arrangements for the holidays? I will not allow you to go back to that house.”

“I don’t know about Christmas, but by summer the divorce should be processed and I’ll be able to live with her. I’m sending her the Souvienieve as evidence for the custody hearings.”

“We’ll invite Narcissa here for Christmas, then. That gives us another excuse to keep Harry from his Muggle relations for the holiday. Slytherins often serve two purposes with one action, or cloak one purpose with another, Draco. It is a trick that you must learn.” Severus resumed his pacing in front of the fireplace. “You should go now, before curfew. Take Harry back to the dorms and if you can coax him into sleeping in his bed, do so, but do not insist. Take the same approach with meals. You should encourage him to eat, but do not force him. Come to me if you have any problems with him or with anything else, Draco.”

Severus crossed the room to stroke his godson’s pale hair. The strands were light and silky to the touch. “Let me know when you need a pass to leave to see the counselor, or if you want to talk to me about anything.”

----------

The next morning, Severus was striding to the Great Hall to catch the last few minutes of breakfast, when he heard Draco and Potter arguing. He’d hoped to catch them at breakfast, to see that Potter was eating, but had overslept. His dreams had been restless, full of recriminations about having left Draco with Lucius, and Severus was craving his morning coffee to wipe away the gritty taste of the dreams from his mouth.

“Come on, Harry, eat the apple. We’ve only a few minutes before Charms starts and you hardly ate any breakfast.”

Severus hardly heard Potter’s muttered response, but it was apparently a refusal because Draco continued to urge him to eat. Unhappy about the new obstacle between him and his coffee, Severus turned the corner to see the boys instead of turning to the Great Hall. The exasperating brat was still refusing to eat, after multiple orders and encouragement. With a sigh, Severus acknowledged the fact that his revenge against the senior Potters would be a long time coming at this pace.

“D-Draco, I c-c-can’t,” Harry stuttered. The Slytherins and Gryffindors were lined up outside of the Charms classroom, most of them checking their notes or textbooks. Harry and Draco were at the edge of the crowd.

“Why not, Harry? Why not eat the apple now or the toast this morning? You ate toast yesterday and didn’t have a problem with it. Are you sick or something?”

“I-I … yeah. I-I have diabetes.” Harry’s voice was soft, barely audible, and he stared at his shoes, obviously ashamed.

The Gryffindor girl, Hermione Granger, who’d been standing across the corridor from the two boys, still heard the comment. “Really? That’s really very surprising, you know. I read in Everyday Magical and Muggle Ailments that wizards aren’t affected by metabolic disorders in the same way that Muggles are. There aren’t any recorded cases of wizards being susceptible to diseases like diabetes. They also aren’t prone to autoimmune diseases, which occur in Muggles, and some authors have speculated that this is due to the innate magic …”

“Ten points from Gryffindor for nosiness and inability to mind your own business, Granger,” Severus interrupted her. “Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, please see me in my office after classes.” With that, he stalked off to the Great Hall for his coffee. He couldn’t deal with the Potter boy’s eating disorders in a caffeine-deprived state.

The Potter brat couldn’t be doing this just to interfere with Severus’s revenge. The boy was truly, honestly reluctant to eat, sincerely afraid that he would be punished for taking food. It was not an act to play on Severus’s sympathies or earn his trust. Severus rubbed at the bridge of his nose, sitting in his office and waiting for Draco and Harry to arrive. They needed to get the Potter boy to eat, in reasonable quantity and variety, before the line was crossed. The boy was too thin, and might not develop properly in this state. There had to be a way to break past his timidity and reluctance and encourage him to eat.

Severus hunted through his bookshelves until he found the Hogwarts yearbook from his graduating class. Flipping through the bright animated pages, he stopped at a page with a picture of James Potter and Lily Evans together. Yes, the elder Potter had passed his features down to his son. The shortsightedness, the untamable hair, the cheekbones and facial structure, they were all the same. However, Severus could not superimpose a mental image of Harry Potter over the photo of James Potter. The boy’s features were sharper and his face was thinner. Severus sneered at the picture as James Potter wrapped an arm around Evans and grinned out of the photo. There was another difference.

Severus had never seen Harry smile like this, unrestrained and cheeky and free. Any expression that Severus had seen on Harry’s face was shadowed and hesitant and overlaid with fear. The set of his mouth sometimes resembled the determined, steadfast curve of Lily Evans’s lips. No, this boy, this Slytherin boy was nothing like his parents.

Severus was jolted from his reverie by a knock on the door. Putting the yearbook in a desk drawer, he bade his visitors to enter and prepared himself for another confrontation with Harry Potter.

“Harry,” he said, “Have you eaten enough today?” Severus had been absent at lunch, brewing a potion that Poppy Pomfrey had required, and had not monitored the boy as he should have.

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied. Although he did not have the calm composure of Draco, the boy did not fidget.

Severus raised an eyebrow and Draco answered the implied question. “He ate a little, sir. Not enough by any standard.”

“Very well, then. Chicken broth and toast again, Harry?” Severus asked. An almost imperceptible nod was his answer, and he summoned a house elf and asked for the meal as well as tea for himself and Draco.

When they were all settled with food and drink, Severus continued. “Although she has an unfortunate tendency to sound like an encyclopedia, Miss Granger was quite correct. It is not possible for you to have diabetes, Harry. Who told you that you had it?”

“Uncle Vernon told me, sir.”

“We have discussed numerous topics in relation to your uncle and he has been wrong every time, has he not?” Severus poured a cup of tea for Harry and added cream and sugar. The more calories he could get into the boy’s stomach, the better off he would be.

“Y-yes, sir. B-but Uncle Vernon said that they took me to the doctor and everything.”

“Tell me about this doctor, then. Do you remember going to see the doctor, or what the doctor said specifically?”

Harry curled one hand around the warm teacup and toyed with his spoon with the other. “N-no, I was too young to remember anything about it, sir. But whenever t-the Dursleys gave me sweets, it made me sick. S-so it all makes sense, because diabetics aren’t supposed to have sweets or anything with sugar, sir.”

“Diabetics also need to have insulin injected and to monitor their diets carefully, Harry. When I say that they monitor their diets carefully, that does not mean that they exist on the wrong side of anorexia and starvation. If you were indeed diabetic, which as a wizard you cannot be, you would have made yourself very sick by going for so long with the way that you eat and with the lack of insulin shots. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Harry took a sip of his tea. “You mean that I’m not diabetic, sir?”

“No, you are not diabetic. You need have no fear of consuming foods that contain sugar. Nonetheless, you need to work to maintain a healthy, balanced diet. Draco is capable of assisting you there. As you take your meals with him, Harry, I want you to watch his eating habits. Observe the variety and quantity of foods that he eats, and try to emulate him.” Severus then turned to his godson. “Draco, I want you to continue to feed Harry, but do not force him to eat too much. As his stomach is unused to large meals, he could easily make himself sick. Do both of you understand?”

After a chorus of “Yes, sir,” Severus dismissed them to dinner. When they were gone, he withdrew the yearbook from its hiding place and turned back to the picture of Harry’s parents. “Potter, Evans,” he asked their picture, “Do you see your son? Forced to suffer at the hands of foolish Muggles, at the hands of your own relatives, and now rescued by a Malfoy and a Snape? Do you realize that your son, your precious child, would not be eating if Draco and I had not intervened?” James Potter in the photo grinned at Severus with his trademark flippant expression. Neither he nor Evans had had a care in the world on the sunny day that the picture was taken, the two of them enjoying a picnic near the lake. As Severus watched, Potter lifted a bunch of grapes to Evans’s mouth and fed them to her one by one.

On Friday, the storm that had been hovering broke over Hogwarts. Rain came down in thick opaque curtains and more than one student, as well as the more incompetent members of the faculty, looked at the ceiling of the Great Hall to verify that the rain did indeed stop midair. Severus sneered at Quirrell, who looked at the ceiling several times and made nervous fluttery adjustments to his ridiculous turban.

Bypassing an elaborate and rich strawberry trifle, Severus reached for a small piece of flan. Savoring the simple elegant taste, he watched his godson and Potter at the corner of the Slytherin table. Draco was smiling and executing a refined but vicious attack on the strawberry trifle. Harry, on the other hand, fidgeted with his goblet of pumpkin juice and left the trifle that Draco had heaped on his plate untouched.

A hint of a frown touched Severus’s mouth as he took another bite of flan. The Potter boy, though he assured Severus and Draco with his usual stammer that he knew he was not diabetic, still refused to eat sweets. Draco had slathered the boy’s toast with sweet marmalade at breakfast and pressed an apple on him during lunch and Harry had eaten them with no more reluctance than was usual for him, but he did not touch dessert. The child watched Draco eat the trifle, his green eyes focused on Draco’s plate.

Severus left dinner early, abandoning the remaining flan, and stalked to the dungeons to set out the ingredients for Potter’s lesson. He opened the door to his private laboratory with a clang. Much as he hated to admit the precious Boy Who Lived into his private lab, he preferred that to the possibility of discovery by the other staff. He didn’t want to give them a chance to stick their interfering prissy noses in his House business, frightening Harry while they were at it.

The last thing the fragile boy needed was an official inquiry into his relatives’ treatment of him or to be forced into speaking of the abuse just now. Hufflepuffs wear their hearts on their robes, while Ravenclaws ignore their hearts for their logic, and imbecilic Gryffindors dash around as if the blood supply to their heart cut off all circulation to the brain whatsoever. Slytherins – Slytherins could balance heart and brain with a synthesis of guile and understanding, a perfect balance. Harry would be ready to unburden his heart of his traumas when his heart needed to be unburdened and his head told him that he was safe, and Severus would wait for that instant, guide the boy to it and through it, and when they were on the other side of it, he would laugh at James and Lily Potter’s graves.

In good time, he reminded himself, in good time patience yields its own rewards. Until that time, Harry needed his focus and help. Feed the boy and show him that nothing here at Hogwarts can hurt him, that’s the way to earn his trust and to earn true vengeance on his parents.

Severus shivered. The chill and damp of the dungeon air that had increased due to the storm was enough to penetrate his thick woolen robes. He cast a hasty warming charm, enough to make sure that the thin Potter boy would be comfortable but not enough to perturb heat-sensitive ingredients. The boy was so thin it was certain that he’d be easily chilled. Potter’s boy … Severus felt a smirk curve his lips at the thought that he was, be it ever so improbable, concerned about the comfort of James Potter’s son. In some strange ironic twist, the comfort of James Potter’s son was dependent upon none other than Severus Snape.

Harry came into sight then, his timid eyes peeking around the door frame, and the sight of the Slytherin crest that the boy wore was enough for Severus to reassure himself. He was concerned about the comfort of one of his Slytherin students. He was hardly concerned at all in fact, a warming charm took no effort to cast and he himself was cold.

“Mr. Potter, do come in,” he said. “Notice that we are using a copper cauldron for this potion, as opposed to the pewter ones which we have used in class. Would you care to speculate as to the consequences of this change?” The boy twisted his hands behind his back and Severus added, “Please attempt to answer without stammering. It is an unbecoming habit in you, unworthy of a Slytherin.”

The boy gulped at that and fidgeted for a second before replying. “It – does it change the temperature of the flame needed to heat the potion?”

Severus nodded. “That is correct, but what consequences would it have for the potion itself?”

The boy’s gaze dropped to the floor for the first time. “I-I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know.”

Severus kept a tight rein on his classroom persona, not wishing to frighten Potter. “A minute amount of the cauldron metal leaches into the potion unless the cauldron is made of an extremely non-reactive substance or the potion is inert with regards to the cauldron. In this case, note that pewter cauldrons are used for many potions because pewter is essentially non-reactive with the ingredients and isn’t toxic to the human body at such minute concentrations. On the other hand, copper cauldrons are often used for healing and nutrient potions because the magical properties of the copper residue interact harmoniously with the human body and metabolism. Copper itself is a trace element required for metabolism. Do you understand?”

Harry replied with a quiet “Yes, sir,” and Severus continued in this vein, quizzing the boy about the potion’s ingredients and reactions. The child did a passable job of answering most of the questions and his eyes went wide when Severus presented him with new information.

They began to brew the potion, Severus overseeing Harry. He was forced to admit that Potter actually made a decent Potions student, unlike his father. Quiet, precise and observant, the boy had answered questions with which most first year students would have struggled. Only his godson and the exasperating Miss Granger would have been able to compete with this small uncertain boy.

A Muggle-raised child rarely showed such early competence at Hogwarts and most floundered for several semesters. Severus interrogated the boy while the potion simmered. “What do you like about Potions, Mr. Potter?” he asked.

“I-It’s easy to see how Potions c-can be useful, not like turning matches into needles or making pineapples dance. A-And it’s interesting to see how all of the in-ingredients work together, r-rather like c-chemistry in a way.”

“You enjoyed your chemistry lessons at your old school?” Severus asked.

“Y-Yes, sir. D-Dudley wasn’t taking chemistry, so I liked them.” The boy still stuttered. It was a sign of deplorable weakness, but Severus forced himself to be patient with the boy.

“This Dudley is also the reason why you spent your time in the library?”

“Y-Yes, sir. He never went there.” The boy ducked his head, dark hair falling across his eyes.

“How are you getting on with Draco, then? Are you eating enough?” The cauldron began to bubble and Severus turned down the heat just a fraction.

“Yes, sir, Draco’s very nice about giving me food.”

Severus tightened his grip on the copper stirring rod. “Don’t use the word nice, boy it’s insipid and banal. If you’ve half the intelligence you appear to have, you could use better words in your sleep.”

Trembling, Potter backed away from the cauldron and said, “Y-Y-Yes, sir. S-Sorry, sir.”

“There’s no need to be frightened of me, child. I am aware of the fact that you’re only eleven and can’t be expected to have the most complex and advanced vocabulary yet. But in turn, you must understand that I hold high expectations for all of my Slytherins and you must strive to meet them. I will not be unreasonable and I will never punish physically or by denying you food. Is that understood?” Severus brushed a lock of lank hair back from his face as he fixed Harry with a glare.

“Y-Y-Yes, s-sir.”

“Remember also that you need to avoid stuttering. Slytherins do not show their fear.”

The boy nodded, his untidy black hair bobbing up and down as he did so.

“Good. We’ll make a dignified Slytherin out of you yet. Now, as you add the chopped mint, what changes do you expect to observe?”

The boy chopped the fresh mint with a clean knife. His hands were a little uncertain and his technique needed improvement, Severus noted. The blade was not held at the most efficient angle. “It – the smell should change, I suppose, but – but the mint isn’t reactive with this potion, so the texture should remain the same.”

“How will the color change?”

The boy’s hands paused in their chopping. “Well, it won’t, sir. But I’ve seen the final potion so I know it looks like this.”

“Correct. You may add the mint now,” Severus instructed the boy as the potion bubbled. “Do you smell the difference?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We need to let this cool for half an hour before we bottle it.” Severus extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron and gestured for Potter to follow him into his office.”

“Tea, Mr. Potter? What would you like to eat? The house elves can prepare practically anything on short notice so you may ask for whatever you like.”

Harry perched on the chair that Severus had indicated, looking ready to bolt. “I-I’m not v-very hungry, Professor, you’re being too kind.”

“I know it isn’t likely that you’d be hungry since your stomach isn’t used to food,” Severus admitted. “It’d be best if you could eat several small meals throughout the day, especially on weekends when you aren’t constrained by your class schedule.” When Potter continued to dart nervous hesitant looks at him, Severus said, “I insist that you eat something before you leave tonight so you might as well choose something you’d enjoy.”

“C-Could I have some toast, please? With marmalade?”

“Of course.” Severus gave the order to an eager house elf and then turned back to watch the boy, who sat without fidgeting at his desk. “How are you doing in your other classes?”

“I like them all right, sir,” the boy said. His eyes were almost greener than Lily’s eyes had been in the dim dungeon lighting. Lily’s eyes had been designed for sunshine and laughter, but not so her son’s eyes. Harry’s eyes were big and solemn.

“You aren’t having difficulties with understanding any of the material?”

“No, sir.”

Severus watched Harry eat his toast with the same ravenous lack of manners he had shown earlier and wondered what it would take to provoke the irritating Boy Who Lived into making polysyllabic responses.

“What have you been reading in the library this week?” he asked.

“A Compendium of Techniques Useful for the Defense against the Dark Arts,” the boy said, setting his teacup on its saucer with a porcelain clink. “I-It’s much better than Professor Quirrell’s class.”

Severus blinked. He hadn’t read that tome until his second year, though it may have been because he was engrossed in the corresponding book that dealt with Attacks using the Dark Arts.

“What do you recall of the discussion on the use of silencing spells?” Severus asked to test the boy’s comprehension.

“I – well, the L-Light silencing spells only include the ones that aren’t p-permanent,” Potter began, only to be interrupted.

“There is no need to stutter and stammer your way through a sentence, Mr. Potter,” Severus said. “This is not an exam. I am the only one listening to you and I won’t punish you if you forgot or misunderstood. Speak clearly, enunciate, and do not stammer, is that understood?”

The boy nodded and closed his eyes to continue. “Of the Light silencing spells, some last for a fixed length of time and others last until a counterspell is cast. The author of the book argues for using the last ones, because they can’t wear off during the fight and take you by surprise.” Potter opened one eye to look at Severus. “I-I don’t think he’s right, sir.”

Severus raised an eyebrow but kept his voice level. “Why is that?”

“The counterspell doesn’t need to be cast by the wizard who cast the first spell, so any wizard who was on the same side as the person you’d silenced could break it. That would be a bigger surprise than a spell ending at the time you knew it would end.”

Severus nodded. Potter had finished his toast and tea and it was approaching curfew. “Ten points to Slytherin for a clever observation, Mr. Potter. Let’s bottle your potion and send you back to your dormitory before curfew.”

----------

Poppy Pomfrey confronted Severus as soon as he stepped out of the Headmaster’s office, having signed Draco’s pass for the weekend away from Hogwarts and sent him off to his mother’s love and expensive counselor. The boy had looked pale and unhappy at the prospect of returning to Malfoy Manor where the abuse had occurred, and Severus was in a vile mood at this further proof of his godson’s suffering. The sight of Draco’s blond hair disappearing in the green sparkle of the Headmaster’s Floo and the feeling that his godson was slipping away from him and his help, had unsettled him. It was a shame that Narcissa hadn’t grown a backbone earlier, and taken Draco away from that man before this came to pass. Every flinch and every sad look that crossed Draco’s face was an arrow into Severus’s conscience. He should have known, and he should have done something about it.

He wasn’t in any frame of mind to deal with Pomfrey’s vapid chatter and he grabbed the list of potions that she required and swept down the hallway without saying a word to her. The thud of his thick boot soles on the stone floor was not loud enough to drown out Pomfrey’s muttered, “Well, I never met such a rude man before in all my life.”

Severus smirked until he looked down at the long list. “Headache relief potions, calming potions, stress relief potions, sleeping potions … every first year in the castle must be homesick. Does the woman think I’m an apothecary? This is going to take all day to finish.” He froze, his boot poised above the bottom step of the staircase to the dungeons. Draco was gone all day and the Potter waif was certain to starve unless someone put the food in his mouth and ordered him to chew. “An apothecary and a bloody nursemaid,” Severus muttered as he turned and headed for the library.

He hated himself for the weakness, the kindness to an enemy’s son, even in the name of vengeance, but he would hate himself more if one of his Slytherins went hungry. “Harry can brew the simpler calming potions,” he told himself as he made his way to the library.

The boy was indeed in the library, huddled in his usual chair and almost smothered by books. A tipsy stack of tomes was perched on the arm of the chair while three more were piled in his lap. The topmost of these was tilted at an angle such that Severus could identify it as the first year Potions textbook.

“Mr. Potter,” he said, making the boy drop the book with a soft thud, “as much as I hate to discourage your studious attitude, I find myself in need for assistance with some potions for the Hospital Wing. Could you perhaps tear yourself away from your books for the day?”

“Y-Yes, sir, of course, b-but are you really sure you want me to help you?”

“No, Mr. Potter, in fact I’ve acquired a habit of asking students for assistance and then turning them away before they even reach the lab,” Severus said before he could keep the barb from slipping off his tongue. He gentled his voice just a fraction, for there was no need to alienate a willing helper. “Yes, Mr. Potter, I do want you to help me. Will you come?”

“Of c-course.” The boy scrambled to his feet and Severus sent the library books floating in loopy figure-eights back to their proper shelves with a quick spell. The Potions textbook remained with Potter and he clutched it to his chest as though it too would abandon him.

“The Retourner spell, Mr. Potter,” Severus explained as they exited the library, “is quite useful for books, as you just saw, but can also be used on other inanimate objects.”

A house elf brought Potter tea and toast to eat in Severus’s office. The connecting door between the office and lab was left open, and Severus slipped into his calm, centered state of mind as he moved about the lab, setting up cauldrons and ingredients. Two cauldrons were set up for the headache relief potion, and it could be started first and left to simmer while Severus began the sleeping potions. He’d make the mild ones first, and then the stronger ones later while Harry began to prepare his own ingredients. Then he’d be free to supervise the boy’s potion making.

His lab was set up with three long tables in a U, with a fourth capping them and making an incomplete rectangle. Severus set ingredients and tools on the fourth table, leaving the other three tables for cauldrons. He stood in the center of the rectangle and could move easily from potion to potion.

“Harry,” he called the boy in from his office and began boiling the full moon rainwater. “Pay close attention. I’m making a potion which contains willow bark, ground dragon scales, essence of pixie wings and stewed Flobberworms. Can you tell me the purpose of a potion with these ingredients?”

“Er … It’s for p-pain relief, sir?”

“Explain,” Severus said, stirring in the finely sliced willow bark and turning the flame down so that the potions could simmer.

“Well, the willow bark contains chemicals that are used for pain relief, even by M-Muggles, sir. Its effects are amplified by the ground dragon scales, but those need to be stabilized by the essence of pixie wings. I-I think the Flobberworms were to prolong the shelf life.”

“What would happen if the potion were to be made in water from rain that fell during the full moon?”

“I-I don’t know, sir,” the boy said, staring at the cauldrons.

“It strengthens the potion and makes it more specific. Instead of a generalized pain relief potion, it works best for headaches. Later on you will learn more about the influence of the moon, the stars, the hours and seasons on harvesting ingredients. Most people don’t realize how useful Astronomy can be for the study of Potions, but you must either trust your apothecary implicitly or harvest your own ingredients.”

Severus turned from the cauldrons, satisfied that the infusion of willow bark had the correct consistency and had come to a simmer, and began slicing fresh marigold roots for the sleeping potion. “Monitor these two cauldrons and inform me if there are any changes,” he told the boy, and was then lost in his potion making trance.

They paused for lunch, and Severus was struck again by the Ravenclaw tendencies of the boy who proceeded to ask intelligent questions about the potions they had just made. The boy ate his roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and hardly seemed to notice that he was eating them, so intent was he on their discussion of possible additions to the headache relief potion that would make it more effective.

“Harry,” Severus said after they had finished their discussion and dismissal of the possibility of adding crushed beetle antennae to the potion, “did the Sorting Hat consider Ravenclaw for you?”

The fork that was en route to Harry’s mouth with a bite of Yorkshire pudding fell to the table with a clang, and small pieces of the pudding splattered onto his plate. “I-I-It t-told … y-you talked to i-it?”

The stutter, which had disappeared during their academic discussion, had returned full force. “What do you mean, Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry shoved his chair from the table and started for the door, stammering, “P-Promised, it p-promised not to tell.”

Severus dropped his own fork and moved to catch the boy before he ran away. He placed his hands loosely on the boy’s shoulders, careful not to restrain him or grasp him too roughly. “It’s okay, Harry,” he soothed, careful to keep his voice low and even. “I haven’t talked to the Sorting Hat and it hasn’t told me anything. Nobody talks to the Sorting Hat when it isn’t being used. It sits upstairs in Dumbledore’s office and gathers dust. Calm down now, Harry.”

Severus felt the tremors in the shoulders he held, shoulders that were all bone and tendon and flesh, sharp angles under his hands. He guided the boy back to his chair and crouched beside him, keeping his hands on Harry’s shoulders. The child turned his head so that his dark hair fell between his eyes and Severus’s gaze in a protective curtain. Too familiar with this defensive mechanism, Severus let it be and focused on calming the boy without making him feel threatened.

“Would you like some tea, or some more pumpkin juice?” Severus asked when he felt the tremors stop. The dark hair covering Harry’s eyes moved when he nodded, and Severus could see that his face was dry and not tear-stained. “Would you like for me to put a calming potion in your drink?”

Severus was tempted to slip the boy a calming potion without his knowledge, but Harry had just brewed them and might recognize the smell. He didn’t imagine that the boy’s fragile trust in him would survive if he drugged the boy without consent. Severus poured a few milliliters of calming potion into a goblet of pumpkin juice when Harry nodded. When he handed the goblet to Harry, his fingers brushed against Harry’s fingers and he was satisfied to notice that the boy’s fingers were steady and not trembling.

“Would you care to explain your reaction just now, Harry?” Severus asked when the boy had finished drinking the pumpkin juice. He had drunk it slowly, as though he were savoring the taste, and Severus predicted that the calming potion should have begun to exert its influence.

“I-I … well, the S-Sorting Hat promised to keep my secrets, sir,” Harry said, bringing a hand to his hair. He combed his fingers through his hair, flattening it over his scar and bringing it down to mask his eyes as well.

“I think you can trust the Hat to keep your secrets if it has promised to do so. Are you … Would you be willing to confide in me as well, if I were to make a similar promise?” Severus offered. He didn’t expect the boy to accept his offer and he was not surprised when Harry shook his head.

“You should be aware that as your Head of House, I am available for you if you need help, and in the future if you should come to me, I would consider my offer of confidentiality still open.” Severus offered the boy another goblet of pumpkin juice, this time without the added calming potion.

“N-No, thank you, Professor. May I – May I please be dismissed?” Harry’s eyes were still hidden from him and Severus couldn’t read his emotions from his voice.

“Of course you may. Remember to eat dinner in the Great Hall this evening,” Severus said.

The door closed behind Harry without a sound, and Severus was left staring at it. He was unable to comprehend why this child, this boy who he should have hated, was able to force him to drop the barriers he held between himself and the majority of the student population. It was one thing to plot vengeance on James and Lily Potter and vow to execute those plots, but another thing entirely to offer their child potions and comfort and assistance. Severus questioned, not for the first time, the wisdom of this method of taking vengeance on the Potters. It would be one thing to demean their son, to ignore him or ridicule him or mock his pain, but it was an entirely different thing to comfort him.

Even from the other side of the grave, the Potters were tormenting him. He imagined that James and Lily were watching him even now, James with an insufferable smirk and Lily with the detestable faux compassion that she had always shown Severus, delighting in the fact that their child had bested him, had changed him and softened him. The Marauders and their precious Muggle-born witch had always been there to witness his humiliation and he didn’t imagine for one second that it had changed. “You’re the ones who should be ashamed,” he said out loud for the benefit of any spirits that might be watching from the afterlife. “You’re the ones who abandoned your son to the torments that he suffers now. Your deaths are the reason why he’s scrawny and stuttering and alone. Just remember that, James and Lily Potter, just remember that it’s your fault in the end. You abandoned him to this fate. I have done nothing of which I should be ashamed.”

“Remember,” he told the spirits of James and Lily Potter, “he’d still be shivering and starving at the end of the Slytherin table if it wasn’t for my intervention. Your little brat is eating because of me. You can’t do anything to help him and yet I can … I, who you reviled all those years ago. Your son suffers because you died and left him to the torments of those Muggles and I am the one to relieve that suffering.”

The problem with conversing with spirits from the afterlife is that it was impossible to tell if they were actually listening, much less what their response would have been. Severus glared around his chamber on general principle. He need not be ashamed of any comfort he had offered Harry, comfort that in fact he would have offered to any Slytherin student in need.

Severus put the stopper on the opened vial of calming potion that Harry had brewed. The boy was reasonably talented at potions, he worked hard and he studied. Severus would never have expected this aptitude from the Potters’ son, but he would continue to cultivate it. Not only did talking about potions and theory calm the boy, but it would be a shame to neglect the obvious talent there. Severus needed to focus on Potter as a Slytherin and as a capable potions student, not as a Potter. There was no reason why he should not offer comfort to a Slytherin or a child who was talented at potions, no reason in the world.

The feeling of Potter’s shoulders trembling under his fingers had felt rather like the feeling of Draco shaking in his hesitant embrace the night the two of them had discussed Lucius. Severus looked at the door where Harry had left so abruptly. What was the Potter brat doing to him?

Severus arrived in the Great Hall on Monday morning after breakfast had already begun. He accepted his cup of coffee from Albus, cradling it near his face. The aroma of the coffee, dark and exotic and bitter, was enough to lift his spirits. He took full breaths of it, savoring the smell until he was ready to taste it.

Draco had returned and was sitting next to Harry, filling their plates with bacon and toast. Harry was taking small careful sips of pumpkin juice and watching Draco. With a discreet wand motion hidden by the table, Severus cast another eavesdropping spell on them as he began serving himself breakfast. He hadn’t spoken with the Potter boy since their unfortunate conversation about the Sorting Hat. The boy had seemed quite shaken, but now was returned to his typical quiet behavior. His huge green eyes were rather unnerving when he actually made eye contact, Severus decided when the child looked up at the Head Table. His green eyes were clear and calm and this unnatural child who rarely fidgeted looked at Severus with uncanny self-possession. Severus suppressed a scowl by taking a large gulp of his hot coffee.

Draco nattered on about polite nothings while piling more food on Harry’s plate. The smaller boy, who had eaten three pieces of bacon and two slices of toast, finally stopped him by announcing that he wouldn’t eat any more.

“Harry, you should eat, look at how skinny you are. Do you want me to be in trouble with Professor Snape?”

Potter slumped in his chair and pushed the plate away. “My stomach feels odd,” he said. “I ate too much.”

Draco pouted, but he relented after Harry agreed to wrap the extra toast in a napkin and take it with him to class. Severus bit into his own slice of toast, the perfect golden-brown crunch and the sweet strawberry taste of the preserves flooding his mouth, and watched the interaction between the two boys with amusement. Draco, the perfect pureblood child, his breeding and family history allowing him to dominate the majority of his peers, had finally met his match. Harry, who was timid and flinched at the smallest noise, stood up to him. He didn’t let Draco push him into eating more than he wanted to eat, or into eating anything that he didn’t want to eat. He hadn’t stuttered or apologized once. It was uncharacteristic behavior for the usually frightened boy.

Severus watched Harry more closely, noted the tensed shoulders and the hand that Harry kept on the strap of his bag. The boy flinched and looked as though he was ready to run when Draco leaned a fraction of an inch closer to him.

“Calm down, Harry,” Draco said as he took a serving of scrambled eggs. “We’ve discussed this. I’m not going to hurt you, so put your bag down and stop trying to run away like that.”

Potter nodded, but his fingers remained clenched around the strap of his bag and he leaned away from Draco. “Tell me more about your weekend, Draco,” he said.

“Harry, Harry,” Draco shook his head, “I know it’s hardly your fault that you come from such a Gryffindor family, but really, you should know better than to try to distract a Slytherin. It can’t be done that easily, you know,” Draco took a bite of his scrambled eggs and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

Harry jumped into the pause, saying “What …” when the conversation between the two boys was interrupted. The youngest Mr. Weasley, red-headed and gangly like his older brothers, stepped up to the Slytherin table. His hair was untidy and looked as though he’d just run his fingers through it. With a flick of his wand under the table, Severus expanded the eavesdropping spell to include Weasley.

“…none of your business, Malfoy. I’m here to talk to Harry, so shove it,” Weasley was saying. He turned toward Potter and continued in a less confrontational tone of voice. “Hey, Harry, mate, I’m sorry I haven’t seen you much since the train ride. I just … you know … I just want you to know that I didn’t really mean what I said about Slytherins on the train. I figure that if you’re a Slytherin, they can’t be all bad, right mate?” With a sidelong glare at Draco, Weasley extended his hand to Harry.

“Get lost, Weasley,” Draco said with his lips twitched into a sneer. “Even a lame-brained Gryffindor like you couldn’t honestly think that Harry would accept that pathetic apology. You figure that not all Slytherins are evil, Weasley? It’s plain as anything that you think Harry’s the only good Slytherin around, or are you going to apologize to me for insulting me on the train as well?” His cheeks paled with anger and Draco raised one eyebrow in a classic Malfoy expression. Severus hid his smirk at his godson’s mannerisms by taking another sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Malfoy. Everybody knows about your family’s evil tendencies. If You-Know-Who were still here, I bet it’d take three seconds for you and your dear old dad to turn Harry over to him.”

Draco’s complexion paled further. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to tell filthy lies, or were they too busy begging for enough scraps to feed you all?” He took a deep breath and the sneer on his face intensified. “Stay away from Harry, because he doesn’t want filthy lying beggars for friends.”

“Better poor than a supporter of You-Know-Who,” Weasley said, his cheeks and ears flushing pink. “You’re the one who shouldn’t be allowed near Harry, you’re just trying to corrupt him or sell him to the Dark. You don’t care for Harry at all, you only want the Boy Who Lived.”

Severus cast a surreptitious glance around the Head Table to determine whether any other faculty member had noticed the dispute between Draco and Weasley. Most of the professors had already left for their morning classes, but Albus remained, his attention focused on extricating a sticky toffee from its wrapper, and Quirrell was still next to Severus, casting apprehensive glances at the shadows that lurked underneath the Head Table. Helping himself to another scone, Severus decided that there was no need for his interference unless the pair drew their wands.

“You need to be honest with yourself, even if you can’t stop lying to other people, Weasley. Your only interest in Harry is the scar on his head and the fame he’s gotten for it. Wait, I forgot … there’s his trust fund as well, isn’t there?”

The Weasley brat’s complexion turned even pinker. He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Draco. “Bloody hell, you great lumbering prat, now you’ve gone and scared away Harry.”

Severus’s gaze jerked to Potter’s empty seat and he realized that he hadn’t noticed the boy leave. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that the timid child had ducked out of an argument that centered on him. Severus cast a last look at the argument between Draco and the Weasley before canceling the eavesdropping spell. Draco was pale and held himself still with all of the Malfoy dignity and reserve while Weasley was turning a bright pink hue. Severus smirked and swept off to his first Potions lecture in the dungeons.

----------

First year Gryffindors and Slytherins had Potions that afternoon. Severus made his trademark entrance, taking the time to observe Potter as he strode to the front of the classroom. The boy’s shoulders were hunched and he cast wary glances at both Draco and the Weasley brat. The infuriating boy wouldn’t know how to be subtle or hide his feelings of Salazar himself showed up to instruct him. Severus scowled and turned to face the class. “Assigned partners today, children,” he said in his smooth “question me and die” classroom voice. “Mr. Malfoy and Weasley. Zabini and Patil. Potter and Granger. Parkinson and Finnegan …” He watched as the annoying Gryffindor encyclopedia moved to sit with Potter, while Draco slammed his Potions text down on the table next to Weasley.

Ten minutes into the lesson, Granger’s hand shot into the air. As Severus made his way through the classroom to the table Granger shared with Potter, he wondered if Madam Pomfrey should be asked to run some tests on Granger’s hand. It spent enough time in the air, making a frantic attempt to reach the ceiling or a Professor’s attention, that it couldn’t be getting an adequate blood supply. “Yes, Miss Granger?” Severus asked.

He didn’t understand why this pair of students would have encountered a problem. Harry alone was more than competent enough to brew this potion, and the Gryffindor girl prepared extensively for her classes.

“Sir, he’s trying to ruin our potion,” Granger said, letting her hand fall down to her side. “He’s adding ground coral, which isn’t even mentioned in the directions, and he wants to put in jellied Flobberworms instead of pickled Flobberworms. It isn’t fair that we should be forced to work with partners like this, we aren’t getting a chance to fully make the potion and learn on our own, and I don’t want some ignorant boy ruining my grade.” The girl finally paused for breath, lifting up one hand to twine her brown curls around her fingers.

“I do hope that you aren’t questioning my teaching methods, Miss Granger, though I doubt that you are yet capable of understanding the more complex potions that require two or more brewers to complete. You may not understand the importance of cooperation in brewing potions, but surely you can understand the possibility of learning from your partner, and so it will be ten points from Gryffindor for your lack of respect. Mr. Potter, if you would be patient enough to explain the changes you’ve made?”

The Potter boy looked up for the first time, his fingers pausing in their shaky motions. The knife he’d been using to dice the Flobberworms was wiped clean and set on a sterile cloth. “Y-Yes, sir,” Harry said. “T-The jellied Flobberworms are more potent than pickled Flobberworms, but they are not often used because it can be difficult to stabilize their properties without the salt added in the pickling process. However, in this case the ground coral provides an alternative source of ions to stabilize the Flobberworms, and yet it doesn’t change the other ingredients in this potion.”

“Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter. You’ve clearly done the background reading and you explained that well.” Severus saw a quick flash of emotion in Potter’s eyes before the boy bent again to his task. Granger was frowning at the boy, one hand clenched in a fist and resting on her hip, but she turned her attention back to the potion when Severus glared at her.

Making his way back to the front of the classroom where he could observe all of the students, Severus reflected that the pain of complimenting Harry Potter was almost certain to become a fixed event in his life. The boy did deserve the praise, and there had been something in that brief flash of emotion across Harry’s face that made Severus want to compliment him again. A Slytherin always warranted compliments in a Gryffindor-Slytherin Potions class, Severus reminded himself. His students needed the boost of self confidence that Severus’s praise gave them, however cheapened it may have been by his obvious favoritism. Perhaps the other professors, with their pretense at fairness, didn’t insult his Slytherins, but they never praised his students either.

Severus watched Harry Potter, the small boy with his untidy hair falling into his face as he stirred his potion. Granger fluttered at his side, preparing ingredients and making herself into a nuisance. Though the girl was less talented than Harry at Potions, she had much more self confidence. It showed in her sure motions, her speech patterns, her constant questions and her hand stuck in the air. Even Neville Longbottom, potions-making disaster that he was, showed more confidence than the subdued, uncertain Harry.

Severus decided to ignore the small part of his thoughts that focused on the fact that he had complimented James Potter’s son. Harry was a Slytherin, after all, and the Slytherins who weren’t raised as Draco had been often needed a self confidence boost. There was no harm in complimenting a Slytherin. There was no harm in complimenting Harry, not when it was essential to gain his trust in order to gain revenge on James Potter. There was no harm in it at all, and if the expression, a split second of surprise and pleasure and hope and happiness, all mixed together into a bright flash, crossed Harry’s face again, it would be only an incidental side effect.

Severus kept Draco and the Weasley boy after class, of course. The two of them had bickered through the entire period and their lack of cooperation had been evident in the miserable excuse for a potion that they had produced.

Severus sat at his desk, the two boys standing before it. He kept his attention on the essay in front of him, focused on the ridiculous assertion that a third year Hufflepuff had made about the use of gosling feathers in healing potions. He dipped his quill in Slytherin green ink and scratched out a comment in the margins of the essay. If the child put gosling feathers in a healing potion, there would be an empty desk in the third year Potions class. Through his eyelashes, Severus watched Draco and the Weasley child wait for his attention. The Potter brat would owe him for this. Severus was not a nursemaid, meant to sort out childish quarrels, chasing after all of the students to give Potter a chance at happiness.

Severus marked another error on the essay with elegant green strokes of ink and surreptitiously continued to watch the two boys. Draco held himself with Malfoy poise, but Weasley had begun to shift his weight from one foot to another. Severus set his quill down. “Well, gentlemen, what have you to say for yourselves?” he asked. Weasley thrust his hands behind his back when Severus directed an intimidating glare at him.

“It was an accident,” the boy said. Words tumbled out of his mouth as his shoulders shifted. Weasley made a belated attempt to stand up straight with his shoulders held back. “He was, well, he’s corrupted poor Harry, he’s just waiting to turn him over to his father and probably make him into a mini Death Eater just like himself. Harry was perfectly normal before he met Malfoy, perfectly fine, and now he’s been bewitched and …”

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Weasley. I believe you’ve made your point of view quite explicit. Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco held his head high and his calm eyes met Severus’s gaze without hesitation. “Professor, this boy started the argument by disrupting our breakfast in the Great Hall. I wasn’t aware that riffraff were permitted to approach the Slytherin table, but Harry and I were eating our breakfasts when he showed up and began making unfounded accusations.” Draco tilted his chin and sneered at the Weasley boy. “He then proceeded to completely ruin our assignment in class today, disregarding all of your instructions and …”

“Enough,” Severus said. “I am appalled by the manner in which you choose to resolve your differences,” Severus began. Weasley made a show of contrition, staring at the floor, but Draco met his godfather’s gaze without a flinch. “You are engaged in an argument over a human person, not an object, and yet you persist in acting as though he were not present and capable of rational thoughts and decisions on his own behalf. Deal with the conflict between you in a fashion that does not alienate or upset Mr. Potter. If I observe any repetition of this thoughtless, immature behavior, you will both be serving detentions. Is that understood?” After a chorus of “Yes, sir,” Severus dismissed Weasley and turned his attention to his godson.

“Well, Draco?” Severus asked when the other boy had left. “Apart from this mroning’s altercation, how are matters with Potter?”

Draco slumped into a chair near the desk, dropping his pureblood mask and manners. “I don’t know what to do, Uncle Sev. You saw him at breakfast today? I want to make him eat more, but the way he flinches away from me whenever he contradicts me makes me afraid to push him too much.”

Severus nodded, watching his godson kick the legs of the chair. The rhythmic sound of Draco’s boots hitting the wooden chair vibrated and lingered. “Don’t make him eat more than he wants to eat, Draco. The important thing now is to earn his trust.”

“But why is he so resistant to the idea of eating? You can tell that he’s hungry by the way he looks at the food, all sad and wanting and, well … hungry.”

Severus shook his head, unhappy with the lack of knowledge. “I don’t know, Draco. Work on earning his trust and perhaps someday we’ll understand the reasons behind some of his peculiar behaviors.”

“I do wish we knew why he sleeps in the closet,” Draco said.

Severus watched his godson, the pale antithesis of the Potter boy. Even when Draco was slumped in a chair with no regard for posture, his eyebrows alone possessed more self confidence than Potter in his entirety. “Why don’t you go find him and try to calm him down enough to eat dinner. The Weasley incident upset him enough that he’s probably hiding somewhere … try the library. He’s often in the chair near the fourth window along the east wall.”

----------

After Draco left, Severus retreated to his office with the stack of third year essays. He was contemplating the abysmal quality of the essays and wondering if the students’ intelligence decreased every year or if his non-existent tolerance for stupidity was being worn away like spun sugar dropped into the ocean. Severus was detailing with precise green letters in the margin of a Ravenclaw’s essay the exact disastrous consequences of combining eagle feathers with dragon’s blood when he was interrupted by a quiet knock on his door. “Enter,” he said.

Severus was finishing his comment with a prediction of the lifespan to be expected for any wizard idiotic enough to make these elementary mistakes in Potions and ignoring the boy who had entered his office. A quick glance had informed him that it was Potter and that the child was in no more distress than was usual for him. The child probably wanted someone to hold his hand and coddle him with platitudes and reassurances after this morning’s incident in the Great Hall. Severus played the waiting game with Potter, marking another Hufflepuff essay before looking up at him.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” Severus was unwilling to coddle the boy. Potter would have to learn how to deal with his peers and it would do him no good to run to an adult whenever he had a problem. Severus was paid to teach, not to nursemaid the brat. He didn’t offer Potter a seat or food, breaking his usual tradition with the boy. There was no need to encourage him in this habit of running to Severus whenever he had a minor problem.

“P-P-Professor?” Potter said. Severus sneered at the boy’s stuttering. “I-I was w-wondering if I could ask you s-some questions.”

Harry Potter had never sought out Severus’s company before of his own will. They had spent time together, when Severus forced food down Potter’s throat or taught him how to brew a potion, but the boy had never looked for him of his own accord before. Was this the beginning of a fragile trust developing between them, a foundation upon which he could build the architecture of his revenge? Severus didn’t understand what could have prompted the boy to seek out his Head of House if he wasn’t seeking comfort after the stress of the morning. Potter must be unsettled after his friends had argued over him like a plaything, calling each other’s motivations and intentions into question. Still, even though the boy’s fragile emotional state was understandable, Severus would not coddle him.

“Don’t expect any assistance with your Potions assignments from me, Potter, not after you’ve proved yourself more than capable of completing them.”

The boy took a half-step back towards the door. “I-It’s not that, s-sir. I was w-wondering if you could t-tell me anything a-about my parents.”

“What?” Severus demanded. The blood paused for an instant in his veins and his hands came up to clutch at the edge of his desk. He wrapped his fingers around the smooth solid wood. His heartbeat resumed its normal rhythm, and he felt his pulse pound through his fingertips against the wooden desk. Potter’s parents, James and Lily Potter, the torment of Severus’s life at Hogwarts – their son had sought him out, come to visit Severus of his own accord, only to remind him of the torment his parents had inflicted? Severus didn’t know who had set the boy up to do this, didn’t know who would have told him about Severus’s misadventures with the elder Potters, but when he learned who had done this, that person would be made to pay. “Get out,” he told Potter.

“P-Please, sir,” the boy said, taking another step backward. Potter was shaking, his shoulders trembled just as his voice trembled. “I-I just … I thought …”

“You thought you could waltz in here like the savior of the wizarding world and mock me, you insolent brat? You thought that your fame entitled you to ask inappropriate questions of your professors? You thought that everyone would be bewitched by your celebrity and care about your dead parents?”

Potter took several steps backward, his mouth opening and closing. He brought his arms up to wrap them around his thin body, his shoulders hunched forward and his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Get out,” Severus said again, and the boy fled.

Draco came to the Potions office that evening, when Severus was leafing through his old Hogwarts yearbook. There were so many pictures of the cheerful, popular James potter. There were photos of him joking with his friends, photos of him flying, photos of him with Evans in Hogsmeade, but there was not a single picture that showed a hint of the things he had done to Severus. Potter’s crimes had been seemingly washed away without evidence, just as the blood that had once flowed through the man’s veins was washed out of his grave and into the earth. There was no record of his transgressions against Severus, and the only record of his life was a collection of old photos and a son who had been created in his image.

“Uncle Sev?” Draco asked as he came to stand in front of Severus’s desk. Severus closed the book and locked it away in a desk drawer, turning back to look at Draco. “I thought you’d want to know that I’ve found Harry, sir. He was hiding in one of the abandoned classrooms near the Charms classroom, in the dust and dark away from everyone. He’s … not so well, really. I didn’t know that the thing with Weasley would affect him so much. He isn’t eating, and he won’t say anything even if I ask him a direct question.”

“It’s uncanny,” Draco continued when Severus made no response, “the way he looks at people as though he’s judging them, like he can see right through a person and tell if they’re likely to hurt him or not. But now, he’s stopped doing that and he looks … just lost. I wouldn’t have fought with Weasley if I’d known he’d take it so badly, Uncle Sev. I really wouldn’t have done it if I’d known.”

“It’s not your fault, Draco,” Severus said. His hands clenched around the edge of his desk again and his magic hadn’t thrummed through the air, unstable and angry, like this since he was a child. Harry Potter, taunting him just as James Potter had done, mocking him for the wrongs that James Potter had inflicted on him – the scene ran through Severus’s brain again and again. “Just leave him be for tonight, Draco. Perhaps he’ll be better in the morning.”

“How exactly will he feel in the morning, Uncle Sev, after Weasley interrupted breakfast, making him too upset to eat anything at lunch, and now he skipped dinner entirely? You know he’s too thin to miss meals like that.”

Severus suppressed a sigh. Draco was determined to torment him in the absence of the Potter brat. “You can hardly force him to eat. He’ll be hungry in the morning and doubtless he’ll eat again then. Stop acting like a Hufflepuff, Draco.”

He was subjected to a full force Malfoy glare before Draco stalked out of his office.

Perhaps this was a double-sided revenge, perhaps the Potters had sent their brat here to torment him. He would not be taunted about his past by a malnourished boy. Draco could mother the little brat, coax him into eating and coddle him, give him the attention he craved. Severus would have no part of it, would not mollycoddle a boy who resorted to starving himself in order to get attention and sympathy. The Potter boy was an irritating brat with a pathological need to be the center of everyone’s attention. He would have no attention from Severus, that much was certain.

Severus left his office, closing his door behind him with an effort not to slam it shut. He stalked down the hallway, black robes billowing. The Potter brat would learn not to taunt Severus Snape, he vowed to himself. He’d been a fool to think that the son could be different from his father, but he would be fooled no longer.

Severus made a point of ignoring the irritating, duplicitous Boy Who Lived during the rest of the week. At meals in the Great Hall, he kept his attention focused on the center of the Slytherin table and didn’t let his gaze wander to Potter’s corner. The boy could eat or starve himself without an audience. He certainly didn’t need any of Severus’s attention. In Potions class, Severus also ignored the boy. Potter, who normally raised his hand after the other students failed to answer a question correctly, became more and more reluctant to do so. The timid raised hand and stuttered explanations disappeared from Potions classes. Severus avoided the table where his godson sat with Potter, refrained from commenting on their potions, and pretended that Harry Potter didn’t exist.

The wretched boy thought he could worm his way into Severus’s life with a stutter and a few implications of mistreatment from his relatives. He thought that he could so easily win Severus’s pity and concern. He thought that he could memorize a few potions and waltz into Severus’s lab. He thought that he could wander around Hogwarts, asking impertinent questions and digging up specters of the past that had been safely buried for a decade now.

The boy would learn that Severus Snape was not a fool. Severus would be on his guard and would never again be taken in by his act. Severus ignored Potter during meals and during lessons and he marked essays in his chambers rather than in his office. The Boy Who Lived would no longer interrupt him with beguiling ways or impudent demands.

----------

Friday dawned gray and cold, with the autumnal crispness of the wind adding extra bite to the cold. Severus had finished his work for the week, with all of his essays marked, his lesson plans finished, and the potions for the infirmary brewed. He’d thrown himself into his work this week, using it to distract himself from thoughts of Potter. There was a curious ache in his throat when he thought of that boy and his betrayal, an ache that disappeared when he focused on his work. Now, however, the weekend loomed large ahead of him, two blank days without classes or work or any distraction.

Severus traced the outline of a potions flask with one tired finger. He’d been toying with the flask since he’d filled it with Harry’s … with Potter’s nutritional supplement potion. Severus didn’t know why he’d brewed the potion after having taught Potter to brew it for himself. The boy was … perhaps he was starving himself for attention, and Severus might hate to swell the ego of the Boy Who Lived, but he also hated the thought that one of his Slytherins could parade around the school, stick-thin and looking malnourished. Of course, given the inherent invisibility of Slytherins, none of the other staff had even noticed Potter’s state. Pathetic blind fools that they were, it was small wonder that the Dark Lord had managed to rise and intimidate them.

Severus’s hand was clenched into a fist around the vial of potion. It was convenient for the wizarding world to dismiss and ignore a quarter of the population, but Severus would be decked in Gryffindor colors and singing Christmas carols before he contributed to the problem. No Slytherin, not even the impossible Potter brat, could be invisible to him, not when it truly mattered. Severus wasn’t sure if it did truly matter in this case, wasn’t sure if Potter starved himself for attention or if there were other, darker reasons for the boy’s state, but it couldn’t be risked. The boy, despite his betrayal, should be given the potion and should be encouraged to eat. Severus couldn’t ignore the boy, not when everyone else did.

Severus followed a locator spell to the boy and was surprised to find that he was emerging into Gryffindor territory. He paused outside of Minerva McGonagall’s office, where the spell indicated Harry was. The door was ajar and Severus cast an eavesdropping spell before slipping into the shadows to hide.

“Th-Thank you for s-seeing me, Professor,” Harry was saying.

“It’s no problem, Mr. Potter,” Minerva said. “You should feel free to approach the faculty if you’re having difficulties here. Was there something you didn’t understand in our last class?”

“N-No, ma’am. I-I was w-wondering if you could tell me about my p-parents. I-I heard that they were Gryffindors, so I thought maybe …”

Severus heard a loud sniffle that probably came from Minerva. The woman was far too sentimental about a couple who had been dead for more than a decade. Foolish Gryffindors were all the same, sentimental and foolhardy and more apt to weep over spilled blood than effectively prevent the blood from being spilled in the first place.

“Well, yes, both of your parents were in my House,” Minerva said. “Such a surprise … well, perhaps the less said about that the better, when after all you seem happy where you are. Your father, James, was excellent at Transfiguration, while your mother was Professor Flitwick’s especial protégée because she was so skilled at Charms. Half-Ravenclaw, that girl was.”

“Were they … W-What did they do after they graduated then?” Potter’s voice quavered a little.

“Let me see … I don’t remember what Lily did, she worked for only a few months before she was pregnant with you. She quit in order to devote all of her energy to her family, loved you even before you were born and she would have done anything for you. She was such a sweet girl although it was something of a waste of her brilliance. James was an Auror, of course, given his skill in Defense Against the Dark Arts and the times being what they were, well, none of us were very surprised.” Minerva sniffled again.

Severus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He didn’t understand why the Potter brat had reached out to Minerva, surely this wouldn’t help the boy in an attempt to hurt Severus. The boy’s voice, though … he was still stuttering, but it held the same tones of fascination and interest that it had when he spoke of potions.

The boy’s next question caught Severus completely off guard. “Do you kn-know if they w-were drunk the … the … when they d-died?”

Minerva spluttered, apparently caught off guard as well. “For goodness sake, child, what a morbid imagination you have. I … I don’t know what to say, honestly. Why do you even think it would have made a difference?”

“It-It wouldn’t?”

“Of course not, child. There are some things that a person simply can’t stand against. You mustn’t think of such things. Your parents were very brave.” Severus heard papers rustling and the sound of china clinking against china. “You’d better run along, Mr. Potter. I daresay your friends will be wondering where you’ve gone.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Potter slipped out into the hallway and stood there blinking for a second. His gaze swept the corridor and then was fixed on the patch of shadows where Severus was concealed. Wondering if the boy could see him, Severus leaned further back into the shadows.

Potter walked closers to Severus’s corner. “P-Professor Snape?” he asked. Sighing at his discovery, Severus stepped out into the light as Potter said, “S-Sir, I’ve b-been wanting to talk to you, b-but you weren’t in your office.”

Severus let his gaze flicker over the boy, assessing and intimidating him. Potter clasped his hands behind his back, his one sign of nervousness, and stood still without fidgeting. “Very well, Mr. Potter,” Severus said after a long pause. “Let us adjourn to my office then.”

----------

The boy was silent as he followed Severus down into the dungeons. Watching the boy tremble in the cold air, Severus bade him to be seated and served him a cup of tea. “Take a biscuit and tell me what the problem seems to be,” Severus told the boy, wearing his Head of Slytherin House mask. He leaned back in his chair and prepared himself for the boy’s complaint about being ignored, or some fuss about Draco, or another question about his parents. Severus was not relishing this interview, but he was determined to endure it.

If Potter’s questions to Minerva were genuine, and not staged for Severus’s benefit, then his purpose in questioning him had not been malicious. Potter’s questions had been nearly incomprehensible, their purpose an enigma that Severus would resolve, but that would have to wait for now. The question of why Potter seemed to know nothing of his own parents was hardly pressing. He would deal with Potter’s petty concerns first, no matter how annoying it was to deal with a student’s troubles. Potter was a Slytherin and Severus was duty-bound to help him as his Head of House.

Potter blew on his tea to cool it and his wary green eyes looked over the rim of the cup at Severus. “P-Professor,” he began and then stared at his teacup as though looking for inspiration. “I-I know … I know you don’t like me very much, and I … I don’t … that is, I-I have to ask a favor of you a-and I hope your dislike of me w-won’t make you say no automatically. I-I don’t know anyone else I could ask.”

The boy’s green eyes were clear and open, free of deceit. Potter may have been a Slytherin, but he had certainly inherited Lily Potter’s Gryffindor eyes, incapable of dissembling or deceit. Severus inclined his head. “I will give you the same consideration that I would give to any student, no more and no less.”

Potter nodded. “Th-Thank you, sir.” He paused for a moment, then leaned forward in his chair and said, “I-I need to learn Occ-Occlumency, sir. I’ve read the books in the library and tried their suggestions, but it doesn’t seem to be w-working.”

Severus set his teacup down with a sharp clink and leaned forward.

“P-Please, sir, will you teach me?” the boy asked, flinching backward.

“What makes you feel a need to learn Occlumency, boy?”

Potter flinched back in his chair. “I … th-that thing that you did, that I promised not to t-talk about? I’ve … I’ve felt that feeling again. I don’t like it, sir.”

“Indeed.” Severus considered the boy, who was trembling slightly, and poured him another cup of tea. “Have you noticed a pattern to the attacks of Legilimency against you?”

Potter looked down at his teacup. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“And?” Severus asked, allowing his impatience to filter into his voice.

Potter looked up at him, his green eyes wide. Severus was reminded of Draco’s words about Potter’s uncanny gaze that seemed to judge a person. Severus held himself still, his breath caught in his throat, and waited for the boy to decide if Severus was worthy of his trust.

A long moment passed. Severus made no move to frighten Potter, no attacks of Legilimency against him to force the knowledge from him. He waited and then Potter said, “It … It always happens when I’m in Professor Quirrell’s class, sir.” Another pause stretched out, with Severus considering the implications of the boy’s statement, and then Harry said, “Sir? I-I don’t know if it’s important, the books didn’t mention anything, but … when it h-happens, it hurts in this old scar of mine.” Potter pushed aside his bangs and pointed to the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

The breath caught again in Severus’s throat. “You’re certain?” he asked.

“Y-Yes, sir. A stabbing sort of pain … is that important?”

“When did this begin? Have you ever felt pain in your scar at any other time? How long does it last and how severe is the pain? Does Quirrell look directly at you when your scar hurts?” Severus paused to take a breath.

The Potter boy was trembling and sloshed the tea out of his teacup. He shrank back into a corner of his chair. “S-Sir, please, it’s not such a big deal. It … it doesn’t hurt very much, it’s okay really.”

With a sigh, Severus set his teacup down. “Let’s continue this discussion in my sitting room. I imagine you’ll feel more comfortable there and I’ll have the house elves bring a meal. You look like you haven’t eaten all week.”

“I did eat some,” Harry said. “Draco made me.” He followed Severus obediently through the connecting door and into his sitting room.

“Well, you need to eat more. You’ve been taking the potion I gave you?” Severus retrieved the new vial of the potion from his pocket and passed it to the boy.

In between bites of the chicken and mashed potatoes that Severus insisted on ordering, as after all, “You cannot live on tea and toast,” he told the boy, Harry asked, “Sir? C-Could you tell me what’s so important about my scar hurting? I mean, you seemed … upset.”

Severus set down his own spoonful of mashed potatoes and stared at the boy. “What is wrong with you? I know you aren’t stupid, so you must realize that your curse scar is a potential connection with the Dark Lord. How is it that you can dismiss it so easily?”

Potter choked on his mashed potatoes. “Th-This scar?” he said, again lifting his hair to point at it. When Severus sighed and nodded, Potter continued, “Th-There must be some mistake, sir. I got this scar in the car crash when my parents d-died.”

A long moment passed before Severus felt himself again capable of speech. “Tell me about this supposed car crash,” he said.

“I-It was … Uncle V-Vernon said my parents were drunk, but Professor McGonagall said it didn’t matter if they were or not. I don’t know if the Professor knows that much about Muggle cars and car crashes, really. I mean, Hagrid told me that I was the Boy Who Lived because I survived my parents’ death, but surviving a car crash isn’t that uncommon really, so I figured that wizards must not know very much about M-Muggle cars.”

Potter paused to take a gulp of his pumpkin juice. “I-I know I was too young to actually remember it, but I think there was a flash of bright green light and then … pain, lots of it.”

“I … Harry,” Severus spoke into the awkward silence that followed the end of the boy’s story. He was not meant to be the person who told the Boy Who Lived about his parents’ murders and his consequent fame. It was incredible that the boy should have survived all these few weeks in the wizarding world without having come upon the truth, without another adult, softer and more caring than Severus, explaining it to him. This task was not meant to have fallen to him, but to someone like Minerva who had cared about the Potters. Severus sighed. “Didn’t Hagrid explain things to you when he delivered your letter?”

The boy shook his head. “I-I was afraid to ask questions in front of Uncle Vernon. I didn’t understand anything much of what he said, but I-I pretended I did.”

Severus leaned back in his chair, trying to work out the best approach. “Harry, do you want some more food, some tea, sweets or chocolates, anything?”

The boy paled and shook his head, huddling into the corner of his chair. “Is it … is it really horrible, Professor?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Severus nodded, wrapping his long fingers around his teacup and bringing it up to his face to calm himself with the rich sweet aroma of the tea.

“There was a Dark Lord,” he began, “you may have heard people refer to him as You-Know-Who. His name … his name was Voldemort, a name that is never spoken, such was the terror that he inspired. He tortured and killed a great many Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards, with the help of the Death Eaters who were his followers. He also killed any witches and wizards who were brave enough or foolish enough to defy him, regardless of their ancestry.”

“My parents?” Harry whispered into the pause. The boy had drawn his knees up to his chest and he rested his chin on one knee. His green eyes were fixed on Severus.

“Yes, he killed your parents. He then tried to kill you, using a curse which is considered Unforgivable. It’s a curse that no one has ever been able to block or survive. Your scar is the only indication that he cast this curse on you. It rebounded on him, destroying his physical body and ending the reign of terror which he had imposed upon the wizarding world. That is why you are known as the Boy Who Lived, and that is why the wizarding world has been at peace for the last decade.”

Harry greeted this revelation with silence, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “I … I … you haven’t told me everything, have you?” he asked at last.

“Very perceptive,” Severus agreed. “There are some things that can’t be told now, Harry. Can you understand that?”

The boy nodded. His expression remained solemn and Severus wondered at his ability to take the news of his parents’ murders so calmly. “Harry, are you okay?”

“My u-uncle, he lied to me?”

“Yes, about this and about a great many other things, I suspect. I ... If you have any questions about what your uncle has told you about your parents, you may ask me. I do not wish to discuss them in general, but I will endeavor to correct any falsehoods that he may have told you.”

The boy hesitated and then said, “If … if my parents didn’t die in a car accident like Uncle Vernon says, does that mean … well, he said that all the freaks who have magic are going to die early unnatural deaths. He said my parents d-deserved what happened to them?”

Harry looked at the floor, avoiding Severus’s gaze as the older wizard replied, “You must be able to see that what he said is pure nonsense, Harry. Look around at all of the professors at Hogwarts, all of us older than your parents were when they died and all of us fully qualified witches and wizards. None of us would be here if all witches and wizards were doomed to die early and unnatural deaths. You should know better than to listen to your Uncle when he says things like that.”

Some of the tension left the boy’s shoulders and Severus took a deep breath. He had finally said something right to Harry. “Any other questions?” he asked.

The boy looked up at him, a measure of tension returning to him. He leaned away from Severus and shook his head.

“Come now, I can tell that you’ve another question. Lying is not one of the Slytherin traits at which you excel, Mr. Potter.”

The boy shook his head and said indistinctly, “I can’t ask this question.”

Severus leaned forward to hear better, unconsciously starting to intrude on Potter’s personal space. He relaxed backwards when the boy flinched and said in a soft voice, “Ask your question.”

“I … It’s not about what my uncle s-said, sir,” the boy said. Impatient, Severus nodded for him to continue.

“I … I don’t want to make you angry again like the other night, sir.” The boy’s voice was still quiet and his words were nearly indistinct. Severus seethed inside, both at the lack of confidence shown by one of his Slytherins and at the knowledge that his ill-considered actions earlier this week had prompted the boy’s fear. If Severus hadn’t misinterpreted the boy’s question about his parents, if he hadn’t overreacted as he had, Harry would have trusted him sooner with the information about Quirrell. Harry wouldn’t be flinching away from Severus in fear right now if Severus had only kept his temper. How could he have thought that this timid, frightened boy would try to mock him or betray him?

“Ask your question, Harry. I won’t be angry,” was all that Severus said.

The boy’s gaze dropped to the hands he held clasped in his lap. “I … I was w-wondering, since Draco said my parents were Gryffindors, how you think … I mean, some of the Gryffindors really dislike the Slytherins, so would they have … disliked me too?”

Severus watched the dark-haired boy, this timid orphan with no knowledge of his parents. After a pause to consider his words, Severus said, “It’s a dilemma I’ve often seen as Head of Slytherin House, I can tell you. Slytherins are the least popular, practically shunned by some people who regard us with automatic suspicion. I’ve often seen children come from families that are traditionally Sorted into the other Houses, but while there is some initial shock at their Sorting into Slytherin, it fades after a time. I imagine …” Severus paused as the boy turned his expectant green eyes to focus on him. “I imagine your parents would be happy regardless of which House was chosen for you.”

A flash of pain entered Severus’s conscience at his lie to the child. He disliked falsehood and couldn’t imagine that lying to the boy would help promote the burgeoning trust that was forming between them, but he was reluctant to reveal his past with Harry’s parents and the wrongs he had suffered at their hands on account of his being a Slytherin. There was no need to relive the past for this insecure boy, no need to challenge the trust he’d developed for his Head of House with his loyalty for his parents. Harry seemed to trust him, though perhaps he’d approached him for Occlumency lessons only because he knew already that Severus was proficient at the art from their earlier encounter. Nonetheless, Harry had trusted him with the knowledge of his attacker, had trusted him with the information about his scar. It was fragile and uncertain, as trust went, but it was a beginning and Severus was reluctant to shatter it.

Severus sighed. Once he would have taken joy in disabusing Harry of any positive notions he had of his parents, but that Harry, the Harry he would have taunted and insulted, hadn’t believed that his parents died in a drunken car crash. He looked at the boy, this strange waif-like child who sat in Severus’s quarters, curled in a corner of the chair like an abandoned Puffskein. This was a child who was practically friendless, who stuttered but knew all the answers and brewed perfect potions, who flinched at every noise but stood up to his only friend, who refused to fidget even when Severus was at his most intimidating … this child didn’t deserve to have the little he had of his parents taken away from him.

Severus was jerked back into reality when Harry set his goblet of pumpkin juice back on the table, making a hollow wooden noise. “It’s close to curfew and you’d best be heading back to your dorms, Mr. Potter. As tomorrow is a Saturday, I’ll expect you after breakfast in my office for our first Occlumency lesson. Do not tell Draco or any of your peers about it, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” the boy said, and after Severus insisted that he fill his pockets with the biscuits that remained on the tray, Harry hurried off to the Slytherin dorms.

Inspiration had hit Severus that evening as he sat drowsing over an Occlumency textbook, planning out Potter’s first lesson. Struck by the proverbial “Lumos” in the darkness, he straightened his spine from its sleepy curve and allowed a smile to twitch across his face for a second. Every Slytherin bone in his body vibrated with the complacency that accompanied a perfect, elegant solution to a problem. This solution fit all of the constraints of the situation, it was smooth and sleek and Slytherin, it was foolproof, and it was the pinnacle of his revenge against James and Lily Potter. It was exquisite.

“Mr. Potter,” Severus said as he ushered the boy into his office, “You didn’t eat very much at breakfast.”

The boy had in fact managed to eat two slices of toast with jam and a piece of bacon and drink an entire goblet of pumpkin juice, which was progress considering his earlier eating habits. However, Severus was not prepared to be satisfied with mediocrity from one of his Slytherins. All of his other students ate with normal adolescent appetites, and some of them had the appetites of full-grown mountain trolls. Severus would tolerate no less from Potter. The boy, still all angles and lines, had put on some weight in his time here at Hogwarts, but it was hardly sufficient. Perhaps the daily potion should be increased or altered, something added to pique the boy’s appetite, perhaps orange extract would work.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the boy said. His gaze was fixed on the floor and he didn’t look up at Severus.

“I would rather see that you ate more at mealtimes than listen to tedious apologies, Mr. Potter. Have you found the nutritional supplement potion to be adequate?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy’s head was still bent down to focus his gaze on the floor and Severus scowled.

“Please do me the courtesy of looking at me rather than the floor, Mr. Potter. I don’t believe that you will find it to be a very helpful instructor in most disciplines, particularly Occlumency. As you are already aware, eye contact is vital for Legilimency and so you’ll have to overcome this inordinate fascination with the floor and actually look at me during the lesson. I’d prefer that you did so now.”

“Y-Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” The boy looked up at Severus and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

“You do, I hope, understand the importance of proper nutrition. It is necessary for you to eat more at meals, Harry. I know you’ve had to go without food for far too long, but here at Hogwarts you need never go hungry. Is that understood?”

Severus waited for the boy’s nod before continuing, “I told you at the beginning that I was prepared to be lenient with you for a short while but my patience is nearly exhausted. I wouldn’t like to take points from my own House or give detention, but I shall be forced to do so if you don’t put on some weight.”

The boy nodded again and Severus allowed the topic to drop, turning at last to Occlumency. It was almost time, Severus calculated, almost but not quite time to begin the execution of his plan. The child had started to relax, his posture was looser and he even leaned forward out of the safe corner of his chair, but some tension remained. Severus had to get the boy to relax further, to trust him and agree to the plan and then it would be perfect, Severus secure in his revenge.

He led Harry through a theoretical discussion of Occlumency, answering questions that the boy had from his readings and pointing out a few key issues. He waited until the child was relaxed, as calm and focused as he was when brewing a potion, and then he began the first step in the plan. Gentle and smooth like velvet, calm and risking nothing, Severus watched the son of James Potter as he said, “Harry, I am willing to give you these lessons in Occlumency because I understand like none other the importance of keeping your privacy inviolate. Moreover, the potential involvement of the Dark Lord does worry me and measures need to be taken to ensure that all students are safe.” He kept his voice as calm as it had been during their theoretical discussion. “I think, though, that you must be aware that this represents a significant investment of time and effort for me and you must also be aware that nothing comes without a price.”

There it was, the bait to the trap out in the open between them. Harry drew his knees up to his chest and stuttered when he said, “S-sir?” but the reaction was not as bad as Severus had feared it would be. Harry’s probable background was such that Severus would be surprised if the notion of indebtedness didn’t bring a negative reaction and he was glad that he’d waited until the boy was relaxed instead of springing it on him immediately. It was Slytherin intuition at its finest, he congratulated himself, much like his devious plan.

Continuing before the child could work himself into a fright, Severus said, “In return for my time and effort, I think it would be appropriate if you repaid me in the same coin.” He kept his voice calm and soothing with an effort of will, this close to success. “Just as we came to an agreement earlier this year, a secret kept in return for a secret kept, we’ll balance the scales now. For every hour that I spent teaching you Occlumency at your request, I want you to spend an equal amount of time with me, learning what I request.”

“Wh-What would that b-be, sir?” the boy asked, his lips pale.

“We’d cover a variety of topics, mostly a survey of wizarding culture, elocution lessons to cure you of your stuttering and lessons in deportment to see you acting like a proper Slytherin. This is a favor to me because I would be most upset if one of my Slytherins were to bring disgrace upon Slytherin House, do you understand?” With guilt pressing in on two fronts, Severus was certain he had the boy.

“I-I’m a disgrace?” the boy asked, his lip trembling as he leaned backwards in his chair.

“No, no,” Severus said. That was the last thing he wanted the boy to think. “No, you aren’t a disgrace at all. You’re a first year student and not expected to know any more than you do, but your fellow classmates are picking this up from the older students and you seem to be too shy to spend much time with them. I’ll just be teaching you some of what they’re learning.” He didn’t mention that the things Harry needed to learn were taught to most pureblood Slytherins as soon as they could flick a practice wand. There was no need to further encourage the boy’s inferiority complex.

“I – won’t that be a l-lot of work for you too, sir?”

Severus shook his head, strands of dark hair falling across his eyes. “It’s for the honor of Slytherin House,” he told Harry.

It was for his revenge against James and Lily Potter, the sweet knowledge that he had trained the boy in every facet of wizarding culture, had influenced his views and behavior, that he, the despised and ugly Slytherin was more of a parent to their darling boy than they ever could be. It was the sweetest, purest revenge, stealing their son’s mind. He’d stolen their son in body already, feeding him when the pious followers of Dumbledore’s pretty philosophies were blind and willing to let the boy starve. Now he stole Harry from James and Lily Potter in body and mind, feeding them both and laying a peculiar claim to the boy that they, having abandoned the boy to this fate, could not contest from beyond the grave.

Harry would be fed and taught because of Severus, who could see clearly that Dumbledore and the other fools who’d called themselves friends of the Potters were willing to let the boy wallow in his ignorance of the world in which he was born to live. Severus would feed his body, nurture his mind, answer his questions, soothe him and guide him and help him where James and Lily Potter could not. The Sorting Hat had put Harry in Slytherin and Severus was determined that the boy would be a credit to his House. The stutter would be gone, replaced by the self-confidence and knowledge that was a Slytherin’s birthright and it would be Severus and not the Potters who effected this change. The taste of revenge was sweeter to Severus’s soul than Dumbledore’s candies were to the tongue, and he reveled in it.

He would persist in his revenge. He was more than capable of ignoring the emotions that nagged at him, the pity for an orphan, an abused boy, the admiration for a Slytherin who was strong enough to ignore that background and succeed at Hogwarts, the tightness he had felt in his throat when he’d thought that Harry had betrayed him, the thrill that tickled at his breastbone when he saw Harry eating in the Great Hall and knew that Harry was eating because Severus had urged him to do so. A Slytherin knew how to prioritize and Severus knew that his revenge was more important than any emotions. This revenge would quiet the corner of his mind that still whimpered from the ringing taunts of the Marauders, the part of him that was still ashamed and flinching and uncertain. He was no longer a victim of James Potter’s taunts or pranks, no longer the recipient of Lily Potter’s pretense at compassion, and their restless spirits would know it.

----------

Severus appreciated the innumerable blessings that were to be found in silence … the cool damp silence of the dungeons, hedged in by walls thick enough to be sound-proof and brat-proof, the still air with its almost tangible moisture that soothed his dry skin from the ravages inflicted on it by toxic potion fumes … but never did he appreciate it so much as after the departure of Harry Potter from their lessons that Saturday. On countless occasions Severus had taken refuge in his office and built himself a cathedral of silence that arched far above his pounding headache, bolstered by his Occlumency, after a long day of futile attempts to inculcate knowledge into empty student heads. He had appreciated silence then, but today … today he reveled in it, needing it like a wizard needed air and magic.

It was not that Harry was an inattentive pupil, an impertinent irreverent child or a careless dunce, for Harry was nothing like the usual Hogwarts student. It was not that the lesson had gone badly. Severus acknowledged stark reality even when it was unpleasant and knew that he often spent hours speaking to stone walls, not a single word registering in the empty brains of the nitwits he taught, whereas Harry was a teacher’s dream, attentive and respectful and willing to ask intelligent questions. They had made more progress with Occlumency than Severus had thought possible for a frightened first year. The subtleties, the mental acuity, the magical strength, the force of will required to successfully practice Occlumency, these were beyond the average child and Severus doubted that any first year other than the bloody Boy Who Lived would have accomplished what Harry had.

As resourceful as the boy was, as strong and talented and determined, there was no chance that he would master Occlumency at his age. The thought that Quirrell, with some connection to Voldemort, would still be able to rifle through the boy’s memories at will … Severus needed this silence. He needed this silence to forget the sticky, polluted feeling that crept under the walls of his Occlumency when he discovered the faint touch of Quirrell’s Legilimency on Harry’s mind, a taint floating on the surface like iridescent drops of oil shimmering on a still puddle of water. The feeling was reminiscent of Voldemort’s touch on his own mind and Severus could no longer hope that the boy had imagined the pain in his scar. Voldemort was connected to Quirrell and Severus had a stark unsettling premonition that there would be suffering before this came to an end.

If he did not alter his behavior toward Harry, the Dark Lord would discover evidence of his disloyalty in Harry’s mind, whereas if he did alter his behavior … no, it was unthinkable. If Severus turned on the boy, subjected him to cruel taunts and insults, it would have the worst possible effect on the boy’s blossoming trust, the worst possible effect on Severus’s blossoming revenge. It was unthinkable, even in the arching cathedral of silence that Severus had built up around him, the safety and dampness of his dungeon.

Severus also needed this silence to forget the hour spent after Occlumency on correcting Harry’s stutter. The empty obliging air of the dungeons could leech the stuttering from his brain with some curious osmotic process, removing from his memory the sounds that had grated on his ear. Severus wondered again at the boy’s Sorting, for surely the Hat must have seen something to justify putting the boy in Slytherin, something that Severus did not yet see. Potter acted like a timid Ravenclaw more than anything else – he occasionally showed flashes of Slytherin behavior, but on the whole he was too fragile now. Severus brushed aside his long greasy hair and rubbed at his temples, wondering what further penance would be set him for his sins, wondering how he could complete his absolution when he was set these impossible tasks.

The silence, the peace that Severus craved and needed, was broken by a knock on the door. “Draco?” Severus asked, suppressing his annoyance, when his godson entered the office, “aren’t you supposed to be at the Manor this weekend?”

His godson’s cultured accent, though not the silence Severus needed, stood out in blessed contrest to Harry’s pathetic stutter. Severus frowned when he realized that Draco was carrying out his “perfect pureblood aristocrat” mask, with his emotions repressed and civility brought to the forefront to replace them. It was a sure sign that Draco was troubled. The more emotion he showed, the less emotion he felt … the more emotion he felt, the more he masked it.

After moving through the traditional greetings and courtesies like a well-bred automaton, Draco answered the question. “I did go home for my counseling session,” he admitted, “but I felt that I ought to return to watch over Harry.”

“Something is bothering you, Draco, and you know that I know it. You can play the role of perfect Slytherin Prince with your peers, but you’ll need at least twenty more years of experience at it before you can begin to fool me.”

Draco bowed his head for a moment in acknowledgement, studying his manicured hands. When he looked up at Severus again, the pureblood aristocrat mask was gone and Draco looked like an uncertain eleven-year-old child. “She let him torture me,” he said. “My mother – she knew what he was doing. Sometimes he even made her watch, and still she did nothing.”

“Draco,” Severus began.

“No, Uncle Sev,” his godson interrupted him. The child ran a hand through his fine hair, the color and luster of white gold shining in the bright office lights. “I’ve discussed it with the counselor and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. She did what she thought was best and I’m sick of hearing it, okay? Let’s talk about Harry, it’s much more important.”

Severus drew on a decade of experience as Head of Slytherin House to give a comforting answer. “He’s not any more important than you are, Draco, and the fact that Narcissa did what she thought was best doesn’t change anything. She was frightened and intimidated by Lucius but that is no excuse. It doesn’t change the fact that it was wrong of her to stand by and watch and it doesn’t change the fact that you have every right to be angry with her. Do you understand?”

The emotionless mask was firmly on Draco’s face again. “I said I don’t want to talk about it right now,” was all he said.

The two of them stared at each other for a few long moments before Severus broke the tension by summoning a house elf for tea.

“Uncle Sev,” Draco said as he reached for the sugar bowl, “you are aware that Harry is still sleeping in the closet rather than in his bed?”

“I … had not given it much thought,” Severus admitted. If it was not for his revenge, James Potter’s son could have slept in an iceberg without causing him any pangs of conscience, but the boy was the key to his revenge. Revenge against James and Lily Potter was becoming more intricate and complicated than Severus had ever imagined it to be. He had initially thought, before the boy had been Sorted into Slytherin, that his revenge would consist of cruelty to the boy, torturing James Potter by torturing his son, and instead he had found in the son of his enemy a frightened child, one of his own whom he was obliged to protect and who could further his desire for a more complete revenge. He had been willing to let his vengeance consist of the oversight of Harry’s physical well-being, making sure that he was nourished properly, but it had spilled over to the boy’s lessons, making sure that he was educated, and now Draco was asking him to take another step, to care for the boy’s emotional well-being.

Severus watched his godson, trying to see past the mask that Draco wore and divine his intentions. Draco had always been a spoiled child and this recent shift in behavior, avoiding discussions with his godfather to deal with the abuse suffered at Lucius’s wandpoint and focusing on Potter’s recovery from abuse, was troubling. Severus wanted to believe that the revelation of the abuse that he had suffered and forcibly forgotten had been enough to open Draco’s eyes to Lucius’s true self, to the consequences of similar actions. He wanted to believe that Draco’s interest in Potter was selfless and good, but he had too many memories of a selfish Draco, a Draco that focused on a new expensive toy for a few weeks before abandoning it. If Draco were to abandon Potter after having gained his trust, it would set back Potter’s recovery considerably.

Hiding his confusion and lingering apprehensions with a faint sneer, Severus said, “As I recall, we’ve been more preoccupied with ensuring that the brat had enough to eat. Malnourishment is more serious than the lack of a comfortable bed.”

“Harry doesn’t believe that he deserves to sleep in a bed, Uncle Sev,” Draco replied. “Don’t you think that dealing with his low self-esteem is as important is getting him to eat properly? How is he supposed to be the savior of the wizarding world if he stutters and is afraid of everyone around him? He has to learn that he’s the equal or better of everyone else if he’s going to survive here.”

Draco took a dainty sip of his tea, setting the cup down precisely in the center of its saucer. “Besides, if we can get him to sleep in the bed, he might stop using it for other purposes.”

“Other purposes?” Severus echoed, and mentally reprimanded himself for sounding like a brainless parroting first-year student.

With a nod, Draco said, “Apparently Harry hasn’t quite gotten the idea of regular meals yet. I don’t know if he thinks that someday there won’t be any meals served in the Great Hall or if he thinks that somebody will find him unworthy of eating there, but he’s taken precautions against it.”

Severus stared at him for a long moment and so Draco continued, a smirk flitting across his face at the surprise openly shown by the Potions Master. “He’s got it set up very cleverly, in fact. It’s the sort of thing he does that reminds me that he’s a Slytherin and not a Ravenclaw with a penchant for green scarves. He’s put preserving and stasis charms on all of the food so that it doesn’t spoil, and keeps it under the sheets of the bed. He asked me, ever so politely, if that empty bed was being used for anything and he didn’t start his cache until I assured him that it was in fact his bed.”

Severus opened his mouth to comment but Draco hadn’t finished his story. “Do you know the best part, Uncle Sev? He’s got a concealment charm on them during the day and it’s set to turn off at curfew. With the food arranged under the covers, it looks almost like there’s a boy sleeping in that bed.”

Severus took a long drink of his tea, grimacing when he realized that the liquid was now lukewarm. “You haven’t tried to convince him to sleep in his bed?”

“I did try, of course, but now I’m not sure that he wants to give up his cache of food. I really think that you should talk to him about it, Uncle Sev. He trusts you and I think this situation will require all your Slytherin cunning to convince him. After all, just as you pointed out, I won’t be Slytherin enough to fool you for another twenty years at least.”

The manipulation was blatant enough that Severus could have avoided it and forced Draco to deal with the problem, but in this case he supposed that his godson had a point. “Very well, Draco, I’ll speak with him, but you’d best accompany him for the rest of the weekend since you’re back. Make sure that he eats properly and finishes all of his homework.”

Wrapping himself in the comfort of his cathedral of silence after Draco had left, Severus wondered how revenge on James and Lily Potter had turned him into a worried, nagging mother. Their spirits would pay for this, he vowed. They would regret all of the pain that they had caused him when they saw that Harry, their beloved son, who was hurt and fragile and gave his trust so hesitantly, trusted their old school enemy.

----------

Severus groaned when another knock came at the door to his office. It seemed as though he was destined to have no rest, none of the peace and quiet that he needed, on this particular Saturday. He blinked with surprise and called a house elf for another tea tray when he realized that his visitor was Narcissa Malfoy.

If only tea wasn’t required to soothe his frightened students and welcome his adult visitors, he reflected, he wouldn’t feel as though his insides were swimming. It was small wonder that the colonists had decided to throw over the British government and toss their tea into the ocean … if they had felt a tenth of the animosity that Severus had toward tea at this very instant, it was a more than understandable course of action. Of course, Severus didn’t need to despise tea to understand the rebellion. He had understood it when he read that the British Ministry of Magic had insisted on charging ten galleons for each imported unicorn hair. Even if unicorns weren’t native to North America, that was no reason for Potion Masters from that continent to be deprived of the resources necessary to create many essential potions.

Dismissing the train of thought, he poured Narcissa a cup of tea and passed her the sugar and lemon. “What brings you here?” he asked, in no mood to waste time with the customary pleasantries.

“You never change, Severus,” Narcissa said with a small smile. She stirred the sugar into her tea and took a sip before continuing. “Draco has told you everything, I assume, about Lucius and what he did. I’m here to ask a favor of you.”

The admission was unusual for a Slytherin like Narcissa and Severus allowed a twitch of his eyebrows to convey his surprise.

“Lucius is contesting the divorce. He can’t bear the fact that I took Draco’s love from him when I gave him the Souvienieve. You know how he is, Severus … it’s strange that I was the one named after Narcissus when it would have suited him so much better. He needs to feel that the world loves him as well as he loves himself, that self-centered, self-absorbed …”

Severus interrupted her with a sharp wave of his hand. “Let’s not allow ourselves to be distracted with musings on Lucius’s character flaws, Narcissa. As numerous as they are, we would be here all afternoon and I do have papers to grade today, you know. Tell me what favor you are asking of me.”

A corner of Narcissa’s mouth turned down at his bluntness but she continued without protest. “He’s claiming that Draco is of the age where he needs a strong male presence in his life, to guide his development in his teenage years. I have … I have submitted the Souvienieve and testified about the abuse that I witnessed, but you know how much money and influence Lucius has. I would be much obliged to you if you would consent to act as a parental figure for Draco so that I could counter Lucius’s objection in court.”

Severus slipped behind his Slytherin mask, watching Narcissa fidget with her tea spoon with cold eyes. “I assume that I can call upon you for a reciprocal favor if I agree to this?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said without hesitation and he reached across the table to clasp her hand, sealing the bargain.

Severus slammed a large cauldron down onto his worktable and as the reverberations echoed through the room he pulled out a half-kilo of fresh comfrey and began chopping it into small pieces. The knife made satisfying thinks against the wooden board. He’d brew a headache relief potion, Severus decided, an extra large batch of it with half for Poppy and half for himself. Salazar only knew how badly he needed it after this morning.

The comfrey was chopped too finely, Severus discovered after he had vented some part of his frustration on it. The juice from its leaves, green and viscous, had stained his fingers and his knife. Severus stared down at his hands as though they belonged to a stranger.

He set the knife down and took deep breaths to calm himself. He could not afford to act like an emotional Gryffindor or Hufflepuff – he was Slytherin. He was Slytherin and as such, he would be calm, he would think, he would plan. There would be no ill-considered actions, no rash vengeance, no fits of rage – as much as he would love to indulge his temper, he could not retaliate against those vile Muggles directly. Potter’s family would pay for the harm that they had inflicted on one of his Slytherins, but it would be gradual and subtle and he would not be caught. Taking in deep breaths through his nose, Severus selected a new bunch of comfrey and took up the knife again. He was controlled now, cold and focused and he cut the comfrey into precise pieces the exact size needed.

Rage still simmered inside him, a cold bright fire that he banked and tended with care. He imagined the Muggle’s faces onto the helpless green comfrey, those wretched Muggles who had hurt Potter and taken away Severus’s last chance of a normal revenge against his school nemesis – normal retaliation, with him sneering and tormenting the boy with cutting remarks and knowledge of his parents’ idiocy, was not possible with the boy the Muggles had broken, the boy that had been sorted into his own House. This revenge was more complete and satisfying, to be sure, than a few cheap insults and undeserved detentions would have been, but it had required Harry’s pain and the Muggles would pay for it. Through the haze of his anger, the film that coated Severus’s thoughts, he was aware that he was being illogical, but that thought was shoved away with the pile of chopped comfrey.

Pickled slugs needed to be chopped next, and Severus imagined that his knife was sliding into Potter’s uncle, cleaving his intestines and making him plead for mercy. Harry’s uncle, who had forced Harry to sleep in a cupboard, who had caused the white frightened look on the boy’s face when he had confessed everything to Severus that morning – with the help of a calming potion and a mild truth serum in his tea after Severus had tired of hearing repeated denials. Potter had insisted that everything was “all right,” that he was “fine,” with “n-n-no problems wh-whatsoever, sir” and in the end it had come out that the boy believed his situation to be normal. One of his Slytherins had been locked in a cupboard, locked in a cupboard to starve by those wretched Muggles until he was afraid to sleep in a bed – didn’t think he was worthy of a bed, of all things.

Severus had been angry with Draco when the boy tried to manipulate him into dealing with Potter’s sleeping habits – angry because it was a waste of his time, because he’d thought that Draco could deal with the problem. Severus had rarely been so wrong. Draco wouldn’t have helped Harry any, Draco who had a bed larger than Harry’s cupboard – and how angry Severus had been when he’d prompted the boy to pace out the dimensions of the cupboard in his office and found that the boy had been living in a space smaller than Severus’s desk. Severus wasn’t sure that he had helped the boy – Harry had promised him that he would try to sleep in the bed, but his cursed stutter had returned and the boy had looked waif-like, so wretched and vulnerable, exactly the way he’d first looked in the Great Hall during the Sorting. Severus disliked seeing the boy so afraid and confused – the Savior of the wizarding world should not cringe, should be proud and confident like any Slytherin. Damn James and Lily Potter for abandoning their son to those horrible Muggles, and damn them for all the pain that they had caused Harry.

Severus looked down to see that he had reduced the pickled slugs to a mass of pulp. He banished the slimy pile with an Evanesco and stalked out of the potions lab, unwilling to trust himself to brew when his temper escaped like this.

Locked in a cupboard, told that a skinny little boy deserved the smallest room, told that he was a waste of space – of course Potter had believed that, the wretched trusting boy had believed every lie those Muggles had told him because he hadn’t any way to know better – starved down to a skeleton, and there was no telling what else those idiots had done to his student. It was intolerable. Even Severus, hating the boy’s parents and justified in doing so, wouldn’t have treated the boy that badly. If he’d been tempted to hurt the boy, at least he would never have lied to him, never abused him by withholding food or shelter or denying the normal needs of a young growing wizard – a wizard who should have been loved and protected, treated with kindness and encouraged to allow his burgeoning talent develop rather than being shut in a cupboard for “freaky accidents.”

The Bloody Baron drifted down the corridor with Severus, a reassuring silent presence at first, until he said, “Are you this troubled by the boy, that scrawny whelp of two Gryffindors that I saw leaving your office this morning?”

To anyone living, Severus would have responded with a glare and an assertion that he was most certainly not troubled, but the Baron was a trusted though sporadic confidant, the only adult Slytherin that Severus could socialize with on a regular basis, and so he stilled his sharp tongue and merely nodded.

The Baron had once been Head of Slytherin House himself and was too sly and wise to press Severus for details. Instead, he drifted alongside the man in silence, waiting with a patience that Severus could never hope to match. “James and Lily Potter left him to the care of her Muggle relatives when they died,” Severus said at last, “and they abused the boy.”

“He is very small and thin,” the Baron said.

“Yes.” After a long pause, Severus felt that the Baron was waiting for more information and so he added, “They barely fed him and they kept him locked up in a cupboard whenever it pleased them to do so. He’s been sleeping in a closet in the dorms here. He doesn’t believe that he deserves any better – doesn’t believe he deserves either space or food.”

“You hated the boy’s parents when you were a student yourself.”

Severus smirked at the Baron, knowing the ghost was Slytherin enough to appreciate the twisted subtlety of his revenge on the Potters. A look passed between them and then the Baron looked away.

“You must take care not to alienate the boy with this revenge of yours. He’ll hate you more than he hates those Muggles if he learns you’re using him. I have watched him, Severus, arguing with young Draco and that redheaded boy at times – the Potter boy seems fragile and weak but he too is a Slytherin, dangerous when threatened and he may be dangerous to you as well. You know what he is.” The Baron turned back to look at Severus, one ghostly hand moving up to his face to wipe away a stream of silvery blood.

“I take it you’ve persuaded him to sleep in a bed tonight? I will watch over him and fetch you if there are any problems.” With that said, the Slytherin ghost faded until he disappeared.

----------

Severus held the porcelain cup to his lips, allowing it to appear to the casual observer that he was drinking his tea. The other three Heads of House – oblivious nitwits, despite their Mastery of their respective subjects – never noticed, but Albus’s eyes twinkled at Severus. A sigh ruffled the hot liquid, puffs of steam rising into the air, and Severus contemplated again the magical impossibility of casting the Killing Curse upon oneself. It was unfortunate that the strength of will and magic could not be mustered – he would have been willing to do it if only to escape these wretched faculty meetings. After a morning spent with the irritating stutter of Potter and an unsettling conversation with the Baron, Severus was not in any mood to listen to the other professors drone and simper about their first years.

After Minerva finished her rambling about the incompetent Neville Longbottom, Severus choked back a scathing comment when he caught the Headmaster’s stern look. All eyes turned to him, and Severus set his tea down. “The Slytherin first years are adjusting well,” he said. “I am taking care of all of the problems that have arisen.”

“You say that every year, Severus. Give us more details,” Minerva said.

Severus sneered at the interfering old cat. “I say that every year and you’ve never asked for more information before, never cared about a Slytherin or lifted your wand to help them when they needed it. You needn’t start expressing concern this year, Professor McGonagall – I won’t tell you anything about Potter to indulge your mawkish curiosity in a boy that has done nothing to deserve the adulation of the masses. He is a Slytherin, no matter how much you felt he should have been put with the reckless empty-headed fools in your care, and Slytherins take care of their own. I’ll not allow you to torment him with your false concern and unreasonable expectations.”

“Now, Severus,” Albus said in his cloying ‘let me offer you a lemon drop’ tone of voice. “You can hardly blame us for natural curiosity about the boy. It is true that the Slytherins have been forced to suffer under misconceptions and prejudice for many years now, but this is a wonderful chance to change public opinion. You would be amazed at the shifts in House reputations that I’ve seen over the decades. Before Grindelwald, the last Dark Lord was a Ravenclaw and that House was reviled just as yours is now.”

Flitwick took offense at that and said in his high twittering voice, “Honestly, Albus, how could you compare us to those dark wizards? Evil isn’t a Ravenclaw trait, it’s a Slytherin trait, as everyone knows. I won’t just sit here and let you insult us Ravenclaws.”

“Everyone knows a great many things that are wrong, you pin-sized…”

Albus clapped his hands together and cut off the remainder of Severus’s insult.

Inwardly, Severus snarled at the fact that Flitwick was allowed to insult him but he was not allowed to retaliate. He allowed one of his more menacing glares to twist his face as he stared across the Headmaster’s desk at the Ravenclaw.

“I think you’ll find that evil is a human trait,” Albus said, “and also, I think that one of these days I’ll find that recipe I misplaced. It was for my Great Aunt Hettie’s lemon sorbet, very soothing and tasty in the summer. I’m sure there would be less evil in the world if there was just a spot more ice cream – sugar does marvels for the soul, you know, soothes the savage beast as they say. Now, if there’s nothing else in the way of House business, I’d like a word with Severus about the potions for the infirmary.”

“I am sorry that this burden has fallen to you,” Albus said when the others had left and the shine was gone from his eyes. “I do understand that it is harder for you than it would have been for any of the others.”

Severus sat back in his chair, allowing this rare candid moment with Albus to relax him. It was not often that the Headmaster lost his twinkle and affected eccentricity and turned serious, and these moments were to be relished. Severus accepted the fresh cup of coffee that was offered, knowing that it wasn’t laced with any calming potions. The rich aroma of the coffee went straight to his brain and an almost-smile twitched his lips for a second – Albus’s reward for providing him with his favorite beverage.

“You needn’t worry. I’ve already seen that he is not his father,” Severus said in an attempt to forestall a lecture.

“No, and neither are you your father, Severus. There’s no need for either of you to emulate your parents.”

Severus’s heart paused between beats in his chest and he took another sip of his coffee to cover his surprise. Albus achieved his reputation for omniscience by making enigmatic comments that seemed wise in hindsight and by keeping his calm when he was surprised. The Headmaster was not in fact all-knowing, and there was no way he could know of Severus’s plans for revenge.

“I suppose, Albus, that given the boy’s probable destiny, you’ve made some sort of plans for him to receive extra training. His summers to be spent studying at Hogwarts, making additional work for your entire faculty, I suppose?” Severus took another sip of his coffee, letting the rich aroma seep into his taste buds and enjoying it as though he wasn’t vitally interested in the Headmaster’s answer.

Albus took a lemon drop from the dish set on his desk – even when the mask of amiable eccentricity was gone, the man loved those candies – and looked troubled. “I hadn’t planned on it, no, Severus. I thought it was best to let the boy be a child while childhood was still an option for him, and telling him of the Prophecy – well, I think it’s too much for an eleven-year-old boy to bear, don’t you?”

Severus considered his words with care. There was only so much that he could tell Albus – the Slytherin in him didn’t believe in revealing information without gain to himself, and some voice from deeper inside him murmured that Harry would never trust him again if he betrayed his confidence. “You could keep him here in the castle without revealing too much to him, Albus, and still preserve his innocence. He’s a bright child, I’ll grant him that – smarter than both of his parents put together – and he has an aptitude for Potions, but he lacks much of the background necessary to understand what he reads. Three months spent in the Muggle world will do him no good – if he’s meant to save the world, our world, he has to want to save it, has to learn what it means to be a part of it, learn to appreciate it over the Muggle world, and he can only do that if he’s living in it.”

“You make a good point, I suppose. If we kept him here for extra lessons, they needn’t all be focused on Defense against the Dark Arts … but it would be a lot of work for the staff … I’ll think on it. There are a few months before we need to decide and I should perhaps check the status of the wards around Privet Drive. I’d rather not risk the additional safety of knowing that there is a place in the Muggle world where Harry can go and be protected if need be, and I expect that the wards are still strong after all these years. It would be a shame to waste them, wouldn’t it?”

Severus took a sip of his coffee and made a noncommittal noise that the Headmaster could interpret as agreement if he wished to do so. A casual brush of Severus’s fingers against his left arm served to remind the Headmaster of Tom Riddle, and the evil that had come out of sending him back to the Muggle world every summery, but he left the matter at that. At least the seed of the idea had been planted, and there were several months remaining to convince Albus that Harry would be safest here. The boy would not go back to those Muggles if Severus had to prevent it with the last breath in his body.

----------

Severus had forgotten the Bloody Baron’s offer to watch over Harry during the night and had, in fact, assumed that all was well in the first year boys’ dormitory since he did not hear otherwise from either Draco or Harry. After all, the Potter boy seemed to be doing well – his eating habits had improved and well, if he spent most of his time in the library with that annoying Gryffindor know-it-all Granger or with Draco, at least his social circle had expanded since that first disastrous week. The boy had top marks in all of his classes and a disappearing stutter thanks to the lessons after Occlumency, and Severus felt justified in smirking in triumph at the spirits of James and Lily Potter – he’d done a much better job with their child than they ever could have managed.

The night before Halloween, the Bloody Baron woke him by passing a cold ghostly arm through his head – it was the usual manner in which Severus was apprised of Slytherin troublemakers out of their dorms past curfew, and he sat up quickly. “Where?” was all he asked as he put on a robe. The sleep-stretched skin around his eyes was still tight and he rubbed at it with his fingers.

The Baron slowed his progress with a gesture. “No one’s breaking curfew, Severus,” he said. “It’s the Potter child asking for you. He’s been awakened by a bad nightmare.”

Severus was too tired to manage a full glare. “You’ve woken me for the boy’s nightmare? I am by no means his nursemaid, Baron, and he’s old enough to comfort himself. I don’t appreciate being woken up for such trivialities.”

The Baron turned his own glare on Severus. “I do not concern myself with the trivial even now when centuries full of nothingness would permit me to do so, Severus Snape. I have not woken you for any of the nightmares that the boy has had every night for these past few weeks, but he asked for you tonight and you had best remember your duties as Head of Slytherin.”

Severus stopped at the door and turned back to the Baron. Perhaps he had been wrong to assume that all was well in the Slytherin dorms. “He’s had nightmares every evening and you had the gall to keep silent about it? You know very well that I should have been informed.”

“He must tell you about his nightmares himself, Severus. We’ll discuss it later if need be. Go to help the boy now.”

The state of the Potter boy was as bad as Severus had expected it to be – he was pale and shaking, his bed sheets rumpled and sweaty. Severus cast a silencing charm around the two of them and sat down on the edge of the boy’s bed.

This was the part of his Head of House duties that Severus disliked the most intensely, and his Slytherins soon learned not to wake him for comfort after their nightmares when he’d treated them to the sharp side of his remarks the next day. He was never cruel to them directly afterwards, he comforted them to the best of his limited abilities, but they always came to regret the hours of sleep that he had lost as much as Severus did.

It was perhaps surprising that Potter had managed the unfamiliar experience of sleeping in a bed for so long without coming to Severus for help – the boy hadn’t even asked him for a sleeping draught and as talented as Potter was at potions, he wouldn’t be able to make one himself yet.

“Sir? I’m … I’m s-sorry to wake you,” Potter said. His voice was so quiet that Severus was barely able to understand him.

“You may speak louder,” Severus told him. “I’ve cast a silencing charm so that the other boys won’t awaken.”

Harry began to stutter his thanks, but Severus stopped him with a wave of the hand. “I’m not interested in apologies or polite niceties now, Harry. I’m tired and I’ll give you a sleeping potion so we can both get some rest tonight. First, tell me what bothered you so much that you disturbed me at this hour and don’t stutter … I’m not upset with you.”

Severus wasn’t certain if it would be best to put a hand on the boy’s trembling shoulder or if it would only frighten him further, given his usual reaction to physical contact. He’d seen the boy cowering away from Draco and wasn’t willing to subject himself to the same humiliating rejection. He waited to hear what the boy had to say before deciding how to comfort him.

“I … You’ll think I’m crazy, sir. I sometimes think I’m going crazy, too, but these dreams … they’re so real, almost like real life. I … they stopped for a bit, after we started Occlumency lessons and I was practicing before I went to bed, but I forgot tonight and they came back.”

The boy paused and took a shuddery breath. “Wh-What if he’s looking through my mind at night? I-I couldn’t stand it if he learned all my secrets.”

Severus leaned forward, controlling his motions so that they were very slow and obvious, and put a light hand on Harry’s shoulder. The boy’s pajamas were damp with perspiration. Severus was about to draw his hand back from Harry, whose shaking had stopped and whose muscles had gone tense, when the boy launched himself at Severus. The Potions Master found himself with a lap full of a skinny, sweaty eleven-year-old boy and he grimaced in the darkness, but brought his other hand up to rest on Harry’s shoulder.

‘James and Lily Potter, wherever your spirits are – watch this. Look at your precious son seeking comfort from your old enemy, and think about how much you owe me,’ Severus thought.

“Please don’t let him get me,” Harry said, his voice muffled by Severus’s shoulder.

“What are they teaching children these days?” Severus asked, trying to keep his tone of voice light and unthreatening. “Harry, ‘him’ is a pronoun and as such, it requires an antecedent. Please make an effort to calm down and explain yourself. I’ll need more details if I’m to protect you from anyone. Take slow, deep breaths and Occlude your mind.”

Severus waited, all thoughts of sleep driven away by the fear of what Harry’s dream might represent, the possibility that Voldemort had been rifling through the boy’s unprotected mind. Harry’s breathing slowed and the thudding of his heartbeat became less frantic, but when the boy began to shift as though embarrassed to be sitting in his professor’s lap now that he was thinking more clearly, Severus grasped his shoulders more firmly and prevented him from pulling away. If the dream had been truly unsettling, it would be best if Harry didn’t panic when he retold it – it would take longer from him to fall asleep and Severus didn’t have the time to deal with an incoherent Potter twice in one evening.

Besides, the boy had to learn not to flinch away from touch and this was as much of an appropriate time as any other scenario that Severus could imagine. Harry stopped his weak struggles and leaned his head against Severus’s chest as though he was listening for a heartbeat. Severus held him awkwardly, unaccustomed to comforting distraught children.

“The dream was very real, like it was actually happening, only it was disjointed and abrupt. At first it was just a door, a normal sort of door that could have been anywhere, but somehow I got the feeling that it was in Hogwarts, even though I’ve never seen it here. The door is all that I ever used to see, when I had these dreams before.”

Potter stopped to take a breath and Severus felt the boy begin to tremble in his arms. By Salazar, the boy was disturbingly weightless in his lap. Severus moved one hand up and down the boy’s shoulder blade to calm him and felt him take another deep breath.

“The second part was the worst,” he said. His voice had gone soft again but he was speaking almost directly into Severus’s ear. “It was dark, with lots of trees like a forest, and there was this beautiful animal. It was like a horse, only silver, and it had a long spike on its head. It looked so peaceful and beautiful and good, sir, it was amazing.”

The boy sniffled, and Severus conjured a handkerchief for him. There was no need to make extra work for the house elves in the laundry – even the most demented house elf couldn’t enjoy the task of cleaning snot off of Severus’s robe. For that matter, it was probably best not to make a derisive comment now about the boy’s pathetically Muggle upbringing or sneer at the fact that he couldn’t even recognize a unicorn.

“This creature snuck up on the beautiful horse,” Potter continued. “It was all black and shadowy and it bit into the horse’s neck. There was silver blood flowing all over. The horse screamed and it tried to run away, but the creature held onto it and sucked at its blood. I – It felt painful, like he was really hurting it, and it was just horrible, sir.”

Harry made use of the handkerchief again. “The third part was even stranger, Professor, though it wasn’t so horrible. He – Professor Quirrell, I mean, wearing that silly turban, he was talking to this … this thing, in another language. The thing was big, really big and ugly, and it had this club that it swung at Quirrell, only the Professor cast a spell or something and it missed. They spoke to each other, only it was like grunting and I didn’t understand any of it. Only there was this peculiar feeling … like an aura over the whole scene … of anticipation, like something was about to happen.”

Harry stopped talking and for a moment there was silence between them before the boy flung an arm around Severus’s neck and pressed himself closer to his professor. “P-Please, sir,” Harry said with his cheek pressed against Severus’s collarbone, “please don’t send me back to the Muggles. I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you want if you only let me stay. I’m not crazy, sir, I – I know it sounds like I’m crazy but really I’m not, please let me stay.”

“Stop this nonsense immediately, Harry,” Severus said. He continued to trace reassuring circles around the boy’s protruding shoulder blade. “No one will send you away, you are most definitely not going back to those Muggles, you are not crazy, and you will not work yourself into a hysteric fit, is that understood?”

With a strange jolt and a peculiar feeling in his throat, Severus realized that this was a hug – that he, Severus Snape, Potions Master and heartless Slytherin, was giving the Boy Who Lived a hug and it was being reciprocated. Lily Potter, who had had popularity and gaggles of admirers and had insulted him with her false condescending pity, she had been killed before her son was old enough to embrace her. Severus hoped that her spirit burned with envy while she watched.

“You must practice your Occlumency every night before you fall asleep, Harry. It’s very important, do you understand me?”

Severus looked down at the boy in his lap when he felt a sleepy nod against his chest. The terror and panic past, Harry’s eyes were drooping shut. With one careful finger, Severus reached out and brushed a tear off of Harry’s cheek. He gave the boy a sleeping draught and a reminder to Occlude and then evicted Harry from his lap.

As he made his way through the dimly lit hallways back to his quarters, Severus wrapped his arms around himself. Without the fragile weight of Harry in his lap, he felt suddenly colder.

Halloween was a disaster, as had been predicted by Potter’s nightmare. Severus was so drained by the interruption of his sleep that even a third cup of his morning coffee failed to revitalize him, but before he could slip off to the dungeons to take one of his restorative potions from the stockroom, Albus stopped him. “You’re looking rather unwell this morning, my friend,” the Headmaster said. “Late night, perhaps? Were you brewing potions or dare I hope that you slipped out of the castle for an assignation in Hogsmeade? All work and no play, you know … at this point in your life, Severus, you should focus more on your social life.”

“I’m afraid that my duty must take precedence over such frivolities, Headmaster. If you will excuse me, I have several things to which I must attend before classes begin.”

“You will make time to attend the feast this evening, won’t you? You know how the children love it and everyone is making such an effort this year. I daresay the house elves have really outdone themselves this time, it promises to be even more delicious than last year’s feast.”

Severus hesitated for a moment and decided the risk of losing Albus’s trust by keeping information of this magnitude secret was too great. With a subtle wand gesture, he encased the two of them in a special silencing bubble – to any outsider, they would seem to be having an innocuous conversation.

“Albus,” Severus said when they had this measure of privacy, “I fear that the feast is not the only thing with which we should be concerned. Dark magic is lurking nearby and may threaten the students today.”

The Headmaster looked as though he was ready to laugh and dismiss Severus’s worries as so much melodrama. Severus raised one hand and continued, “I know I sound paranoid, Albus, but I was awakened last night to comfort Mr. Potter after a most disturbing nightmare. His scar has been bothering him of late.”

At this revelation, Albus blinked. His bright blue eyes bore an all-too-familiar shadow. “Can you be any more specific?”

Severus shook his head. “I will not betray the boy’s trust, and you would not believe me. Just be on your guard today.”

Severus did not need to mention the precious treasure even now hidden in the school, the Philosopher’s Stone that would be able to cause irreparable harm in Voldemort’s hands – Albus was well aware of the dangers associated with it. Severus would keep close watch on Quirinus Quirrell today and in the future, even though Albus’s generous trust would never condemn the man. Canceling the silencing spell, Severus spun on his heels and stalked out of the room.

----------

Potter was pale and listless at lunch. Snape glared at the boy and his untouched plate until Draco nudged the smaller boy. Potter looked up and Severus caught his eye. After four Occlumency sessions together, it was easy enough for him to reach out to Potter’s mental shields and brush them with the curt command to eat. It was draining to thus communicate complicated, verbalized thoughts, but an easy message was simple enough and as two minds grew more familiar with one another’s defenses and thought patterns, it became possible.

Potter nodded and looked down at his plate to comply. Severus was left to fret in silence over the sickly boy and push his own uneaten carrots around his plate with a fork. Poppy nudged him with a reminder to eat his vegetables and Quirrell on his other side was attempting to make some vapid conversation, but Severus glared them both into silence. The replenishing potions he’d taken today were wearing on him – his nerves were stretched thin and shaky and he felt as though some idiot had stuffed cotton up through his nose and into his brain.

Severus shook his head and summoned Albus’s house elf to ask for more coffee. He needed to be alert, ready to protect Harry and Draco and his other Slytherins at any moment. Quirrell had planned something that involved a troll and while Severus didn’t know the particulars, the students under his care couldn’t be allowed to come to harm due to his negligence.

Pushing aside his plate, which was now full of mangled carrots, Severus rose to leave. In his peripheral vision, he saw Potter tugging at Malfoy’s arm and gesturing towards the Head Table – not wanting to make a scene in the Great Hall, he gestured to the two boys and led them to the antechamber nearby. “What is the meaning of this, Potter? You haven’t finished your lunch and now you are mauling my godson. Do not think that you can expect any special indulgences or leniency from me.”

The boy flinched but stood his ground, one hand clasped around Draco’s upper arm. “I-I’m s-sorry, sir, but I had to tell you something and I needed Draco to help me explain.”

“Then explain, Mr. Potter, and do so without stuttering.” Severus took deep breaths and calmed his temper. Potions were no substitute for sleep and the long-term effects could prove toxic to his disposition as well as his metabolism.

Potter squeezed Draco’s arm and Severus watched the two of them. The dark-haired boy was timid and reserved but had no qualms of taking control of the situation with Draco – the Baron’s warning came to Severus’s mind. Potter did have a curious sort of strength of character to have survived and emerged from his relatives’ abuse with this spark of spirit unquenched. It was unexpected and almost amusing to watch the boy dominate his spoiled and pampered godson.

Draco cleared his throat and avoided his godfather’s gaze. “I challenged that freckle-faced Weasley boy to a duel a few months back – he was insulting Harry and Slytherins in general. I didn’t actually show up for the duel,” he said with a quick glance at his stern professor. “I told Filch to look for Gryffindors out after curfew, but he never caught them.” With a glance at Harry, Draco finished his story.

“Hermione told me about it a few weeks ago when we were studying in the library. She didn’t mean to go with Ron, she was only trying to keep him out of trouble.” Harry’s silent plea couched in his luminous eyes, asking Severus to refrain from taking retroactive points from his friend was acknowledged with a nod. Severus wasn’t about to cause the boy to lose one of his few friends over a minor infraction.

“Filch and Mrs. Norris chased them and they ran into the forbidden corridor, the one on the third floor, and they saw this huge dog there. Hermione said it even had three heads.”

Severus scowled at this evidence that the students had ignored Albus’s warning – he’d told the old man that it would be insufficient, but Albus was fixated on believing in everybody’s innate goodness. Gryffindors were such blind fools that Severus had never quite understood why they hadn’t been eliminated from the world by natural selection, but it was probably yet another proof of the worthless nature of Muggle science.

Potter continued, “Hermione said that the dog was guarding a trap door and well … Hagrid always said that Hogwarts is the safest place in the world, and he brought a small package here from Gringotts on my birthday for Dumbledore, so maybe she’s right and the dog really is guarding something.”

With a pause and a significant look at Draco, Potter leaned in to whisper to Severus. “I asked Ron today about their adventure and he showed me the door on the third floor that they found. It looks exactly like the one I saw in my dreams.”

Severus was startled to feel curls of a not-quite-unfamiliar magic coil around them. It was a somewhat distorted and rudimentary but recognizable silencing spell. The Potter boy was continuing to do accidental magic then, even when he should be exhausted from using his magic in classes. It was amazing, but then again it was yet another proof that the boy was stronger than his peers, perhaps even stronger than Severus had given him credit for being.

The curls of magic disappeared and in a louder voice, Potter said, “I-I’m sorry for not eating my lunch and everything, sir, but I thought that you should know.”

His mind whirling with the implications, Severus told him, “Yes, that was quite right. I will take care of the matter, you may be assured of that. I do want both of you to promise me that you’ll stay away from that door, and I don’t want either one of you going off on your own today, is that understood?”

After securing the boys’ promises and sending them off to their next class, Severus stood for a long moment looking at the floor where Harry had stood. Quirrell was somehow connected to Voldemort and would make an attempt on the Philosopher’s Stone today. Moreover, this frail boy in Severus’s charge, waif-like but still strong in magic and character after all that he had experienced, would be key to the whole affair. Severus wasn’t sure if anyone had even bothered to tell Harry that today was the anniversary of his parents’ deaths.

----------

Severus spent the day on edge, snapping at students who deserved it less than they usually did – though of course they still deserved it to some extent, the irritating brats that they were. The attack that did not come left him jittery and he was almost glad that the waiting was over. When Quirrell was absent during the beginning of the feast, he shot Draco and Harry a stern look to wordlessly remind them of their promises – Harry nodded in understanding and poked Draco in the ribs, presumably with an explanation, when the blond Slytherin didn’t understand the significance of Quirrell’s absence. From the graceless pout of Draco’s lips, Severus guessed that his godson was upset at the secret being kept from him, but Severus had no time to fret over the boy’s hurt feelings now.

When Quirrell burst into the Hall and announced that a troll was loose in the dungeons before he collapsed, Severus detained Draco and Potter from the resultant stampede, along with a fifth-year prefect. “Take the Slytherins with you to Gryffindor tower, the dungeons are unsafe now. Anyone who hexes a Gryffindor or causes trouble will suffer the consequences and several detentions with me. Draco, Potter, stay with your friend Granger and do not under any circumstances leave the others.” He pushed Draco toward the door and even in his frantic state, remembered not to push Potter. The Slytherins disappeared on the heels of the Gryffindors and Severus blended into the shadows with a favorite old spell of his, waiting and watching Quirrell.

He wasn’t surprised that the man came out of his “faint” when the Great Hall was silent, and he cast a few charms on himself in order to follow Quirrell unobtrusively. The Defense against the Dark Arts professor – who, if he was doing Voldemort’s bidding, needed a refresher course in his own subject – headed for the forbidden third floor corridor by the most direct route possible. A few silent, discreet jinxes cast by Severus prompted the magical staircases to delay the professor’s progress, but there was little else he could do until he understood the link between Quirrell and Voldemort. It would, after all, be most unwise of him to reveal his new allegiances to his former Lord this early in the game.

Quirrell fumbled the Alohomora on the locked door twice, and surely he would not have done so if the connection with the Dark Lord was very strong. Voldemort did not tolerate idiocy and must have been desperate to use the inept stuttering Quirrell as a servant – or perhaps he was still weakened by his encounter with Potter a decade or so, and couldn’t spare the energy to punish Quirrell for his incompetence.

The three-headed dog was as fearsome as Hagrid had promised, with gaping mouths, wicked teeth and hot slobber that was likely more than capable of melting through dragon scales. Quirrell dodged two of the heads, but the third forced him back toward the door. Severus had to move to prevent the idiot from bumping into him, and then one of the dog’s heads was between Severus and the door. Quirrell bolted out the door and the dog’s three heads, their dark eyes gleaming, focused on Severus – apparently his Disillusionment charm wasn’t able to fool them. Severus dodged around the head that was between him and the exit, running straight for the door and not bothering to waste time trying to spell the beast. Hagrid had informed the staff, his voice suffused with pride, that his dog was resistant to most spells.

A glob of the dog’s hot saliva fell onto his robes and Severus increased his efforts to open the door – that fool Quirrell had relocked it. Just as he had spelled it open and was running out of the room, one of the dog’s heads snapped at his leg and mauled it. Cursing the slowness of his reflexes and the potions that had slowed them, Severus stumbled through the door and slammed it behind him.

“Damn Hagrid’s breeding experiments, and damn all megalomaniac Dark Lords, and damn all the Headmasters who are foolish enough to keep priceless artifacts guarded by dangerous monsters in schools full of helpless children,” Severus muttered as he began to limp away.

Severus stopped the bleeding of his leg with a quick spell, confirmed that the other professors had successfully cornered and subdued the troll, and promised Albus an explanation before limping off to tend to his Slytherins. Draco and Potter were safe, at least – thank Salazar that they had sat quietly in the Gryffindor common room, discussing potions with Granger – but the rest of his snakes were poised to start a war with the lions. Severus ordered them to their own dormitories and to sleep, taking points from his own House for those that argued or lagged behind the others.

He spared a reassuring nod for Draco and the insufferable Potter brat who had gotten them into the entire mess, but waved them away. He hadn’t the energy to deal with either of them tonight. They obeyed him and scurried off to their dormitory, but both boys cast looks back at him. He was certain that they’d noticed his limp, but he’d deal with that tomorrow. Pushing the thought of the boys, and the strange twist he’d felt in his throat when he saw that they were in fact safe, out of his mind, he made his way to his quarters and healing and sleep.

----------

Meeting with Albus before breakfast with a brain not fully charged with caffeine was one of the worst ways to start a day at Hogwarts. Albus offered him a cup of coffee, to be sure, but the effects hadn’t yet begun to help Severus’s brain function when the Headmaster began his questioning. To make matters worse, the old man insisted on giving Quirrell every benefit of the doubt, refusing to even watch over him more closely. “You’ve no real proof,” was followed by “We’ve no idea what his motives were in going to the corridor, my friend. He could have feared that the troll was just a diversion and gone there in an attempt to protect the stone,” which eventually gave way to one of Albus’s favorite ploys, “Of all the people I know, Severus, you’re the one who’s most likely to understand the perils of passing summary judgment on someone when all of the evidence is not available.” As always, Severus was forced to relinquish his arguments after that, and after a sullen completion of the required niceties, he made his way to breakfast in the Great Hall in search of more caffeine.

If the lack of food, the lack of caffeine, the unsatisfactory meeting with Albus, and the pain in his leg were not sufficient torment, Severus was confronted by the Potter boy just outside the Great Hall. The boy was standing there, for once without Draco by his side, a calculating expression on his face as he watched Severus limp down the hallway. Severus glared at the little brat who dared to study his weakness. “Don’t you have other things to do, Potter? You should be elsewhere, preferably breakfast.”

“It’s not started yet, sir.”

“Elsewhere, then. Is that too difficult a concept to grasp, or shall I remove five points from Slytherin for loitering in the hallways?”

The boy flinched at Severus’s tone of voice but stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Of all of the times the Bloody Baron had to be right, it would have to be about the hidden strength of this insufferable brat, but why did the boy feel compelled to demonstrate it today of all days?

“You were hurt because of what I told you, b-because of what I saw in that dream.”

“That is none of your business, Potter. Five points from Slytherin and get out of my sight.” Severus leaned all of his weight on his good leg, schooling his expression to betray no trace of the pain that he felt, and glared at the impudent boy who kept him standing there.

Potter took a deep breath and Severus felt the crackle of the boy’s magic building in the air. “S-Sorry, sir, but it is my business, since it was my f-fault, you see.”

Severus opened his mouth to berate the child, to stop him from executing whatever stupidity he had planned, but Potter was quicker, darting forward and placing both of his hands on Severus’s injured leg. The crackle of magic intensified and Severus stared down at the boy. Potter looked tiny crouched down next to Severus, his face was pale and sweat beaded on his brow. Severus held his breath, not wanting to break the boy’s concentration lest something dreadful befall his leg. The crackle of magic came to a crescendo and then faded. Potter stumbled away from him, face pale and eyes closed.

“You foolish, idiot boy,” Severus said. His voice crackled with anger and for once he didn’t try to moderate his tone for the abused boy. “How dare you attempt such a thing? How dare you take such liberties with a professor? Do you even realize what harm you could have done? I’ll have you in detention for so long that you’ll be raising your children there. I’ll have you expelled for this, boy.”

Potter trembled and shrank away from him. Severus wasn’t finished. “Do you think that your fame enables you to do anything you like? Do you think that you will be catered to, your every whim satisfied, because of your unfortunate past? Or are you simply so bigheaded and foolish that you think that the world revolves around you and your insignificant, meaningless desires?”

Severus paused to take a deep breath. So angry that he could barely see the small boy cringing before him, he continued his tirade. “You were wrong on all three counts, Potter. Let me explain your place in the universe to you, since you’ve turned the head of everyone else with your undeserved celebrity and your pathetic appeals for undeserved pity. You won’t get the truth from them, Potter, but you’ll certainly get it from me. You surely didn’t think that I’d been won over by your sob story, that I’d become one of your little fans willing to wait on you hand and foot and treat your every word as revealed truth – you surely didn’t think that I actually liked you, did you, boy?”

Severus advanced on the boy until Potter was pressed into a wall and then he pushed further into the boy’s personal space, leaning down to glare into his eyes, unaware of the trembling he was causing. “You are nothing, Potter,” he said into the boy’s face. “You are a stupid, arrogant little boy who needs to ignore his over-inflated ego and meaningless thoughts and instead learn to obey the adults around him, who are trained, competent, intelligent, useful – everything that you are not, you stupid little boy. You are a waste of space here at Hogwarts, dirty little half-blood, and since you didn’t have the wit or grace to die with your filthy parents, the best thing would be for you to return to your filthy Muggle relatives and stop wasting the oxygen here. You think that your magic puts you above them, you arrogant little snot, but you should be grateful that anyone was willing to care for a pathetic little weakling like you and you should beg them on your knees to take you back.”

Severus took a deep breath to calm his angry trembling. The utter, unmitigated gall of the boy had pushed him past reason – he wanted to grab the boy and physically shake some sense into him, wanted to injure him and then expose him to the vagaries of healing by accidental magic. The little brat had the nerve to sniffle and shake as though it had been Severus who had hurt him, and not the brat who had endangered Severus’s life. Severus reached out to grab Potter’s shoulder, but someone behind him grabbed his arm and held him back. He turned to look at the offender, ready to lash out at them for disturbing his vengeance on the idiot boy who’d risked his life, but it was Draco.

“Please stop, Uncle Sev,” his godson said. Draco looked dreadful, his Malfoy poise abandoned as public tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. “Please don’t do this anymore.”

Draco never cried and Draco never begged for anything – he never had throughout the eleven years of his life. Severus let his arm fall away from Potter and turned to comfort his godson. He spared the Potter brat one last glance, said, “Get out of my sight, boy,” and then focused on Draco.

“What’s wrong, Draco? Who has hurt you?” Severus reached out to touch his shoulder, but the slim boy flinched away.

“You have,” he said without meeting Severus’s gaze, and he fled down the corridor after Potter.

Posting a scrawled note on the classroom door to inform his students that his classes for the day were cancelled, Severus rushed into his room and barricaded himself inside of it, setting his wards at their highest and making himself inaccessible to everyone including Albus. His breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded with the adrenaline that had spiked its way through his fatigue. It took all of his self-control to keep his mind focused on the present instead of flashing back to the excruciating pain that he’d known as a child when he tried to heal his injuries with uncontrolled magic, the excruciating pain that had followed when his father had discovered what he had done. The phantom fire of the remembered pain licked at his nerves, threatening to consume them, and Severus made his way to his personal stockroom to gulp down a calming potion before he sat down at his desk.

With the turquoise haze of the calming potion to separate him from the immediate reactions, Severus began to shiver. In a decade of potions classes with incompetent students producing some of the worst explosions and poisons known to wizardkind, Severus had never come so close to death as when the stupid little Potter boy had decided to experiment with uncontrolled magic and healing. The boy couldn’t have had any idea of the danger behind his actions, how close he’d come to disfiguring Severus’s leg or worse – could he? Potter was such a Ravenclaw-like bookworm at times it was hard to know what the Muggle-raised boy knew about magic.

Severus’s hands were shaking, not from the cold air of the dungeons, as he rolled up his trouser leg. He had never appreciated mobility before, had taken the ability to walk about on two legs for granted, but now – now when it had almost been wrenched away from him – his fingers trembled as he probed his leg to discover the effects of Potter’s little magical outburst.

His leg was whole. The angry red gashes left by Hagrid’s pet were gone as though they’d never existed. A scar from his childhood had marred his kneecap – it too was gone. With frantic fingers, Severus felt up and down the length of his leg, probing it for any fault or imperfection and finding none. The nerves still functioned, the bone was whole, the muscles flexed, the skin was unmarred. It was whole and perfect. A strangled hiccough-like sound broke from his throat and through the muffling haze of the calming potion, Severus clutched his leg to his chest, unwilling to let it go now that he had come to a full appreciation of its importance.

It seemed an eternity before the shock and adrenaline wore themselves out of his system. With a start, Severus remembered Potter and Draco – remembered his words to Harry and now that his anger had run out of his body, realized the damage that his words had done. Draco – Draco had seen some or all of his tirade, and now Severus was no longer the beloved godfather but rather, the boy flinched and escaped from him as though he were a monster, and Harry – if Harry ever consented to see him again, the boy wouldn’t be trying to impress him in class, wouldn’t call him for comfort after a nightmare, wouldn’t care enough about him to want to heal him.

“Damn it,” Severus said aloud. He started for the door and then hesitated, reconsidering. Neither boy would want to see him now. He didn’t want to imagine Harry now – the boy probably cowering in his closet with Draco trying to comfort him through the door. He didn’t want to make the situation worse with his mere presence.

He returned to his desk and penned a swift note, which he then sent to Malfoy Manor by portkey. While he was waiting for Narcissa to arrive, he took another calming potion to soothe his nerves and made an attempt to neaten his face and hair, washing all signs of his recent distress from his appearance.

“What have you done to my son, Severus?” Narcissa asked. Severus hurried from the bathroom to greet her and found Narcissa as beautiful and elegant as she always was, even after a portkey landing. Golden hair framed her face in delicate spiral curls that were seemingly undisturbed by the whirlwind motion of the portkey, and her thin fingers smoothed out a skirt that had hardly been wrinkled.

“I … I was rather unguarded with my anger toward Potter – the brat assaulted me, Narcissa, he practically killed me – and Draco heard me berate his friend.” Severus clenched his fingers in the folds of his heavy wool robes to prevent them from fidgeting of their own accord.

Tiny lines formed around Narcissa’s eyes as she looked down her nose at him. “You expect me to take care of the disaster that you caused, Severus?”

“I expect you to take care of your son, who needs to be comforted and will not accept it from me. Do not think that I would be hesitating to comfort him if I could help Draco, but I cannot help him now.”

“You want me to do nothing for the other boy, then?” she asked, one eyebrow raised in an arch more elegant than Severus ever produced with his thick dark eyebrows.

“I would be indebted to you if you could help him, but Narcissa … he is not an easy boy to manage. He’s shy of strangers and may not even talk to you.”

“You will owe me a favor if I succeed, then.” With that, Narcissa left in search of the boys, assuring Severus that she would summon him if they agreed to see him.

When Narcissa returned to his chambers and reached for the portkey without speaking to him, Severus felt as though he’d aged a hundred years in waiting for her – unable to focus on books or potions or marking essays, he’d paced the length of the room again and again, reaching down on occasion to confirm that his leg was still whole. “How is he?” he asked, reaching out to block her from touching the portkey.

“Do not lay one finger on me, Severus Snape, for I will not be sullied by your touch. After which of the boys,” Narcissa said, her voice raised a dangerous octave, “are you asking?”

Severus recognized the anger that twisted her lovely face into a mask of lines and wrinkles with no beauty and took a hasty step away. “I was asking after Draco, of course.”

“You were asking after Draco.”

The pause between them was deep and dangerous and although Severus hesitated to throw his words into it, Narcissa seemed ready to wait him out. “I want to know about Potter, of course, but the wretched brat nearly killed me, Narcissa, am I supposed to somehow overlook that and smile at him like a simpering Hufflepuff? Of course it’s Draco who worries me. He looked at me as though I was …”

“As though you were a despicable excuse for a human being who deserves that black mark on your arm, as though you were a monster who lacks even the smallest shred of human decency, or as though you were a cruel heartless bastard who deserves to fry in the lowest level of hell, is that how he looked at you? Or did he look at you as though you were a man who had risen above all of his angry past, all of his petty grudges, and decided to help the abused son of his enemy, decided to build his trust and work to help him, only to turn around and spew the worst sort of vituperative trash ever known to come out of a man’s mouth? Did he look at you as though you were the man who sent a frightened eleven-year-old child to cower in a closet and ask to be sent back to his abusive Muggle relatives because someone he trusted had ruined the only sanctuary he has ever known? Is that how he looked at you, Severus?”

Narcissa’s face was twisted, her hands were clenched in her silk skirt and ruining the delicate fabric with perspiration, every elegant line of the aristocratic pureblood lady destroyed. “The only reason why I am willing to leave Draco at Hogwarts for the rest of this year is because it would completely destroy Harry to lose him now, and that poor boy – an innocent boy who saved us all from You-Know-Who all those years ago, a boy who’s done nothing to deserve what you did to him – that poor boy doesn’t deserve to lose Draco as well as you. I warn you, however, Professor Snape, that if you ever do something like this again, or if you ever try to so much as touch my Draco, or if you say one more word to hurt Harry Potter, I’ll have both of them back at Malfoy Manor before you even realize that I’ve made a portkey.”

Narcissa reached out for her portkey, fingers poised above it, and added, “I’ll be visiting them after dinner every day. Don’t even imagine that you can get away with hurting either of those boys again, because I will know of it and then I will make you suffer for it.”

----------

The weekend passed, the days stretching out longer than they ever had now that there was no Occlumency lesson with Harry, no intelligent questions about the Potions reading, no excuse to drag the boy in his office and feed him, no Harry to fill the hours. The silence that surrounded him took on its own language and meanings as it caressed his skin, coursed along his veins, wrapped itself into his bones, entwined itself into his being so deeply that it pained him.

Severus cursed himself for his weakness – why had he been so slow as to allow the dog to maul him? – and cursed the boy for his impulsive good nature. Potter’s genetic tendencies to Gryffindorism had made their presence known with a vengeance, the utter ill-considered nobility of them enough to make Severus want to vomit. Severus should have known better than to expect more than this from any son of James Potter, he told himself late at night as he clutched at an old pillow and ignored the voice that reminded him of the occasions when he’d realized that Harry was not his father.

Severus moved from marking essays to brewing potions for Poppy, and then back to the undiminished pile of essays when the addition of too much dragon bile salts caused the Skelegrow potion to spatter itself over all of his worktables in a spectacular puce explosion, the resultant pattern something like a lacy doily that ate into the countertops until he cast a hasty banishing spell.

‘I will not be sullied by your touch.’ Narcissa’s words echoed through his mind, looping through all of his thoughts like a mobius ribbon. Her pretty face distorted like a caricature of a harpy, the mother protecting her young – and when was it, when on the path that had wound its way through all those empty silent years, that Severus had become the monster from which children needed a defense?

Severus let his quill fall from his hand, the dry ink in the nib leaving no splotches on the untouched essays. He was in no mood to plow through the unmitigated idiocy of the third years’ essays on hellebore. Potter – when Harry was in his third year, Severus was sure that his essay on hellebore would be a concise, elegantly written joy to read. Damn the boy for appealing to Severus’s weakness and damn him for studying potions in his pathetic attempt to make Severus “like” him. Severus did not “like” people, he was not a simpering Hufflepuff and he refused to fawn over the bloody Boy Who Lived.

The light that had sparkled in Harry’s eyes when brewing a potion correctly, the enthusiasm in his shy demeanor for studying them with Severus, his essays that displayed comprehension far beyond the average Muggle-raised wizard – these were all of no consequence. It had been a ploy on the boy’s part to gain sympathy and now that the boy knew all hope of being “liked” by his Potions Master was gone, he’d be like the other excruciatingly incompetent imbeciles. Severus had no reason to look forward to Harry’s third year essay on hellebore, no reason at all. There was no reason why the boy wouldn’t hate him now, no reason why Harry wouldn’t torment him with sloppy imprecise essays.

Severus returned to teach his classes on Monday, wrung out by the feeling of every cell in his body exploding with phantom pain that was worse than the silence of his empty rooms throughout the weekend. He said nothing when Draco and Potter missed his class, he said nothing to Neville Longbottom who exploded his tenth cauldron, he said nothing to Hermione Granger who came to him after class to ask after Harry. All of his elegant and vituperative words, all of his cutting remarks, all of his polysyllabic joy had drained out of him and he wished to be locked into the silence of the dungeons, where the whisper of air on stone spoke its own understanding language.

He made a brief visit to the Slytherin common room in the evening – hoping through the dark feelings that clutched at his chest – but Draco sat there with his textbooks piled before him, Narcissa’s reassuring hand resting on his arm, and neither of them would look at them. Harry wasn’t there.

Harry wasn’t there in the Potions classroom with his detailed correct answers and sound logic, Harry wasn’t there dwarfed in his favorite armchair in the library with stacks of books on his lap, Harry wasn’t there in the Potions lab where he and Severus had once brewed together. Harry wasn’t there in his private quarters where he’d once taken tea with the boy and wondered if he’d ever convince Harry to eat more than chicken broth and toast. Harry wasn’t in his private office where he’d helped the boy struggle through Occlumency and tried to cure him of his stutter.

Severus didn’t dare to walk past Narcissa’s watchful eyes to the first year boys’ dormitory, where Harry was – didn’t dare look at the tiny closet where the boy crouched in on himself, trying to take up no space in the closet because that was what he thought he deserved.

Severus wandered the stone hallways of the school that night, walking through all of the places where Harry wasn’t and paying no heed to the students out after curfew who fled at the noise of his boots on the floor. There was no rhyme, no reason to the feelings that clutched at him – the uneasiness, the shame at being reprimanded by Narcissa, the leaden feeling in his arms and legs when he thought of going through months of Potions classes without Harry there, the ache in his stomach when he wondered if Potter had managed to eat today. No rhyme, no reason to it – Severus after all was the wronged party, it had been Potter who’d tried to kill him and not the other way around. Just as when the boy’s father had …

The Bloody Baron, floating beside him for the length of several corridors now, broke the silence. “It’s no good thinking of the boy’s father,” the ghost said. “You’ve tried that and now you see where it led. You thought you were being clever, Severus, with the pretty revenge that you had planned out against the boy’s parents. That was always your trouble, thinking that you were clever and envisioning yourself as the victim. Even now you’re trying to brush it aside and make yourself out as being the victim. No, don’t say anything. You had your chance to talk and now it’s your turn to listen.”

Severus avoided looking at the ghost’s eyes and motioned for him to continue.

“You’d like to dismiss me because I’m only a ghost, and I may have stopped breathing, but I’ve lived more than you have and I’ve watched more lives than you can imagine. I’ve watched Slytherins grow into the knowledge of what being a Slytherin means more times than I can count, and I know enough to see that you haven’t done it yet. You’d like to think that being Slytherin is about vengeance and receiving what you deserve when the whole world is against you and trying to take it from you. You like to be the martyr, the victim, so that you can feel justification when you take what you want from the people you dislike.”

The moon shone in through the diamond-paned windows and cast eerie shadows through the Bloody Baron. Severus watched him drift along the corridor, his ghostly feet motionless in the air. This was the same helpful ghost who’d warned him about unruly students and acted as a confidant when Dumbledore’s highhandedness had become irritating, when the other Heads of House took every last drop of glory that should have fallen to Slytherin – and yet the Baron was somehow changed tonight, more solemn and eerie and ghostlike than ever before.

“You were justified in your dislike of James Potter, who tormented you – but Lily Evans tried to help you and you never accepted her help. You used it as an excuse to be bitter about her, because if there was one good Gryffindor out there, one Gryffindor who could see past the stereotypes and try to befriend you, your whole worldview would have collapsed in upon itself. You expected their boy to be as Gryffindor as they come and you expected to hate him for his parents’ perceived sins – and when you couldn’t do that, you turned your care for him into a twisted game of revenge. It suited you to feel like the martyr once again, to be the noble misunderstood Slytherin who came and fixed the disaster that was left behind by two reckless, impulsive Gryffindors.”

“They …”

“No, Severus, don’t say anything. Yes, they did die, but they did not get themselves killed as you would put it. Why would they have chosen to leave their son alone in the world? Would they have chosen to leave him in a horrible situation from which only you could rescue him? If they ever looked through the Veil between us and what lies beyond us, do you think that they would feel envy that you were taking care of their son? Did you think that they would despair, that you were taking care of your son where they could not? Do you think they felt rage or misery or anxiety?”

The Baron paused, and Severus took the silence as an indication that he was allowed to speak. “Of course they would. It would be the only way they could feel, the only proper way that anyone could feel if their own flesh and blood were treated the way that Potter had been treated.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Severus, and the lapse in logic is remarkable for someone normally as astute as you are. You don’t know that they feel those emotions and I can tell you that they don’t. They felt glad, they were happy that you were willing to care for him when you did. Now they rejoice because Draco and his mother are taking care of him. James and Lily Potter have reached a place where the negative emotions that feed your overdeveloped sense of vengeance have no existence. They are dead, Severus, and you can have no revenge on them in this life or your next.”

Severus opened his mouth to contradict the Baron’s assertion, but he was silenced once again. “Don’t deny it, for you know nothing of these matters that I can see dimly from here. Go now, Severus, and think on what you have done to the boy. Think about your foolish notion of revenge and tell me where it would take you if you pursued it – twenty years from now, where would you and young Harry be if the only motive that you pursued was revenge? Don’t bury the boy in your thoughts of obligation and duty to your Slytherin students.”

“Think about the boy for himself, on his own merits and flaws – not of the boy who defeated Voldemort, not of your student, not of James and Lily’s son – and think about what you will do to mend what you have broken.” The Baron drifted away backwards, his solemn countenance fixed on Severus while never-quenched rivers of blood ran down his face, until the ghost encountered a wall and passed through it.

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On Tuesday, the fourth day since Severus had driven him away in tears, Harry had not returned to take meals in the Great Hall or to attend any of his classes. Severus paced the aisles in his classroom, counting the steps, heedless of the incompetence and mistakes that bubbled and fountained around him in the students’ cauldrons. It was after lunch, during the third year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class, just as one of the potions turned an incredible incorrect purple that frothed over the rim of the cauldron and spread across the floor, that the realization came to him: he was walking.

He was walking through the corridors, through his classes, walking on two sound legs and he was alive. Potter, despite the magnitude of the potential disaster, had healed him and not killed him. Severus held his breath in his lungs, held himself motionless, for long seconds. There was no need for anger or vengeance against a boy who might have done harm and who had only helped him.

Dismissing the class, casting a listless Scourgify at the mess on the floor, and sitting down at his desk, the reality of that statement reverberated in his bones. He was alive, healed by Potter, and there was no conceivable way for him to thank the boy for the healing, no way for him to explain rationally to Potter the reasons against using accidental magic on other people, no way for Severus to speak with him at all even to make sure that he was eating. Harry wouldn’t want to see the scary old bat who had ranted at him, degraded him, insulted him in every conceivable way – even if Harry was willing to forgive Severus, Narcissa and Draco would never allow him to see the boy again.

Severus stopped Draco outside the Great Hall before dinner to ask after Harry, to ask if the boy was eating or if he’d emerged from the closet. Draco stared past him, his pale eyes focused on something beyond Severus’s shoulder. “Please,” Severus said, the word feeling thick and foreign on his tongue. “Please, at least tell me something.”

Draco looked down at the floor, never looked at Severus, but he said, “Yes. He’s eating,” and while that wasn’t enough to stop the irregular thump of Severus’s heart or the rattle of the air in his throat, it was enough for now – he would somehow make it be enough for now.

After dinner, Severus watched Draco disappear from the Great Hall – going off to a mother who loved him and a Harry who Severus could not see – and Hermione Granger interrupted his reverie, the trance-like focus on Draco’s departing back with its straight proud lines, his shoulders with their elegant curves, as she came up to the Head Table to speak with him.

“Professor Snape?” she asked. “I – well, if you’ve finished eating …”

Severus looked down at his plate and saw the untouched beef stew, the piles of vegetables that had been put on his plate courtesy of Poppy Pomfrey, the mangled roll that he had torn to shreds, and looked up to nod at her. He dropped the last fragment of bread and dusted the crumbs off his fingers. “Yes, quite finished, thank you.”

She thrust a bundle of scrolls at him. “I took notes for Harry during classes today and yesterday and wrote down all of the assignments. I – we don’t have exactly the same classes, not in the same order I mean, but I thought it might help him to have an extra copy of the notes.”

“Yes, thank you Miss Granger,” Severus said and reached out to take the notes from her, one hand brushing against her tiny slender fingers. He looked at her with something close to horror hitting him in the ribs and abdomen – horror at having touched her, at the possibility of having sullied her with his touch as Narcissa said his touch was unclean, he was a filthy leper, he did not want to contaminate her – the emotions curled around his intestines and ran up his spine in a filthy, oily pool. He quickly dismissed her, turning his attention to his plate to avoid meeting her eyes.

In the Slytherin common room, there was light and light-heartedness and warmth, with Severus once again an outsider to it all. He stood, with his severe posture slumped and awkward, waiting beside the table where Narcissa and Draco played a game of chess. Draco’s normal poise had returned to him and the boy chatted with his mother, their conversation easy and unrestrained – Severus felt it like a blow to his soft unprotected throat, that this unsullied boy could have a carefree conversation with a loving mother while a monster, unclean and unwanted as he was, could have never had such a thing. The rightness of the thought struck him and sunk into him and he turned away from their game to hide the shame he felt at watching something that was never meant for him.

“Yes, Professor Snape?” Narcissa asked after he heard her bring Draco to a decisive checkmate. “Was there something that you wished to say to either of us?”

“I …” he paused. Turning his gaze back to them, he saw that Draco was still refusing to look at him and Narcissa had put one elegant, manicured hand on her son’s arm.

“I have some notes for Harry,” he said at last. “Miss Granger copied her class notes for him and asked that they be given to him. I … may I see him?” His throat muscles froze and the last sentence was hard to force out into the air. He felt as though he was placing all of his vileness, all of his weakness on display before them.

“It is difficult to see a boy who’s locked himself inside a closet and put a ward extending a foot around it,” Narcissa said without a shadow of mercy in her voice.

“I … Draco said that he is eating, though?”

“The house elves bring him food, yes, and the plates are empty when they bring them out, allowing one to assume that he is eating. Since he hasn’t emerged to make use of the facilities, one might doubt that conclusion.”

“Damn it,” Severus said, dropping the handful of scrolls onto the chessboard with a clatter. Several of the pieces toppled over but he paid them no heed. “I have to talk to him,” he said and hurried up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, only just conscious of Narcissa and Draco in his wake.

Severus stepped over the clutter on the floor, the strewn articles of clothing and textbooks that had been tossed aside by their owners, moving directly to the closet. A foot away from it, he reached a hand out to feel for the wards and felt them tingle across his skin and down into his bones. They vibrated in his fingers and wrist bones, a not-unpleasant hum that pierced the skin and sank into the marrow.

“Harry?” he said. “Harry, can you hear me?”

There was silence for his answer, silence and the hum of the wards across his hand. “Harry, I understand that you’re upset with me but I need to know whether you’re all right or not. Please say something, Harry.”

It was Draco’s hand that he felt on his arm, he realized when he looked down, Draco who was touching him to try to pull him away from the closet.

There was silence from the closet, and Draco was pulling him away from it, but Severus struggled to stay there. A bubble of something close to hysteria rose in his chest, the knowledge that the boy had been locked in the closet for four days without eating. “Harry … Harry, please just say one word. You’re not going back to those Muggles, you’re never going back to them and you don’t deserve to be locked in a closet and you don’t even have to forgive me, Harry, just let me know that you’re alive in there.”

Narcissa added her efforts to Draco’s as they tugged him away from the closet, but before they pulled him from the room, he heard the knock that came from it, the sound of someone knocking on the inside of the door and he knew that it was Harry.

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Searching through some of his old texts that evening, Severus found an obscure monitoring ward and cast it on Harry’s dormitory. He was beyond caring about the impropriety of spying on his students – the boil of emotions that had been storming inside him since his outburst, since Narcissa’s reprimand, since the Baron’s chiding, all of the emotions were burbling and storming, eating at his insides like a viscous poison eating through a thin cauldron.

His brain was full of words, Narcissa’s insistence that his touch would sully her, the Bloody Baron labeling him as a martyr by his own choices, the damning echo of his own words to Harry, and while the words swirled and swirled around in his head, he was haunted by the image of Harry, shaking and afraid as he’d seen him last, the image of Draco with tears in his eyes.

He needed to know if Harry was all right, when he emerged from the closet, whether he had been eating, whether he had been crying. The fire had burned down and the dungeon air was cool against his skin, but he wrapped a robe around himself and stood before the bubble he’d charmed to depict the dormitory. It was empty now and there was no sign of life in the closet.

Severus felt as though he’d stood watching the room for hours, waiting for a glimpse of Harry, when the scene finally changed and the room filled with the young Slytherin boys, readying themselves for bed. Narcissa came into the room, once the boys were changed and settled, and sat in a chair between Draco’s bed and Harry’s empty bed. Severus watched as she cast a silencing ward between them and the other beds and produced a book of fairytales from thin air. “Shall I read your favorite, Draco?”

Severus stood and watched the two of them until his legs grew cramped and numb, enthralled in the sight of the golden-haired Narcissa reading to her son. Her smooth clean fingers paused to stroke Draco’s hair after every page they turned and though he felt like the worst kind of voyeur, he could not help but watch them and envy the brightness of the affection that flared between them.

It was Severus who first noticed that the closet door had opened. Narcissa paused in her reading moments later when she noticed it and then resumed as though nothing had changed. Draco, dozing off into dreamland as Narcissa drew near the end of the story and her caress of his hair grew gentle and light, noticed nothing, but both Severus and Narcissa kept their attention focused on the closet door. As Narcissa read of the dragon that was conquered and tamed by the valiant wizard, Severus saw the rim of Harry’s spectacles emerging from the closet, and by the happily ever after, most of Harry’s face – pale and dirty, but thank Salazar, not overly gaunt – was visible.

Narcissa gave Draco’s hair one last caress, and then held the book out toward Harry. “Would you like to choose the next story?” she asked.

Severus’s heartbeat thudded in his ears as he watched Harry emerge from the closet and make his slow, cautious way over to Narcissa. He stopped when he was several feet away from her and she leaned over to extend the book to him. Severus watched Harry’s face as the boy studied the book, watched the cautious light flare in Harry’s eyes.

“Ch-chapter seven, please, lady,” he said, passing the book back to her.

“Of course,” Narcissa said. “Now tell me, do you need to get into bed by yourself, or are you still willing to be tucked in to bed? I wish Draco would let me baby him more often, but he thinks that he’s grown too big for that. I don’t know if sons ever realize that a mother thinks that they are never too old to be babied.”

Harry stared at her, his eyelashes twitching. In that moment, seeing the translucent skin around the boy’s eyes and the way he shook when he was close to Narcissa, Severus longed for a time-turner. If he’d never followed that idiot Quirrell – if he’d never agreed to meet with Albus at that forsaken hour – if he’d never lost his temper and shouted at Harry – the alternate scenarios piled themselves, one atop another, on Severus’s breastbone and he felt as though it was crushed under the weight.

There was a light in Harry’s eyes as he submitted to Narcissa’s mothering, the brief contact of her hand against his shoulder as she pulled the blankets up to his chin, and Severus recognized that light, the hope that Harry had held for him during their earliest meetings. He watched Harry’s tense muscles unclench as Narcissa read the story in a light, soothing tone of voice, watched Harry’s sleepy excitement as she read him the story of the wizards who uncovered the goblin treasure and were welcomed as heroes when they returned to their homeland.

He watched Narcissa’s clean white hand smooth the hair away from Harry’s forehead as he slept, watched Harry’s chest rise and fall with deep, relaxed breaths.

Severus sank to the ground, canceling the spell. His arms went out to clutch his knees to his chest, his shoulders slumped and he shook with the loss of Harry’s trust.

Severus straightened his spine, forcing it out of the painful curve it had adopted during the night. He curled in on himself for warmth, drawing his feet and hands away from the cold stone floor where he had collapsed and fallen into an exhausted sleep. The kink in his spine was the least of his aches this morning.

Grainy, rough nausea clutched at his guts, overriding his chills and aches. He stumbled to the toilet, but he’d eaten nothing yesterday and repeated heaves brought up only acid. He clutched the counter, holding himself upright, and wondered at the continued willingness of his bones to support him. Should his skeleton not have liquefied and left him in a motionless pile? Light assaulted his eyes and he blinked against the migraine that throbbed at the bridge of his nose.

“Severus?” Albus asked. “Are you ill? You’ve missed your morning classes.”

Severus opened his eyes to look at the Headmaster, but the sight of the man’s vivid magenta robes made his eyes water and his stomach lurch. His abused throat suffered another bout of retching, the acid eating at the delicate soft tissues.

Eyes closed, Severus felt hands encircle his forearms and Albus was supporting him, leading him out of the bathroom. It took a long, fuzzy-edged moment before Severus realized that the older man was touching him and then it took another long moment before Severus found the strength to pull away. With his poor coordination, Severus fell into an awkward sprawl on the floor and he curled in on himself, trying to pull himself away from Albus’s hands.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t, dirty,” and the words felt heavy on his tongue. He wasn’t sure if he’d made himself understood. The fog separating him from the world thickened and coiled through his mind.

Hands grasped his shoulders, pulling him up from the floor. Severus bit his lip, the pain cutting through the fog, and said, “Albus, you mustn’t…”

“Hush,” Albus said, putting his fingers against Severus’s mouth. The wrinkled skin was dry and warm. Severus leaned into the touch even though it was wrong, even though he was unclean and unworthy of this gentle touch.

“Now, Severus,” Albus said when he’d been settled into bed. Wrinkled hands drew the blankets up to Severus’s neck and hovered there in a brief caress. “Do you need Poppy’s help? Food or potions? What do you need?”

Shame cut through the fog blocking Severus from the rest of the world. Shaking Albus’s hand off of his shoulder, Severus leaned over the side of the bed to retch again. With his weakness exposed and his filth revealed, Severus couldn’t bear to look Albus in the eye. He hung half-way off the bed, his nose hovering near the floor and the small puddle of stomach acid and bile.

Albus banished the mess, helped Severus back into the bed, and propped him up on a stack of pillows. Albus smoothed Severus’s hair on the pillow and let his wrist rest on Severus’s forehead. “You’re not feverish,” he said.

Severus felt the pulse flutter in the wrist like a butterfly on his forehead, and he reached up to push Albus away. “You mustn’t touch me,” he said. His raw throat opened and closed in painful gasps around the words and his voice lacked its usual dark undertones. He sounded weak, unthreatening, pathetic, and he cringed away from Albus.

“Severus,” Albus said, reaching for him. Severus backed away and nearly fell off the bed.

Albus withdrew his hand at once. “Calm yourself, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You mustn’t touch me,” Severus repeated.

“Whatever is the matter?” Albus sat on the edge of the bed farthest from Severus and made no move to touch him.

Severus wanted nothing more than to disappear, to be far from the pity he saw in the man’s eyes. With his sweat-soaked skin shivering in the chilly air of the dungeons, he drew his arms and legs toward his body and hunched into himself, willing his disappearance.

When he felt a gentle tap against his shaky mental walls, Severus knew it was useless. Curling further in on himself, pulling his Occlumency shields in closer and tighter, he said in a soft, disgustingly breathy and weak voice, “I’m filthy, too dirty to touch. You’ll be contaminated if you touch me.”

“Nonsense,” Albus said. He leaned closer to Severus and maintained unflinching eye contact. “You are not filthy, Severus. Actions do not physically taint a person, and even your worst activities when in Voldemort’s service are not enough to contaminate you. There’s something in your soul that has remained untouched by all evil, something bright and pure.”

Albus leaned even closer to Severus. “You’ve hidden it all this while, behind your masks and all your unpleasantness, but it’s there nonetheless. You are not dirty, Severus.”

Severus inched further away from Albus. “Spare me the platitudes. No pretty philosophy can disguise filth.”

“Oh, Severus,” Albus said. He pushed through Severus’s shaky Occlumency then, pushed through the shields as though they were made of mist. He went past the surface, past the migraine and the shaking and the sour taste of bile, and went deep into the shadowy, preying insecurities, the formless fears, the half-realized nightmares.

He went so deep that Severus began to tremble, but he stopped before breaching the inner sanctuary of his mind. He stopped there and enveloped Severus’s mind with reassuring caresses, with touch untainted by fear or suspicion, and Severus wanted to sob with terror and joy and remorse.

This was the way Albus had restored him after the horrors of Azkaban, the way Albus had rejuvenated him after the horrors he’d seen as a Death Eater. This intimate, crystalline purity that Albus possessed and shared without question was a purity that was not diminished by the sharing and yet Severus felt a secret squiggle of shame eating at his heart, shame at requiring this comfort, shame that Albus saw all of his inner weaknesses and insecurities and soothed them with his own soul. Albus was clean, his mind vibrated with an uncomplicated joy that came from goodness and righteousness, and if Albus knew what he had done …

Severus broke away from the mental caresses, pulled away from Albus’s comforting touch. Albus relinquished his mind with a final, soft fluttering touch, but retained the physical embrace, holding him close with bony strong arms.

They sat thus for long moments, Severus’s spine pressed against Albus’s chest, Severus’s vertebrae resonating with Albus’s heartbeat. Unworthy of the contact, feeling a residue of filth and contamination that still clung to him despite Albus’s soothing mental balm, Severus could not bring himself to resist the embrace.

A shimmering, silvery form passed through the stone wall and then the Bloody Baron was standing before them. “Headmaster,”