Eight by Lily Elizabeth Snape
Past Featured StorySummary: Harry is eight years old and is sent to live with Snape. Will Snape ever lighten up enough to notice Harry's problems? Abused!Harry, Guardian!Severus, No slash.
Categories: Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Dumbledore, McGonagall, Original Character, Other
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Angst, Drama
Media Type: None
Tags: Child fic, Snape-meets-Dursleys
Takes Place: 0 - Pre Hogwarts (before Harry is 11)
Warnings: Abusive Dursleys, Alcohol Use, Physical Punishment Spanking, Neglect
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 21 Completed: Yes Word count: 37901 Read: 305298 Published: 20 Aug 2006 Updated: 13 Aug 2009
Chapter Seven by Lily Elizabeth Snape
Author's Notes:
Disclaimer: I own none of the Harry Potter ideas or characters or plots, or anything else thought up by the amazing author of the series.

He picked out a nice outfit for me, and soon we were whisked away by something he called ‘apparating.’ To me it felt like we were being squished into a jelly bean and sucked out again. We arrived in an alleyway which was so overrun with noise I presumed we’d made it to London. After a short walk we entered a dimly lit, musty pub, where everyone was dressed the way Mr. Snape looked at his cottage. These were the most adults I’d ever seen in one place, and they all looked big and scary. A rough, dirty man behind the weathered bar greeted my guardian.

“ ‘Allo, there, Professor Snape!” Professor? So he worked at University?

The barkeep continued, “Who’s that little thing ya got wif ya?” He peered at me, and I tried to find a place to hide. Could I disappear like the Snape man had?

“This, Tom, is Harry Potter.”

I jumped back when the man dropped two large glass mugs he’d been holding. He seemed to notice he’d frightened me.

“Well, what do you know? Hello, Mr. Potter! Pleased to make your acquaintance,” He acted like he knew me, and soon I noticed everyone else was turning to gawk as well.

“Thank you, sir. Pleased to meet you.” I knew better than to neglect my manners, even though I’d no idea what was going on.

The Snape man turned to the onlookers. “What are you all ogling at? Never seen a little boy before?”

Several women huffed, and the men sent him glares, but none were a match for Mr. Professor Snape.

We sat at a dusty table and were immediately waited upon by the man called Tom.

“What can I gets fer ya ta drink?”

The Snape man looked at me, but I didn’t know what to say. Other than the milk I’d had at Spinner’s End, I’d only ever had water. I shrugged my shoulders a bit, then waited for the reprimand. That couldn’t have been the polite thing to do. But he was really great about it.

“I’ll have a strong coffee, Tom, and how about a pumpkin juice for the boy.”

The barman handed me a menu, and I looked it over. There were so many choices, and the juice was expensive, I could see. Why was he spending more money on me? The bread I’d eaten an hour ago had half filled me up – what more could I hope for? We got our drinks; mine was strangely orange and thick.

Mr. Snape put his menu down and looked over to me. “Do you know what you want, Harry?”

“I, erm, I –” Scanning the menu frantically, I tried to find the cheapest on the list. I wasn’t fast enough, though.

The Snape man leaned close and whispered, “You can read, can’t you, child?”

I blushed. ‘He must think I’m really stupid!’ “Yes, sir, I can.”

Fretfully, I kept searching the menu, and saw a section called ‘a la carte.’ I didn’t know what that meant, but the things there were cheaper. Toast was only sixty pence.

I smiled a bit as I came to my conclusion. “Toast, please, sir.”

“Toast! Child, you’ve had nothing but bread for three days.”

I’d displeased him again. Glancing round the room, I saw people were still staring. My feet swung beneath me rhythmically, trying to empty the anxiety clouding my being. The barkeep returned. He gave me a long, wondering look, until Mr. Snape made a noise.

“Sorry there, Professor, wot ken I getcha?” he said, tearing his eyes from me.

“I’ll take a cinnamon scone, and bring young Mr. Potter eggs, sausage, and buttered toast with marmalade.”

Wow! Just at the sound of the food he’d ordered my mouth was watering! Had the coffee been an Irish one? Aunt Petunia had often ordered me to add whiskey and cream to Uncle’s morning cup. The man didn’t look drunk, though.

Taking stock of the room, he muttered, “For bloody Merlin’s sake!” before pulling a thread from his cloak and changing it to a tall, dark green curtain that hung all round us. He looked over at me, and turned a second thread into a black cloak just my size, and it had a silvery ‘H’ embroidered where a breast pocket would have been. He slipped it over my shoulders and bothered over the dragon-shaped clasp. It was warm and comforting, like the quilt had been. I smiled up at him. Could it be he really liked me?

Our food came and I couldn’t believe how much was set in front of me. I didn’t know how I could possibly eat all of it, but I knew I must. I’d never be so rude as to not clean my plate; I couldn’t imagine what trouble that’d land me in. No meals for a week plus a whipping, probably.

After a few bites of egg and half a piece of sausage I felt more stuffed than ever before. The food was so greasy and heavy, and the meat was spicy. I’d had eggs before, but only cold scraps. I made myself keep going; the man was glancing over at me frequently, waiting for me to be willful.

Once I polished off the link of sausage and a slice of toast I realized I was going to be sick. I tried to run to the lavatory, but didn’t know where it was. I ended up losing all what I’d eaten on the floor next to the bar. I was really, really going to get it now! Everyone was staring, and I wondered who was going to come over to punish me first. After all, I had ruined all their meals, and they were all adults.

I saw a rag on the edge of a table and tried to start cleaning up, holding in the next round of vomit ‘til it come out my nose. I was making even more of a mess! And I’d gotten my brand new clothes and cloak all dirty! ‘I’m such an ungrateful, horrible beast!’

The Snape man was coming toward me, and he was very upset and agitated. I wanted to scamper away from him back into the corner, but that would have made an ever greater mess. I made myself stay and take what was coming to me.

He took out his wand. Would he beat me with it? I didn’t see anything else lying around he could use.

“Scourgify.” He did the cleaning spell, and everything was good as new! I’d forgot about that one. He picked me up like a sack of potatoes and took me to the gentlemen’s. At least I wouldn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of a thrashing in public.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The child was trembling in my arms. I remembered all too well how uncomfortable it was to sick up, and I thought there’d be more to come. We made it to the loo just in time for him to get ill in the toilet. I waited a bit, patting his mussed hair.

“Is that all, Harry? Or do you need to stay in here a bit?”

His voice was shaky. “I – I think I’m done now, sir.”

I splashed cool water on his face and had him wash his hands.

“You probably don’t want to see that food on the table when we get back, eh?” He started to do a little nervous dance. “Do you need to use the toilet, boy?” Wasn’t he old enough to just go?

“No, sir. Er – I’ll eat the rest. I’ll try really hard not to sick up again. I’m so sorry, sir!” He was whinging and sounded frightened.

“Sorry for what?” Did he think I was angry he’d been ill? That was a normal thing for children; any decent wizard knew that! Hell, it was a normal thing for adults as well, especially when they got soused as I had all too recently.

“F-for getting sick and making such a mess.”

“Harry, didn’t you clean me up when I got sick from the drink?”

“Yes, sir.” He still looked confused. I’d hoped he’d figure out my gist. Ah, well, apparently not.

“Cleaning you up with an incantation is much easier than how you must have done it, correct? Why would I be upset with you for being sick when I did the same thing?” I was very interested in his answer; I had an inkling his thought process would reveal much of the damage done.

“Be-because I’m bad, sir. I deserve to be p-punished.”

The poor little thing! As soon as I had a free moment, I was going to have to contemplate an appropriate vengeance for those despicable muggles!

“Little one, listen now. You are not bad. You do not deserve to be punished. I am not going to punish you. Is that clear?” I hoped it was; I truly didn’t know how much more simply I could explain the situation.

“You’re not going to beat me?” he queried doubtfully.

“No, Harry, I’m not going to beat you. Now, tell me the truth. Are you still hungry?”

“No, sir,” he whispered, shamefaced. I took his chin in my hand, and tipped it up to banish the guilty pose.

“Don’t be upset, Harry. Now, let’s go pay, and then we’re going to get you checked over.”

The End.


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