Prologue

"HOW MANY IS THAT?!?!?" A heavily set man bellowed.

This is how days often ended for a young Harry Potter. He would wake up before dawn, do ‘chores’ for hours on end, then wait in his cupboard until his uncle came home. The chores were everything from cooking, to cleaning, to transplanting all the plants in the garden. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be beaten too badly. If he was unlucky, and his uncle came home drunk then he and the belt would get to know each other very well.

"S-sixty e-eight sir" A meek voice answered.

That was how today was. The list of ‘things to do’ was far to long, and by the time his uncle came home (late and smelling distinctly of vodka) he had just barely finished. The dinner he had cooked over three hours ago was long gone cold. Which made Vernon mad. Incensed, in fact. Ultimately meaning that Harry would soon be in a lot of pain.

And so we find the two in the basement, young Harry cowing under the brute’s hand.

Another clap of leather hitting flesh.

A whimper.

Another crack of sound.

A slight whimper of pain and another slap.

"Now how many more boy?!?"

"T-Twenty nine s-sir"

"Start over!"

Again.

The belt whistled in the air.

He was choking back sobs by now. "O-one sir."

The flash of a buckle.

An instant of pain.

Darkness.

A long while later the child awoke in the grim darkness of his cupboard Moving slightly there was a sharp intake of breath. Despite that he was only six, he did not cry. If he cried he would be given a 'lesson'. Hopes of being loved were crushed once again. His heart writhed in agony longing for what it was not allowed. He longed for a love. He longed for a grandma to spoil him, or a grandpa to tell him stories. He longed for a friend to play with on rainy days, or pet to cuddle with. He longed for a mother to kiss him better when was hurt... but most of all, he wanted a father. A father who would take him away and protect him, hold him at night when he was scarred, and to teach him how to grow up. A father who would love him.

But the little boy wouldn't have any of these. No one wanted a freak like him.

Pulling his legs to his chest he took a deep breath only to find his stomach convulsing in anger. Bile stung his thought as he dissolved into a wracking fit of coughs.

Despite his best efforts a tear dripped down a once happy face. He didn't want to be here any more. He wanted a home! He wanted to be wanted!

A small whimper no body should have heard escaped his dry lips as he fell into a fitful sleep.

But somewhere deep in the dungeons of a castle in Scotland, a man was woken abruptly by thoughts that were not his own.

Chapter One

It was the early morning of September 1st, 1987, and, after a long night of brewing, Severus T. Snape, was tossing and turning in his sleep. Not that it was unusual for him to have flashbacks, no, that was quite common. Common enough that dreamless sleep was useless. But the strange thing about this morning was the fact the memories were none he recalled happening. At all. Ever.

True, the were similar to some of his, but they weren't his.

All in all, this was rather concerning.

He had never had experienced anything like this before. It was a sort of backwards legilimency. At first he was recalling the joy and pride of knowing he would have a real family, one of his own, then the longing for what he had once had? No. That wasn't right. They were dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. They had been dead for five years, and they would stay that way.

The longing for home? But he had a home. Not much of one, but the dank dungeons were as much of a home as he ever had...

Walls closing in? But he never had claustrophobia...

Love? Okay, so he needed more of th-

"Severus!" a voice happily interrupted his train of thoughts.

"Severus!" The overly cheery voice called out again.

Damn him.

"Severus!!!"

Throwing once again black blankets off of his black bed sheets the groggy potions master promptly fell off the bed. On to the floor. With a slight grunt he got up and opened the door the joyful headmaster.

"Good morning Severus!"

Glare.

"Wonderful weather we're having isn't it? Perfect conditions for quidditch..."

"Get to the point Albus." He growled out.

The headmaster seemed to deflate slightly, but continued. "Fine, fine... Tea?"

Another glare.

"Lemon drop?"

"No." He defiantly wasn’’t a morning person.

Slightly defeated he went about making tea anyway, and after merrily sipping at it for a few moments looked back to the teacher.

"We've had some slight worries about the wards around young Harry Potter..."

"Get on with it."

Hesitating he continued. "And because all of the other teachers are finishing last minuet preparations I wou-"

"No." he cut him off.

"But Severus-"

"No. I will not go and 'check up' on your golden boy Albus! He's not my problem, he's not my son, he's not my responsibility. I. Don't. Care."

"Severus-" it was slightly pleading

"No!"

"But Severus- do it for Lily"

"NO!" he stood up spilling the undrunk tea on the stone floor. "Never. Bring. My. Ex. Up. Again."

"Severus be reasonable-"

"You be reasonable old man! You made me spy on the dark lord thus driving my wife away from me after a miscarriage! Then she goes and has the bastard son of James-bleeding-Potter and DIES. Do you have any idea how painful that is?" His anger receded slightly. "No... of corse you don't. You never strayed from the light..."

"Severus, you may not believe me, but I /do/ know the pain of losing a child. Less than twenty years ago almost my entire family was murdered. Please- go check on him." His endless blue eyes spoke of fear for his meager family.

He looked to the still sitting old man, wondering where he ever learned to soften a stone heart. "Fine. I may have hated James for what he did to me, but I can not hate a mere child for his father's doings..."

With a swish of his robe he disappeared out the door.

Albus Brian Percival Wulfric Dumbledore sat in remorse. There was so much his (great grand)son-in-law did not know...

Despite the dislike of the task at hand, Severus Snape found himself wandering down the lane to number four Privit Drive. And hating every second of it.

All the houses looked the same, all the cars, everything. It was like a badly done horror film from hell. A white fence surrounded each white house, and under each kitchen window was a neatly trimmed bush.

And yet despite the relative calm a sinister air still lingered around shadows.

Finally coming upon a house identical to all the others, save the number, the dour teacher slunk into the shadows.

This was going to be a long wait...

Through the window one could see the every day breakfast of a normal family. A horse faced woman cooking breakfast, a pig like child whining for more syrup on his pancakes, and a heavy set man reading the morning paper. A perfectly normal house with a perfectly normal family taking care of their perfectly normal nephew.

With a double take confusion flooded the potions master. There was only one boy, and either the killing curse had caused a lot more damage than anyone predicted, or the fat little boy was not Potter. He assumed it was the later.

The man took one last sip of his coffee resting the paper on the table. Standing up he kissed his wife, kissed the obese little boy, and walked out the door.

Glad for the notice-me-not charm he had applied earlier, he eyed the woman as the made her way in and out of the kitchen preparing the boy for school.

And, for the first time in his life, he was glad he taught pre-teens and teenagers rather than six year olds. The boy was worse than the first Gryffindor potions class of the year! Having a temper tantrum about this and that, too much butter, not wanting to wear socks, wanting his other pair of shoes, not wanting to go to school, wanting chocolate, not wanting this shirt, instead wanting that one and so on.

Occluded himself from the rest of the world he was glad when it was all over. The woman dragged her still whining son out the door and to the car- probably to school.

But who cared where they were going, just that they were gone. Now was his chance to check on Potter.

Moving to the door a flick of his wand opened the house up to him. Stealthily he stalked through out the house opening every door on the base floor. Nothing. Dining room, kitchen telle room, lavatory. Nothing. No boy, healthy or not.

He started to creep up the stairs but winched when the bottom step creaked. Making a mental note to avoid that on the way back down he proceeded to check all the rooms upstairs. Bedroom- guest bedroom, a child’’s room, a room full of broken toys, he was earnestly beginning to wonder if the boy actually lived here.

After the second run through the house, he was beginning to doubt that Dumbledore had sent him to the right house.

Almost fearfully he turned to the one un-opened door.

Surely no one was cruel enough to leave a boy under the stairs in the dark... but it was the only thing left unchecked.

Perspiration dampened his brow as a hand captiously swayed to the handle.

With an almighty heave the door creaked open. To reveal a boy.

The boy's body was broken and purple. Nearly dead. Arms and legs off at strange angles, not looking half of his age. An old tattered blanket wrapped around his contorted naked body.

He leaned forward to get a closer look at the damage, but drew back in shock.

Realization dawned upon him.

It was the boy's memories!

The man who had left the house earlier was the man that had hurt the boy.

The cupboard that the boy was in was the imprisoned feeling.

And... he was the father the boy had longed for.

But that was ridiculous.

This was the boy-who-lived. The son of James Potter. The bastard child of his ex-wife.

Then why was he so compelled to take the child and, Merlin forbid, love him?

With trembling fingers he brushed away blood and who-knows-what-else caked hair away from the boy's pale face.

Severus Snape froze. The face was not that of the boyishly handsome school time nemesis.

It was a six year old mix of his ex’’s and his own.

Was this why Lily’s departure had cut him so deep? Was this boy the reason for the sense of loss over these past years?

Was this the child he had longed for?

Once again he reached down to boy to remove him from the small jail. He whimpered.

He was still conscious.

With a flick of his wand he conjured a real blanket for the broken body. Wrapping him gently within the warm folds of the blanket, Severus saw as his disheveled... son? bit his lip- with what appeared to be a broken jaw, to keep from crying out.

Before he even knew what he was doing Severus began making crooning sounds and cradling the son he never had.

Until the untimely crashing sound of the front door.