Severus Snape felt like he was in heaven. He danced from one cauldron to the next in his potions lab, breathing in the delightful smell of newts’ eyes and belladonna. It had been a few weeks since the end of the school year, and he couldn’t say he missed any of the little cretins.

His smile turned into a scowl as he thought of September. Truly, the summer hols were way too short. He didn’t even know why he was working at Hogwarts—he disliked teaching and the brats even more. Oh yes; now he remembered (not that he could ever forget)—Albus Dumbledore.

‘Sweet old man,’ he thought sourly, ‘…not.’

Of course, he did owe Albus a lot, but why did the eccentric wizard have to somehow concoct the bright idea for him to teach at Hogwarts to repay his debt? Albus had mentioned that perhaps interacting with the children would ‘put a smile on his face.’

Severus sneered. ‘As if. Merlin knows I’ve become more volatile with the teaching. But every time I go into that man’s office, he just smiles that infuriating smile and hands me a lemon drop. I don’t even understand why he even likes those infernal sweets. They are so sour they nearly made me keel over when Albus forced me to try one.’

He shook his head and grumbled as he looked around his lab.

“Well,” he murmured to a sizzling pot, “I might as well enjoy my time with my potions as much as possible before school starts again.”

He smiled—or grimaced—at a cauldron of blue goop. “Don’t worry, my pretties. This summer, I’m going to devote all my time to you.”

Those dunderheads at Hogwarts just didn’t understand that potions were meant to be loved and cared for. He sniffed disparagingly; all those children ever did in his class was cower and whimper, not treating him or the potions with the least bit of respect. Well, not that he was very helpful to them himself—but they just ought to know better anyway.

He ladled the liquids from the cauldrons into separate containers, setting them gently on a side table to cool.

“Good night, my dears,” he whispered to his newly made brews, making sure not to leave anyone out. He wiped his hands with a cloth. “See you tomorrow.”

Severus headed off toward his bedroom to change out of his lab clothes and into his sleep wear—a soft robe with little cauldrons printed all over it. Time to get ready for bed after a fulfilling day. He whistled slightly as he washed his face and tucked himself into the covers.

His eyelids had just closed when a silent alarm blared and pulsed inside his head. He jumped out of bed in surprise, then grabbed his wand. Had someone broken past the wards?

As quietly as he could, he slipped out of his bedroom and into the living room, where the intruder apparently was according to the alarm. He stationed himself behind a pillar, listening for any sounds or voices. When he didn’t hear any, he jumped out from behind the column, wand out and at the ready, only to point at…a boy?

What’s more, the boy was actually lying on the ground, unconscious. As for his age, he looked about a couple years younger than Draco. Severus cast a couple spells, checking to see if there was anything menacing about the boy.

“This better not be one of Lucius’s infantile pranks,” he silently muttered.

He cautiously knelt beside the boy, gently turning him over in order to get a closer look at his face. Severus winced at the bruises and cuts, an obvious sign of abuse. The boy’s arm also seemed to be broken. He slipped the cracked glasses off the boy’s nose and put them into his robe pocket. Other than that, the copper hair coloring wasn’t one he recognized—perhaps the boy was a muggleborn? He obviously was magical, or he wouldn’t have been able to apparate inside, let alone break through the wards. It looked like a case of accidental magic.

Severus pressed his lips into a thin line as he scrutinized the intruder’s injuries. He sighed as he gently lifted him, carrying him to a guest room and set him on the bed. Even if he didn’t really like children, none of them deserved to be hurt; especially not by his own family, if that really was the case here.

The boy didn’t rouse from his unconsciousness, so Severus grabbed a few healing potions from his inventory. He also cast a spell to heal the broken arm. It would be slightly sore for a few days, but it wouldn’t hurt as much. Peering closely at his work, he was surprised as the boy began to stir. The child’s eyelids fluttered, and the palest blue eyes the Potion Master had ever seen met his own ebony ones.

Harry awoke, feeling more comfortable than he had ever felt in the past nine years of his life. Was he dreaming? He kept his eyes closed for a moment, relishing in the warmth he was bathed in. It seemed as if he was laying in a bed, one of the few times in his life. Perhaps he was dreaming about being Oliver. Well, if that was the case, he might as well open his eyes and enjoy the dream. So he did.

And stared into two bottomless wells.

‘Hmm,’ he thought vaguely, and smiled sleepily at the man to whom the pair of dark tunnels belonged. ‘I wonder where I am.’ Of course he couldn’t see the man too well, as he didn’t feel the familiar press of his glasses against his nose.

But from what he could see about the blob in front of him, he noticed that the man looked slightly disgusted by his smile.

‘Hmm…’ he thought again, then smiled some more. ‘That’s interesting.’

The man coughed to break the silence and asked sternly, “What is your name, boy?”

“Oliver,” Harry answered without hesitation. “What’s yours, sir?”

The blob grunted, then replied matter-of-factly, “You may call me Professor Snape.”

This was a strange dream. He didn’t think he would ever dream about professors, or snapes. His right arm felt a bit strange, though. He tried lifting it closer to his face so he could see what was wrong with it. Bad idea. He stifled a yelp as a flash of pain lanced through his arm.

“Don’t move your arm,” the man warned belatedly. “It was broken, and I only just healed it.”

‘Thanks a lot,’ Harry sighed. ‘Earlier would have helped.’ The man helped him sit up though.

Then the man’s words registered in his mind. Broken arm. Last night. Uncle Vernon. Wonderful. Where in the world was he? This definitely wasn’t a dream; he would never dream of giving himself a broken arm that he already had.

Severus watched curiously as the boy’s eyes narrowed after his last comment. Oliver, as he called himself, seemed to scan the room, finally trying to figure where he was. The potions master noticed that the boy’s gaze seemed to be unfocused.

Oh, right. The glasses.

He took them out of his pocket and awkwardly slipped them on the boy’s face. He summoned a cup of water and gave it to the boy to drink. Oliver’s eyes widened at the sudden appearance of the cup.

“Now, may I ask what you were doing in my home?” Severus drawled.

“You’re magic too!” Oliver said wonderingly.

Interesting. The boy had probably done some accidental magic before. That made things slightly easier. At least he didn’t have to deal with fainting.

“The correct term is wizard,” he answered. “I am one, and apparently you are one too by you earlier statement and your appearance in my manor.”

Seeming the boy look questioningly at his wand, he replied to the unasked question, “This is a wand, what I use to channel my magic in order to do spells. There’s a whole world filled with magical people—wizards and witches. Judging by your reaction, I assume your parents do not have magic?”

The boy nodded, too dazed to say anything

“And so I repeat my earlier inquiry: How and why did you get into my home?”

Oliver seemed to mull over the question, his eyes glazed as if trying to remember. “I fell asleep,” he slowly recounted, “and when I woke up, I was here.” A brief look of surprise and wonder flashed across the child’s face before he quashed it. “I think,” he said hesitatingly, “I think I wished…again.”

So the boy had done magic before, then. “What did you wish for?” he asked in a direct manner.

Oliver’s face seemed to shutter. “I…can’t tell you that,” he murmured. “It’s private.” He looked up at Severus with his light eyes. “You understand that, don’t you Professor?”

Severus frowned at the lack of an answer, then posed another question, “How did you get your injuries?”

The boy stiffened. “I can’t tell you that either, sir. Pardon my rudeness, sir, but where did you get that scar on your arm?”

In other words, he means, ‘keep your big fat nose out of my business,’ Severus thought amusedly. Nicely done, he silently commended. The potions master nodded, to show that he would avoid the topic. From the boy’s avoidance of the two questions, though, it seemed that perhaps their answers were somehow related. It appeared as if the boy was abused. After the beating, he could have wished to be somewhere safe. He sneered at the thought. If the boy thought that Severus himself was safe, he would have a lot to learn.

But, a voice argued in his mind, this brat didn’t look as bad as the others. He didn’t speak unless spoken too, which was a point for him. Except for that ridiculous smile when he just woke up, he didn’t annoy Severus too much. He winced as he saw the boy yawn. What a rude action. But the boy probably couldn’t help it, raised by abusive oafs. He was still a brat, though, nothing would change that. Potions beat brats any day. He almost smiled at the jaunty tune that started playing in his head he thought of potions

Oh! The boy was tired, he realized suddenly. He mentally patted himself on the back; how clever of himself to notice. It was nighttime, after all, when little boys should be asleep. Not really aware of his actions, Severus leaned forward and helped Oliver lay back down.

Harry didn’t know what to think about Professor Snape. From what he could guess, he had wished before he fell unconscious and somehow ended up here. A wish just like he wished for his appearance to change. About that, he probably was still in Oliver’s form, since he didn’t remember changing back to Harry in the cupboard.

He blushed pink as he thought of his wish to be loved—he wasn’t normally so emotional and needy. It was just that moment and Uncle Vernon, he told himself reassuringly. And anyway, he couldn’t ever imagine the Professor as being someone caring and…you know. He turned pink again, and hoped the man didn’t notice.

Well, Professor Snape had healed him though, and he was magic too. He didn’t insult Harry, even though he didn’t really looked pleased that Harry had just trespassed into his home. He didn’t just ignore Harry either. That made him better than any adult he’d ever met.

But he was still an adult, and Harry never trusted adults on principle.

He yawned, and almost giggled as he saw the distaste on the Professor’s face. Professor Snape obviously was from some posh family that had tons of etiquette rules, judging from the elaborate room he was in. Yawning probably was gross to the man.

But the Professor didn’t say anything. Just stood up and helped Harry lay down, pulling the bedcovers over him.

And he actually tucked Harry in.

‘Almost as if he were my father,’ Harry thought wistfully. But he quickly quashed down that thought. He wasn’t worthy to be anyone’s son. He was only a freak.

He yawned again and rubbed his eyes sleepily. But it didn’t matter much. He’d been a freak all of his life and was basically used to it. Even though it gave him a nice feeling to know that he wasn’t the only one who could do magic. Magic. Magic was real, and he really saw the man summon the cup of water and it wasn’t just in his imagination.

Wow, his thoughts were really rambling now. What he really wanted to do was sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep…

He only had time to murmur a ‘Thank you’ before his eyelids slipped shut.

Severus quietly watched the boy as he drifted off into slumberland. He accio’ed a jar of bruise balm and began to gently rub it into the large bruise on the boy’s face. 

What had possessed him to tuck the boy in? He wasn’t the touchy feely type. Besides, like he kept telling himself, Oliver was just like one of those little monsters that crawled around Hogwarts.

He set down the jar on a nearby table, and sat down on a chair next to the bed. Involuntarily, an arm reached out to brush the boy’s bangs away, but he quickly caught himself before the action could be completed.

“That’s it,” he muttered, disgruntled at the sappiness of the action. “I’m leaving. The boy doesn’t need me to watch him while he sleeps. I already healed him anyway,” he justified.

He determinedly stalked out of the guest room.

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A minute later found Severus Snape back in the chair, face in his hands.