Snape stalked down the corridor, menace radiating from every sharp line and taut angle of his body. He cut an imposing figure, with students scurrying for cover under his black gaze. There was nothing Snape hated more than patrolling the corridors of the Hogwarts Express. The obligatory duty fell to him once every seven years as it rotated through the Hogwarts staff. It was bad enough having to deal with the students within the castle itself, but the train ride to school, after a long, undisciplined summer characterized by doting parents giving in to every whim and whimsy of their ungrateful children, was more than Snape could tolerate. Add to that the sugar-laden sweets of the trolley, and Snape was ready to take house points and assign detentions to the hyperactive pupils before the term even started.

His first task of the trip had been to summarily chastise the Prefects for not doing their jobs satisfactorily—even though they hadn’t had a chance to make their first rounds yet. Then he’d proceeded to intrude on the occupants of each and every compartment, scowling and threatening the students into quivering, sniveling masses to ensure their good behavior and a hopefully quiet trip for himself. In the first hour alone, he’d read a fourth year Hufflepuff the riot act for performing illegal magic on the train, confiscated three Fanged Frisbees and a poisonous three-toed newt, and threatened to throw Neville Longbottom and his toad off the train if the idiotic boy couldn’t keep a handle on his wayward pet.

Sighing, Snape was just about to turn around and head back to the comfortable staff quarters at the front of the train when a whisper of concealed magic tickled his senses. Drawing his wand, he whirled around, ready for a threat even though he suspected it was a couple of errant students doing something they shouldn’t be.

He realized with a start that an entire compartment had been concealed, not by rudimentary magic or sloppy spells, but by sophisticated repelling and notice-me-not charms. Frowning, he studied the wards further, finding a number of powerful enchantments not only hiding the compartment, but preventing entrance if discovered. Suspecting some particularly talented 7th years engaging in some lurid, if not illegal, affair he spent the next ten minutes attempting to dismantle the wards. Much to his surprise, the wards did not drop; instead they opened, inch by inch, to permit his entrance, and then closed firmly behind him. By the time he’d made his way to the door of the compartment, he was equal parts intrigued and annoyed at the Auror-worthy wards.

Sliding the compartment door open, Snape encountered a young witch with long, curly hair that concealed her face leaning over a bespectacled student laying, unclothed, across one of the padded benches. Not just any student, but Harry Bloody Potter—completely naked—and completely unconscious from the looks of it. Snape was about to ask what the hell was going on, when the witch spoke.

“Professor Snape,” she said in an odd, ethereal voice, “thank you for coming.”

Snape froze. The witch had not even looked in his direction, and yet she’d addressed him by name, and spoke to him as if his sudden intrusion was not only welcome, but expected.

As if reading his mind, she said, “The wards were keyed to your magical signature. And those of the Fenterwick Fairies who are known for their healing auras. But we were expecting you first.”

Snape folded his arms across his chest. “I see,” he said sharply, taking in his surroundings. While Potter lay on his back, nude and unmoving, the young witch hovering over him was fully dressed, albeit in an odd assortment of multi-colored Muggle clothing. Potter’s clothes lay neatly folded nearby, along with two school trunks, and an odd assortment of magical objects, including a sneakoscope. “And what, pray tell, is the meaning of this?”

The young witch placed her hand on Potter’s bare shoulder in a protective, motherly gesture. “It is the same every year, Professor,” she said. Then she turned her protuberant silver-gray eyes to him, her long blond hair falling away to reveal her face.

Recognition hit him full force as the witch held out her hand to him.

“May I have the mind numbing potion now?”

Snape frowned. “That is a very uncommon potion, Miss Lovegood. One that is rarely used and one that I do not carry on my person.”

Luna waited patiently, her hand outstretched, her gaze never leaving his. After several moments, Snape sighed and shoved his hands into the inside pockets of his robes, pulling out all of the emergency potions he carried with him. There were the old stand-bys—pain relieving potion, pepper-up potion, headache remedy, calming draught, bruise salve—and a few less common ones like Essence of Dittany for scaring, blood replenishing potion, and a few general purpose nutrient potions. As he set them on the table, Luna’s voice interrupted him.

“I believe it’s the robin-egg-blue one.”

Snape followed her gaze and picked up the bottle she was referring to. Mind Numbing Potion was written in his spiky handwriting. He caressed the bottle in his hand, his mind reeling. “I didn’t know you were a seer.”

Luna had dropped her hand and was tending to Potter again, humming softly. “Oh, I’m not,” she said. “Sometimes a blibbering humdinger just whispers little things in my ear.”

Letting that go for the moment, Snape asked, “Why do you need this particular potion?”

“Healing requires many potions,” Luna replied cryptically.

“This potion hasn’t been a standard in the healer’s kit since the Dark Ages,” Snape retorted, his patience wearing thin. He couldn’t believe he was even having this conversation.

Luna looked out the window at the steadily moving scenery, her eyes shimmering with an eerie sense of other-worldliness.

Frustrated with the lack of rational answers, Snape snapped. “And why exactly is Potter laying here naked?”

Luna’s eyes swiveled to his as she held out her hand again for the potion. As if compelled by her quiet determination, Snape found himself handing it over. Luna uncapped the potion, raised Potter’s head with her other hand, and dribbled it into his mouth. In a soft, soothing voice, she instructed him to swallow.

“I’m going to turn you over now, Harry,” she said softly, setting the bottle aside. “Professor Snape is here. I told you he’d come.” Luna placed a reassuring hand on Harry’s head. “Everything’s going to be fine now, you’ll see.”

Without looking at Snape, Luna waved her wand, slowly lifting and then rotated the teenager in the air, finally setting him down again feather-light on his stomach.

The sight that assaulted Snape filled him with a sudden, inexplicable rage. “What in Merlin’s name happened to him?”

“The same every year,” Luna echoed sadly, her face expressionless as she slowly drew her wand across one of the many bleeding gashes, angry welts, and infected cuts that lined the teenager’s neck, back, buttocks, and legs.

Snape stood rooted to the spot a moment longer, before stepping beside Luna. “Make room,” he said, quickly and effectively aiding Luna in her efforts. Together they worked in silence, side by side, healing Potter’s injuries. When they had finished, Snape ran a diagnostic scan, cataloging recently mended bones and other healed internal injuries. “Did you do all of this?”

“Of course,” Luna said. “Someone has to.” She pulled a blue blanket with frolicking unicorns on it from her trunk and expertly laid it over Potter, again placing her hand on his shoulder as if to remind him that she was still here.

Snape scowled at the acceptance in Luna’s expression. Anger raced through his veins as he asked: “Who did this to him?”

“His uncle I believe,” Luna said. “He is a mean Muggle man.”

Gritting his teeth, Snape said, “Dumbledore will hear about this.”

“Oh, he knows,” Luna responded.

“He what?” Snape bellowed. “He knows and he’s done nothing?”

Luna raised one golden eyebrow. “Headmaster Dumbledore’s priorities often lie in the strangest of places.”

Snape looked askance at this wisp of a witch. Her keen insight mixed with her odd nature and prodigious skill made for an interesting if disconcerting combination. To distract himself from the rage that threatened to boil over at the boy’s mistreatment and Dumbledore’s choice to ignore it, he asked instead: “Where did you learn the healing arts?”

“My mother, before she died. And then her mother."

“I see,” Snape said, trying to recall if there were any famous healers by the name of Lovegood. Considering that he didn’t know Luna’s mother’s maiden name, though, that train of thought quickly led to a dead end.

Snape studied Potter, now healed, lying beneath the ridiculous unicorn blanket. “Why is he unconscious?”

“Oh, he’s not unconscious,” Luna replied. “He’s in stasis.”

“As in the Stasis Stagenesis curse?”

At Luna’s nod, Snape’s voice boomed across the small space. “You mean you’ve healed him under a paralysis charm? You do realize that he’s been able to feel the excruciating pain of every single one of your ministrations, don’t you?” Balling his hands into fists, he continued, “Even the mind numbing potion you so desperately wanted wouldn’t have spared him much.”

“It was the safest way,” Luna replied, nonplussed. “I’d have preferred to use stronger potions, but I didn’t have any, and Harry was afraid to tell you.” Staring intently at Snape once again, Luna said, “I told him you’d understand perfectly, seeing as you didn’t have the easiest childhood either.”

“What? How do you…”

Luna silenced Snape with a light touch to his arm. “It’s alright, you needn’t be ashamed. Mother always said only the lucky ones get to choose their parents.”

Luna turned back to Harry, leaving Snape speechless. “Harry,” she whispered. “I’m going to roll you back over. Professor Snape is going to give you a strong pain numbing draft before I wake you.”

Snape was already searching through the vials for the strongest pain solution he had as Luna’s words reached his ears. He scowled at how easily she could read him. No one had been able to read him since Lily, and that a sixth year Ravenclaw could was beyond irksome.

“Here,” he snapped, handing the vial to her. “Give him three-quarters of it. Then wait ten minutes before you wake him.”

The train rattled through the night, causing the compartment to gently rock back and forth.

“You should have told someone.”

“I did.”

Snape scowled. “You should have told me.”

Harry snorted. “As if you would have believed me,” Harry said, stretching his limbs beneath the unicorn blanket. “No offense, sir.”

Snape sighed. It grated to know that the boy was right. “You are more like your mother—and less like your father—than I gave you credit for.”

Harry shifted on the seat beside Snape. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Snape merely raised an eyebrow. Noticing the wizard fidgeting beneath the blanket, he asked, “Are you cold?”

“Cold? No, why?”

“You are holding onto that blanket for dear life,” Snape said.

“Oh, it’s not that. It’s made with real unicorn hair. Luna brings it for me every year. It helps…” Harry stopped, blinking hard for a moment and clearing his throat. “It helps with the pain. And the healing.”

 “Are you still having pain?”

“Not much now, no,” Harry replied.

Snape scoffed. He added another dose of pain killing potion to the last of the nutrient potion he had and handed it to Harry.

Harry pulled an arm out from under the baby blue unicorn blanket to grasp the vial. He drained the contents in one long gulp, and then handed it back to Snape with a muttered “Thanks.”

Together they waited for the train to reach Hogwarts, lost in their own thoughts.

“You won’t be going back there next summer.”

Harry laughed without humor. “Good luck convincing Dumbledore on that one.”

Snape considered this. There had to be a way. He’d find a way.

“Don’t you have to check on the other students?” Harry asked, rubbing his thumb along the tail of one of the prancing unicorns.

“Luna volunteered to take over for me,” Snape said. “I’m sure she’s educating some thoroughly confused first years on Crumple-Horned Snorkacks as we speak.”

Harry laughed. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

“If you can get past the nargles and fairies, I suppose.”

Another long silence stretched out between them, though there was no awkwardness in it.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Potter?”

Harry fidgeted with the frayed hem of his shirt. “Was Luna right? About your childhood, I mean?” Harry looked up, but quickly glanced away at the look of irritation on the professor’s face. “I’m sorry; it’s really none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Snape let out a long sigh and leaned back against the padded bench, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Only your mother ever knew about my father’s… violent tendencies.”

Harry nodded. “When did it stop?”

“When I turned 17. I left home the very day and never went back.”

“That is my plan, too,” Harry said.

As the Hogwarts Express continued on through the night, Harry turned to face the window where nothing but inky blackness could be seen. “Thank you.”

Snape looked at him sternly. “For what?”

Turning back to the Professor, Harry said, “For telling me. And for helping Luna fix me up.”

Snape let out an exasperated sigh. “You really are an idiot, Potter, you know that?”

Harry smiled, not meeting the professor’s eyes. “Yeah, well. Thanks anyway.”

9 Months Later

“Potter! See me after class. In my office.”

Harry grimaced. What the hell had he done now? He packed up his things, bid his friends good-bye, and crossed the hall to Snape’s office.

He knocked once and was bade to enter.

“Have a seat, Mr. Potter.”

Harry sat, not sure what to expect. The last time he’d been alone with Snape had been on the train. Harry had thought they’d come to some sort of understanding then, but Snape’s behavior towards him had not changed noticeably during the rest of the year so he didn’t know what to think.

“I have spoken with the headmaster regarding the situation with your relatives.”

“And?”

“He feels that since your uncle has been taken care of, so to speak—” Snape looked pointedly at Harry.

Harry nodded his understanding, knowing that Snape was referring to his uncle being sent to Muggle prison for abusing Harry.

“—that it would be safe for you to return to live with your aunt and cousin.”

Harry grimaced.

“I, on the other hand,” Snape continued, “happen to know your aunt. I can’t imagine a person less fit to raise a child.”

Harry brightened at this.

“Unfortunately, the only other option I have for you would likely be equally as distasteful.”

“What other option?”

“The only other place Dumbledore would even consider letting you stay over the summer…” Snape’s face twisted, as if he’d sucked on a sour lemon, “is with me.”

“With you?” Harry echoed.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Potter, with me. Although the headmaster still insists that you spend the first two weeks of the summer holiday at the Dursley's.” Shuffling the papers on his desk, Snape said. “Those are your two unfortunate choices. I expect you to think about them and let me know by the end of the week.”

Harry rose to his feet, knowing he’d been dismissed. “Thank you, sir,” Harry replied, his mind reeling at the choice he’d just been given.

When Harry returned to the common room, it was to find it empty save for Ron and Hermione; the other students had gone to the Great Hall for dinner.

“What did Snape want?” Ron asked.

Hermione pushed a tray of food at Harry. “We brought you dinner. We didn’t know if you’d be back in time.”

Harry thanked Hermione and picked at his food while he contemplated what to tell his friends. “Snape wanted to discuss my summer living arrangements,” Harry hedged.

“Why Snape?” Ron asked.

“Professor McGonagall is our head of house, that’s her responsibility,” Hermione chimed in.

“He wanted to offer me an alternative place to stay this summer.”

Both of his friends looked at him in confusion.

“His place,” Harry clarified, not meeting his friends’ eyes.

“What?” gasped Hermione.

“That’s mad!” roared Ron at the same time.

“Yeah, isn’t it?” Harry said, suddenly feeling lighter. For the first time since he talked to Snape, he smiled.

“Well,” said Ron, “that just proves that Snape is unbalanced. Who in their right mind would want to live with Snape!”

Harry set down his fork. “I might,” Harry said quietly.

“What?!?” Ron bellowed. “Have you gone mental?”

“Ron!” Hermione chastised.

“I only said I might,” Harry answered, feeling aggrieved. “If it meant three meals a day and not being beaten…”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

Harry shrugged her off. “Anyway, he told me to think about it,” Harry said, reaching for his book bag.

“Why can’t you stay at the Burrow?” Ron demanded, looking angry.

“You know Dumbledore won’t let me. Blood wards and everything.”

“But he’d you stay with Snape? After all Snape’s done…”

“Just drop it, okay?” Harry said. “Forget I said anything.” He pushed up from the table, eager to be away from the conversation.

“Harry, don’t go…” Hermione implored, getting up as well.

Harry shrugged his bag onto his shoulder and slipped back out the portrait hole, ignoring the sounds of Ron and Hermione bickering behind him. He wandered the castle for over an hour before he found himself standing, once again, in front of Snape’s office.

“Are you going to stand there all night, Potter? Or did you actually need something?”

Harry looked up, startled.

Snape stood in the doorway, hands on the door jam. The boy had been pacing back and forth in front of his office for nearly ten minutes. “Well come in already,” Snape said, stepping aside to let the boy pass.

Potter stepped inside with his head down. Snape watched as the boy avoided his gaze, instead taking a keen interest in the various potions texts and specimen bottles that lined his walls on carefully mounted shelves.

Rolling his eyes, Snape returned to his desk and continued to mark papers, waiting for the boy to settle and state his purpose. Finally, Potter took one of the chairs across the desk from him and looked up. Snape set down his quill, steepled his fingers, and waited.

“Sir,” Potter asked. “May I ask you a few questions… about our potential, er, living arrangements this summer?”

“You may.”

Harry cleared his throat. “If I were to live with you…” Harry said, and then seemed to change his mind. “Where do you live anyway? When school is not in session I mean, sir.”

“I live in a working class Muggle neighborhood on the North side of London,” Snape replied. “It is neither glamorous nor grand, but it suffices.”

“And do you live there alone?” Harry asked, his face a study in unease as if unsure if this was an acceptable question.

“I do,” Snape replied, suppressing a smirk.

“And, er, what would be your house rules, if I were to live there with you there, sir?”

Snape’s brow wrinkled. “House rules?”

“I mean, what would you expect of me? What would be my chores? And, my, er, punishment, if I didn’t live up to your expectations?”

The words had come out in a rush and Snape watched as Potter clenched his hands together in his lap, clearly worried what Snape’s answers might be. Snape recalled the lashes, welt marks, and bruises that had lined the boy’s back. He could only imagine what his front had looked like—Miss Lovegood had already healed that side of the boy before he’d arrived.

Snape looked directly at Potter. “I will never raise a hand to you, that I can promise. I may yell if I’m particularly angry, and I admit I’m not the most pleasant person to be around, but I will never physically assault you, Potter.”

Harry swallowed and looked down at his hands, which remained clenched in his lap.

“As for chores, I will expect you to pick up after yourself in any room of the house that you use, keep your room clean, and assist with household chores as needed. I expect you to be on time for meals, which include breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I will expect you to complete your summer school assignments in a timely manner. I will expect you to ask permission before you leave the house or for your friends come to visit. I will make my expectations clear to you, and if we disagree, we will have a civil discussion regarding the matter. Do I make myself clear?”

Harry nodded, but still didn’t look up.

“And my punishment, sir, if you decide I need some?”

Snape felt his gut clench. What did the boy think he would do to him? Then again, seeing how malnourished and mistreated he’d been after a summer with the Dursley’s, Snape could hardly fault him.

“Harry,” Snape said softly.

Harry looked up, his eyes stark with shuddered hope.

“I will not mistreat you. If we—yes, you and me, Harry—if we come to the conclusion that something you’ve done requires punishment, then we shall decide together what is reasonable.”

Harry looked doubtful. “Such as?” he asked.

“Such as doing lines, or not riding your broom for a week.”

“But you won’t withhold food? Or make me sleep outside?”

"No," Snape said, gritting his teeth. He had the sudden urge to crush Vernon and Petunia Dursley with his bare fists.

Potter looked thoughtful, as if measuring the truth and trustworthiness of his professor’s answers.

“Why are offering this to me?” Harry finally asked, his expression hardening. “Why would you want to help me, of all people? You hate me.”

Snape sighed and came around his desk. He took the chair beside Harry, turned it to face the boy, and sat down at his side. Harry hunched forward as if bracing himself against words that would lash him worse than any physical beating ever could.

“I don’t hate you, Harry. Surely you realize that I must treat you as I do in order to maintain my status as a double agent. What would the children of Death Eaters report to their parents if I treated you as Dumbledore does?”

Harry did not respond.

Snape leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, his chin on his fists. “Harry, I’ve been sworn to protect you.”

“By Dumbledore?” the boy mumbled.

“By your mother,” Snape replied.

At that, Harry looked up, surprised. “My mother?”

“Yes, your mother. She and I were best friends.”

“But you called her a…”

Snape jerked as if slapped. “I was a fool,” he hissed. “In more ways than you know.” Snape took a deep breath. “Nonetheless, she forgave me. And when the Dark Lord made his intentions clear, I promised to protect her and you with my life.” Snape felt the familiar lump rise in his throat when he thought of losing Lily all over again. He cleared his throat once, and then again. “I am sorry I failed,” he whispered.

Harry’s eyes glistened and he quickly looked away. Snape placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder and rubbed gently. He felt the boy go rigid and then slowly relax as his shoulders began to tremble. Snape closed his eyes and wished, more than anything, that he had never fallen into the Dark Lord’s trap.

“So why are you riding the Hogwarts Express if you are staying with Professor Snape?” Hermione asked.

“I have to stay at the Dursley’s for two weeks first,” Harry reminded her. “But when I get to Snape’s, he says you two can come and visit. And he’ll let me fly my broom, as long as I stay within the wards.”

Ron grunted.

“I bet he’ll let us play Quidditch,” Harry ventured, acutely aware that Ron had not warmed to the idea of Harry staying with Snape no matter how poorly the Dursley’s treated him.

Just then, a tall, dark figure swept up to them as they stood on the platform in Hogsmeade waiting to board the train.

“Potter, a word if you please?”

Harry looked up, surprised to see his potion’s master. They stepped a few feet away from onlookers and Snape took a moment to cast disillusionment and silencing charms over them. “I have conferred with the Headmaster and we’ve decided to have Dobby accompany you whilst you are at the Dursley’s.”

“Dobby?” Harry asked, convinced his aunt would not tolerate such an intrusion into her home.

“To ensure that you are safe and well-fed,” Snape said. “Your aunt has been made aware of the arrangements and has agreed, albeit under threat of imprisonment alongside her husband.”

Harry grinned, picturing that scenario. “Thanks.”

Snape quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t thank me yet. Dobby is enough to drive even the sanest person insane.”

Harry smiled. “See you in two weeks, then, Professor.”

Snape nodded and turned away in a swish of robes.

Harry rejoined Hermione as Ron loaded their trunks onto the train.

“Will you be alright this summer, Harry?” she asked, concern etched in every line of her face.

“For once,” Harry said, “I will be.”