Unbuttoned by lastcrazyhorn
Summary: Harry doesn't know exactly what's happening, but something isn't right between him and Professor Lupin, and he's determined to find out why. Will Snape be able to help? Abuse, implied non-con, AU, HP&PA. The character death is NOT Severus or Harry.
Categories: Parental Snape > Guardian Snape, Teacher Snape > Trusted Mentor Snape Main Characters: Dumbledore, Hedwig, Hermione, James, Lily, McGonagall, Original Character, Pomfrey, Remus, Ron, Sirius, .Snape and Harry (required)
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Angst, Drama, Family, Fantasy, Horror, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Adoption, Alternate Universe
Takes Place: 4th summer
Warnings: Abusive Dursleys, Character Bashing, Character Death, Neglect, Profanity, Rape
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 31 Completed: No Word count: 69721 Read: 185752 Published: 23 Sep 2012 Updated: 18 Aug 2013
Surprised by lastcrazyhorn

Harry opened his eyes and looked up in surprise. Apparently he had fallen back to sleep after his last nightmare, but why had Snape been holding him the entire time? Was he asleep too?

The professor hadn't yet said anything to him, so Harry surmised that he probably was. His eyes were closed, but he knew better than to assume anything about Snape.

Quite suddenly, he realized that his bladder needs were at a rather critical level, and so he deftly wiggled himself out of Snape's hold and went looking for a toilet.

Severus opened his eyes only moments after Harry had left the room. Blinking hard, he sat up and stretched, wincing at the crick in his neck and the sore muscles in his back.

"No more sleeping upright," he muttered just under his breath as he made his way to his feet.

He checked the time and discovered it to be a quarter to eleven in the morning. Thankfully it was Saturday and he had not had anything scheduled for that day. Stiffly, he made his way back to his room to change clothes and freshen up a bit. He glanced at the bathroom door as he passed by and thought about the boy inside. If his suspicions were correct, his schedule was soon going to be the least of their worries.

After using the loo and vigorously washing his face, Harry left the bathroom and went back to the room where he had presumably slept the night before. Snape was no longer there, but the bedclothes were still rumpled. He found his glasses on a sturdy oak side table and he slipped them on and eyed the bed critically. Acting on autopilot, he went over and made the bed, easily maneuvering around the strange long ottoman that was sitting there beside it.

Ignoring his trunk for the moment—he didn't really want Snape to see him in his cousin's old castoffs anyway—he padded back into the main room, his bare feet slapping lightly on the cold stone floor. Once there, he found a freshly bathed Snape sitting at a loaded down table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading The Daily Prophet.

"Sit down, Harry," the man said, not even glancing up at him.

"Yes sir," he answered softly, scrambling up into the chair opposite his professor.

"You will catch your death of cold if you wander down here barefoot," Snape pointed out in a low voice, after finally turning his dark eyes on him.

"Oh, let me go get—," Harry started, pointing his hand in the direction he had just come from.

"Never mind that, child," Snape grunted and pulled out his wand. "Accio a pair of Severus's socks," he called out with a flick of his wand. Instantly a pair of black wool socks came flying in from the other room, which Harry watched with a slightly open mouth.

"Put these on," Severus said roughly, handing them over carefully.

"But," Harry whispered around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "They're yours, and I—are you sure?"

"Of course I am sure, idiot boy. Why else would I have handed them to you?" Snape snapped.

"Th-Thank you," Harry answered quickly, looking down and quickly pulling the socks on, his shoulders wiping carefully at his eyes as he did. He didn't know why he cared if Snape saw him cry now. It's not as though he hadn't already turned the man into a handkerchief earlier!

If Snape noticed his tears, he didn't say anything as Harry looked back, and he was grateful for it.

"Is this all for us, sir?" He asked quietly, gesturing at the numerous plates of breakfast foods they were surrounded with.

"Yes," Snape replied, taking another careful drink of his coffee while Harry stared at the table in dismay.

"I don't think, sir—I don't think I can eat this, I mean—," he rambled worriedly for a moment before being cut off with a dark look from his professor.

"Eat what you can then, Harry. But I want you to eat; do you understand me? You have skipped far too many meals so far in your life, and there is no reason for you to continue to do so."

Snape looked back down at his paper, leaving Harry open mouthed and blushing.

Does he know that I didn't skip those meals on purpose? The anxiety swelled up in his chest like an angry dragon and suddenly his hunger—such as it was—disappeared; leaving him with a sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach. It was bad enough that Snape knew about Lupin—something that Harry couldn't let himself think on just then—but for him to know how his loving family treated him was too much on top of everything else.

Harry shivered miserably and pulled his legs up to his chest, propping his chin on top of his knees and staring back across the table at his professor.

"It is difficult to eat when your hands are wrapped around your legs, Harry," Snape remarked dryly just then, glancing back at him finally.

Did he—was that a joke?

"At least drink your milk, Harry. Can you do that?" Snape's voice wasn't condescending, although by all rights it could have been. Harry felt something release ever so slightly in his body and he found himself nodding in response.

With trembling hands, he reached out and took a hold of the glass and raised it to his lips. The milk was wonderfully cold and it perked him up just a bit. He made to put it back on the table, but between his tremors and the wet condensation on the glass, his fingers slipped and he watched in horror as the glass fell to the stone floor and shattered.

His eyes wide with terror, he looked back at Snape who seemed to be frozen in place.

"I'm sorry!" He squeaked, a sob trying to come out of his throat. He quickly grabbed a napkin and was about to get off his chair and start cleaning, when suddenly Snape pointed his wand at him and shouted.

"Idiot child!"

"I'm sorry!" He answered in a sob, throwing his arms up around his head automatically.

"Must I stick you to that chair?" Snape's voice was surprisingly mellow now and he peeked around his hands warily.

"Wha—?"

"I do not wish you slice open your hands and feet on the shards of glass, Harry. As you most certainly would have done had you gotten up!"

"I—," his voice was stuck somewhere in his throat.

Snape pointed his wand at the mess and vanished it with a muttered word and then turned back to him.

"See, child?"

He nodded mutely, wiping his face again, but this time with the sleeves of his pajamas.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry," Snape groused, shoving something in his hands.

It was a handkerchief, and he blinked hard at the new emotions that seemed ready to boil over in his eyes at the simple motion.

"Thank you," he whispered, wiping his face carefully.

Across the table from him, Snape was pouring him a new glass of milk.

To be continued...


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