Severus Snape was confused- No, he was perturbed. Severus did not get confused. He would not have survived his years as a spy if he succumbed to the most plebian of sensations.

It was the boy. The child was behaving nothing like Severus had expected, and it irritated him to no end. 

Severus had been expecting James bloody Potter reincarnated, and he had been most displeased when Albus had informed him of the necessity of his housing the brat. He thought back with distaste of the night, scarcely over a week prior, when Albus had called.

***

“Severus,” said Albus’ head in the fireplace. “Would you be most kind as to invite me through? There is a rather urgent matter I wish to discuss with you.”

Severus had agreed without much care; Albus’ company was one of the few which he could occasionally tolerate. The old man generally knew his limits when they concerned Severus; he rarely outstayed his welcome, and he did not call unless there was a reason. Though Severus would never have admitted it to anyone, he did not particularly mind Albus’ company, as he was one of the few that Severus could converse with on an equal intellectual level, even if Albus did have a most inane obsession with sweets and muggle philosophy.

“Severus,” Albus had said placidly, brushing soot off of his, in Severus’ opinion, rather ridiculously colored cloak of deep purple. “I trust you are well?”

“Yes, thank you, Albus,” Severus had responded brusquely, gesturing toward a seat.

“I have potions to attend to, so if you would proceed with your oration, fascinating though it surely will be, I would be most grateful.”

Albus had given Severus that twinkling look that so vexed him, but thankfully, did proceed.

“It is Harry Potter.”

Severus’ teeth had clenched, his hands in fists.

“What about him?” Severus had all but snarled.

“The boy’s relatives have been recently deceased, and he has been located in London, not two hours ago.”

Severus had an awful feeling that he knew exactly where this was going. He played clueless, however, in attempt to put off the moment where he’d be forced to accept the inevitable.

“And?”

He raised his eyebrows in mock-politeness.

Albus had sighed slightly, as though bracing himself, and continued.

“As it will be nearly three months until the boy begins school, he requires a temporary place of residence.”

“Oh?” Severus had responded, courteous tone belying the raging anger bubbling beneath his chest. “Whatever did you have in mind? I presume Hogwarts itself is not an option?”

Albus had looked as though he knew quite well what Severus was thinking.

“You know, Severus, that I would not ask this of you were there any other possible arrangements. Believe me, I had thoroughly exhausted every resource of mine before coming here.”

In two hours? Severus had thought resentfully. But he knew it was true. The situation with the boy’s protection was precarious. The death of his relatives posed a definite problem. Nonetheless, Severus could barely contain the fury.

A Potter? In my home? That bastard continues to torment me, long after his demise.

Albus spoke again.

“There are few locations concealed by such powerful and intricate protections as yours, and none owned by an individual aware of the boy’s unique-”

“I am well aware of all that which you say,” Severus had bit out through clenched teeth, cutting Albus off.

“Do what you must. Fetch the boy. Bring him here. I presume you trust that he will be sent to Hogwarts in three months’ time, alive and intact.”

“Severus…”

“Go. Just go.”

Albus had paused beside the door, and looked toward Severus.

“I thank you, Severus.”

“Do not thank me.”

Albus still did not leave.

“You are a far better man than you believe, Severus.”

Before he could respond, Albus had gone.

Severus had taken advantage of that moment to hurl a glass against the wall. He watched as it shattered, shards scattering across the polished wood floor. Just as life as he had previously known it. Shattered. Altered. Overturned. And not for the better.

***

Yes, Severus had been furious, and well-prepared to put the boy in his place, arrogant and unruly as he would no doubt be, as the spawn of James Potter, and as the bloody Boy-Who-Lived.

And then the boy, with those blasted green eyes and untidy Potter hair, had the audacity to utterly shatter Severus’ expectations, just like that cursed glass he’d flung at the wall.

The child barely spoke; most of what he said consisted of variations of ‘yes, sir’, ‘no, sir’, and ‘thank you, sir’.

The boy had thanked him, after every meal, as though Severus was doing him a favor. As much as Severus despised all things Potter, he would not stoop so low as to deny a child food. Yet the boy had seemed almost surprised, as though that was what he’d expected.

And the child was minuscule; considerably smaller than he should have been, as he appeared to be closer to eight or nine years than nearly eleven. The boy’s eating habits were also strange. They were more apt to those of a six or seven year old child than of a boy his age.

And when child had vomited, Severus had been braced for a tantrum, tears, and regression to the age of a toddler, as most children saw fit to do when ill. But instead, the boy had seemed momentarily frozen, as though he’d transgressed a cardinal sin, and then proceeded to try and clear up his mess. In Severus’ vast experience with immature preteen brats, the boy’s behavior was unusual.

And not just in his eating habits. The boy spend an inordinate amount of time in the library, poring over piles of books, only occasionally venturing outdoors to burn off energy as a normal child might.

Severus had felt an averse sort of pleasure when informing the brat of his activities of choice. After all, what child would be satisfied with spending time in a library and having access to the grounds, with no playmates, broomsticks, or other such entertainment? But the boy did not appear bothered in the slightest, and he had proceeded to make use of the library at the first opportunity he’d had.

Why? How did the boy turn out this way? Snape wondered, as he stirred, six times clockwise, to neutralize the excess acid of the armadillo bile. He doesn’t even behave as a child, let alone as the spawn of James Potter known throughout the world as the Boy-Who-Lived.

At first, Severus had been certain that the boy’s silence was a sign of mischief. Clearly, he’d thought, the boy was involved in some devious plot to further disrupt Severus Snape’s ordered life, even more so than he’d already done by arriving in Severus’ home to begin with.

However, as the days passed, the boy continued to disprove Severus’ carefully laid theories and understandings. He arrived promptly for meals, ate politely, did not venture near the potions lab, and retired to his bedroom by half-past eleven every night without fail. He obeyed the rules, and Potters did not obey rules. This child simply defied nature, went against his heritage. The fact that the boy had known his parents for less than two years of his life seemed inconsequential to Severus. The Potter genes were prevalent. And the blasted boy was defying them.

Severus had grabbed on to any opportunity he could to put the boy in his place, if only to raise a reaction, or to take revenge, or both. He’d scorned the boy of his hesitation in answering Severus’ query about his eating habits, and Severus had known good and well that it was a difficult question.

But, far from displaying insolence, as Severus had expected, the boy had responded unexpectedly, all but outwitting Severus by cleverly disproving his comment about the boy’s lack of linguistic abilities. And quite impressive linguistic abilities the boy had, for a child his age.

Severus cursed as his potion began smoking slightly, and he stirred once, this time counterclockwise. If the potion’s pH levels fell below four, the entire brew would be rendered useless. Severus waved his wand over the potion, then exhaled. The levels were hovering slightly above four point three, which was manageable. He added a touch of wheat grass, just to be on the safe side. The smoking subsided.

On a purely objective note, thought Severus, it is fortunate that my home does provide the necessary protection.

He scowled. The complex protections of his home had most certainly not been erected with the boy in mind.

During his stint as a spy near the end of the war, Severus had needed a sanctuary, a place to hold meetings with Dumbledore, to brew potions for the Order, to strengthen his Occlumency shields. And he needed a place where no one would find him.

So, with Albus’ assistance, he had acquired the home and property in which he now resided, and protective spells rivaling the Fidelius Charm had been erected, concealing its existence from even the Dark Lord himself. His fellow Death Eaters, most of the Order, and the Dark Lord had only known of Spinner’s End, his previous home.

Although now, the protections were not strictly necessary, Severus had little desire to see others during the summer, his brief time free of dunderheaded brats and adults alike. And the place belonged solely to him. Until now.

Now, he was required to house a child, the son of James Potter, no less. And to make things worse, he couldn’t vent his frustration on the boy, as the boy did nothing to provoke him or raise his ire in any way.

And Severus couldn’t blame Albus either, no matter how much he wished to. He’d known from the start, from the day the Dark Lord had fallen, of the danger concerning the boy. Of the danger he himself had wrought.

***

Severus had been slumped over in a chair in Dumbledore’s office. He was exhausted, his emotions frayed and scattered. The Dark Lord had been defeated, but Lily was gone. All because of him. And her son, sired by his childhood enemy, had been the one to end the war.

Severus was free, but for what reason? He had nothing left to live for. But he was free, and Albus was seated behind his desk, facing him, not saying a word.

He’d not known whether to laugh or cry, to rejoice or grieve, so he settled for blankness.

Much easier. Safer

Albus had then spoken.

“I am sorry, Severus, I cannot convey to you how much-”  

“Say nothing,” Severus had croaked. “It does not matter.”

“Oh, Severus, but it does. What you are feeling-”

“Speak not of my feelings,” Severus had said coldly. “Just tell me what has happened, what must be done.”

Thankfully, Albus had respected his wishes, and continued.

“Voldemort, acting upon the prophecy, went after Harry Potter, whom he concluded was the child it spoke of. As you know, it led to his downfall.”

“What of the prophecy, Albus?” Snape had asked, numbly.

Albus had waved a hand.

“I view it as simply a possible future, in a metaphorical fashion, perhaps, as most prophecies tend to be. One cannot hope to determine its true meaning.”

“But the Dark Lord did not view it in that manner.”

“No, Severus, he did not. He chose to view it as an inevitability, as fate, leading to his ultimate downfall.”

“When the Dark Lord rises again, he will want the boy,” Severus had said slowly.

“Indeed,” Albus had nodded, a somber expression on his face. “And many of the Death Eaters who roam free will likely wish to exact revenge upon the boy.”

“Indeed,” Severus had murmured. “Although the boy did not do them a disservice by freeing them of the Dark Lord’s reign…”

“I have therefore place the boy with his muggle relatives, his last remaining family.”

“Muggles?” Severus had spat. “In what way might muggles be capable of protecting the boy?”

“Lily’s sacrifice provided the boy with protection, which resides in her blood, the blood of her sister. You know the magic of which I speak.”

Severus had nodded sharply. Yes, he did know. And he also knew that Lily was gone.

***

Severus chopped his valerian roots aggressively, carving faint lines into the table. He’d brought this upon himself, all of it. He’d signed Lily’s death warrant, he’d placed the boy in the danger he now faced. And he now had to see the boy every day, see those green eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul, reminding Severus of his failure. Not just concerning the prophecy, but of his failure in gaining Lily’s love. Potter had beaten him to it, and the outcome stood before him, every day. The messy hair, the green eyes. The shape of his face, the curve of her cheekbones.  

But the child was so small, so quiet, so controlled. He acted nothing like either of his parents, for bad, or for good.

Perhaps he is grieving, Severus realized, stirring in the roots. He did just lose his family, after all. Perhaps that is what causes him to be so silent, so closed, so… un-childlike.

He did know firsthand, after all, what loss could do to a child.

Severus shook off his thoughts. He did not care, one way or another, what the boy may or may not be feeling. His job was solely to ensure the boy’s protection until he began school. Nothing more, especially not for a Potter.

He focused on the potion; it was now at its most precarious stage. Lowering the flame slightly, he stirred once, then positioned a flask of Lobalug venom directly over the cauldron. If he was off by so much as a drop…

Severus suddenly felt a disturbing vibration from the ceiling, and the faint sound of shattering glass. At the same time, a band around his ankle tightened.

The disturbance caused Severus’ hand to jerk, landing far too much of the Lobalug venom onto the potion. The entire brew curdled into a pitiful looking glob at the bottom of the cauldron.

He swore.

The library- the boy-

He ran.