Procrastinating for an entire school year, it had to be a world record.

Harry chewed on a fingernail as he stood outside the potions classroom, staying a number of feet away to remain undetected. He shifted his weight and leaned against the wall. How much longer was he going to stand here? He had given an excuse to his friends after class, but his courage had disappeared. Kaput. Bye bye. Sayounara. It was gone and he had no idea when or if it would resurface.

Should he or shouldn’t he?

Harry sighed.

Come on, this isn’t that hard. Okay, maybe it was. But why couldn’t he just go in there and do this? The man deserved it, after all. He had a right to know – a right to know the truth.

Harry couldn’t lie to himself. A part of him – though, he didn’t know why – had this tiny bit of hope; this tiny sliver of hope that he wouldn’t have to go back to the Dursleys.

Realistically, he knew he would never get to live with Sirius. No matter how much he wanted it, it wasn’t going to happen. Wormtail had disappeared without a trace and wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Sirius would be on the run for years, perhaps forever. Sirius had offered him a home when he didn’t even have one himself.

But there was a second chance.

With summer vacation a week away, Harry didn’t care that this second chance was in the shape of Snape.

True, the man really had no excuse to act like a testy git the past three years. He was a freaking adult. The man should have learned to act like one by now. But… after what Harry had learned, he could muster up a little bit of compassion for the man. Yeah, he knew what it meant and what his life could be like with him, but anything was better than what he had now.

Harry would do anything to get away from the Dursleys.

This could change things. Maybe Snape had been waiting all these years for an apology – waiting for an apology from the dead. Here was Harry, miraculously able to deliver that. Then, maybe – just maybe – he wouldn’t hate Harry so much. If he hated Harry less than the Dursleys hated him, that had to be better, right? It would be a major improvement.

It’d be nice.

Small voices interrupted his thoughts. Before his courage reappeared, two girls approached the classroom. Harry stayed out of sight, not wanting them to notice him. At the entrance of the classroom, the older student – a Slytherin prefect – nudged a first year Slytherin.

“Go on,” said the prefect in a kind tone. “He’ll help you.”

“I know, but… There’s no time before summer.”

“You’ve made it this far. You can trust Professor Snape. He’ll take care of this, no matter what. Trust him.”

The little girl seemed hesitant, but she nodded. They walked into the classroom. Harry, burning with curiosity, came to the doorway and looked inside. The prefect led the girl through the row of desks towards the back of the room, where Snape sat behind his large desk. The man looked up and set his quill aside.

“Yes?”

The prefect nudged the little girl forward. She walked around his desk and stood in front of him. Snape’s demeanor softened. Harry watched, transfixed on the moment. He couldn’t hear what the little girl whispered, but Snape’s face darkened. The little girl pushed up her sleeves. Old scars adorned her arms, raised marks blazon across her pale skin. His stomach turned.

“I see,” said Snape, a gentleness in his tone that Harry had never before heard. The man put his hands on her arms and drew her closer, looking at her with those same softened eyes. “I want you to listen very carefully and follow everything I say with exactness. Can you do this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent,” said Snape with a sharp nod. She smiled shyly. “I want you to go to the hospital wing and have Madam Pomfrey document these scars. Now you’ll have to be very brave. You’ll have to talk about how your home life is, but – if you can do that – then, I will personally make sure you never return to your stepfather again. You will not go back this summer. We will find you a suitable home with good foster parents. But you have to do your part. Understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” said the little girl, her voice soft.

“You can do it. You’re a Slytherin, after all,” said Snape, his tone firm and unwavering. “Off you go, then. I shall be along shortly.”

With a proud pat on the back, the prefect led the little girl away. Harry quickly flattened himself against the wall, hiding near a statue of armor. As they left the classroom, they stopped. The little girl turned around and looked back inside.

“Bye, bye, Professor Snape,” said the girl with a soft smile, waving at him. “Thank you.”

Harry stood there, watching them leave. His mind whirled. Warmth filled his chest, that tiny sliver of hope rooting inside his heart. The professor who had spoken to that little girl, who had encouraged her, who would save her from an abusive home – Harry didn’t know that man. He was so different than the Snape who seemed to hate every student who walked into his classroom.

Was there a chance? 

He didn’t turn that little girl away.

Harry dragged all of his courage up, his chest lifting with a heaving breath. He walked to the doorway and peeked inside the classroom. Snape was sitting behind his desk, his quill scratching on parchment. Harry inched forward, clutching his bag to his chest. He avoided touching the desks and took each step with careful precision. Harry made it three rows in before a cold voice cut through the silence.

“What do you want, Potter?”

Harry froze. He clutched his bag tighter. He trembled.

“May I speak with you, sir?” asked Harry, trying to be as polite as possible. “It’ll only be a minute.”

“If you’re here on behalf of that irresponsible wolf,” snapped Snape, glaring up from his work. “Then, you can turn your backside right around and march out of here. Missing one glass of Wolfsbane while residing inside a castle of children is unacceptable.”

“No, sir,” whispered Harry, shaking his head. His bag lowered, slipping out of his hands as he set it onto the stone floor. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then, what do you want? Be quick about it; I have work to do.”

For a moment, Harry couldn’t say anything. He stood there, thinking of all of the possibilities – but the most likely was rejection. He wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

But he protected us. He hates me, but he tried to protect us from Lupin. The Dursleys would’ve let me die. They would’ve been thrilled if I’d been maimed or eaten by a werewolf.

That had to mean something, right?

He couldn’t debate this any more. He had wasted an entire year, putting it off, too worried about Sirius Black and schoolwork and Quidditch and friends – so many excuses. He hadn’t wanted to think of the possibility.

But he was desperate now.

Show him the letter.

Harry bent over and opened his bag, digging inside. Once his hands clasped over parchment, Harry presented a letter to Snape. The man glared down at it, not taking it from him.

“A letter? What is this?” demanded Snape.

“That’s from my Dad,” whispered Harry. “Gringotts gave it to me last summer. I–I read it. It’s an apology for how he acted as a kid.”

The man’s eyes widened. He snatched the letter and tore it open. His eyes flicked from side to side. By the end, he scoffed. But Snape didn’t move, still looking at the letter. His hands crinkled the edges. His chest heaved in an annoyed huff.

“There’s more,” whispered Harry.

“What?” snapped Snape, his head whipping up.

Harry handed him the second letter, one with delicate cursive handwriting. There was a sharp intake of breath. This time, the man took it from him with an air of reverence. There was a deeply hidden light within his eyes. He slowly opened the letter, taking his time with this one.

Harry stood there for a long time. He could wait.

“You know the contents of these letters, then?” asked Snape, his voice quiet. He didn’t crinkle the second letter. He continued to gaze down at it with a hint of weariness.

“Yes, sir.”

Snape sighed. He set the letters aside, resting his elbows onto the surface of his desk. He dragged a hand over his face. “Why are you bringing them to me now?”

“I… Well, I…”

“What do you want?” asked Snape; though, there was little bite to his tone. “You want something, don’t you?”

Yes.

There’s hope. Just ask him. You can do it.

Trust him.

Harry fidgeted with a button on his shirt. “Did you mean it?” he whispered; he dug the toe of his trainer into the lining of the stone floor.

“Eyes up. I can’t hear you if you’re talking to the floor.”

He looked up. “With that girl, did you mean it?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You were eavesdropping? You are not to repeat what you saw to anyone. Under no circumstances—”

“No, I would never,” said Harry hurriedly, hunching back slightly. The man glared at him. Harry shivered. He looked down at his hands as they twisted the fabric of his robes. “But…” he whispered. “Did you mean it? You’ll take her away from her abusive family? No matter what?”

Snape sneered. “Of course, I meant it. No child should endure such pain.”

He fidgeted some more.

“So, you’d save any child?” breathed Harry. He lifted his eyes. Those dark eyes stared at him, unwavering in their piercing gaze. “Even if you really didn’t like him. Even if you hated him – your most hated student – all because of his Dad. Would you save even that child?”

Something changed in the air. Snape continued to stare at him, but all contempt had vanished. It was blank, emotionless. Harry wasn’t sure if that was a step in the right direction. For a long moment, there was silence. Fear settled inside his heart. Maybe this would end like all other previous tries.

“Show me,” whispered Snape, his voice barely above a tremor.

Robes fell to the floor. Trembling fingers lifted to a collar. Harry struggled with his buttons. The man didn’t sneer at him nor said a word as he watched. Tears streamed down Harry’s face as he finished unbuttoning his dress shirt. Harry didn’t break eye contact, not until the last moment when he removed his shirt and turned around.

There was a slow inhale of breath.

“You said you’d save any child, right?” whispered Harry, desperation in his tone. His arms curled around his bare chest. “Even me? Even after what my Dad did?”

After a long pause, the man spoke, his voice unnaturally soft. “You may put your shirt back on.”

Harry did so, turning back around to face him. Despair reflected within the light of the man’s eyes. It disappeared.

Is he going to say anything?

“I know you hate me,” whispered Harry. “For what my Dad did to you. I wish he hadn’t treated you so bad, because that’s not right. I don’t like bullies.”

Harry knew all too well what it was like for a bunch of boys to gang up on him. It must’ve been horrible to have to live with that on a daily basis here at school. For seven years, Snape had always been looking behind himself, on constant alert for an attack.

What an awful way to live.

“But if you could hate me just a little less,” whispered Harry, his voice even softer. “Then, I don’t have to go back.” His tone rose with each pleading word, hope swelling inside his heart against his will. “I’ll be really good. You won’t notice me. I’m really good at cleaning and yard work – and I’m an excellent cook.”

Snape stared at him.

“And Dumbledore would have to let me leave,” said Harry, the hope wilting now. The man wasn’t saying anything nor giving him a hint of his feelings. “He wouldn’t be able to force me to stay with them, since you’re… since you’re my…” Harry swallowed, watching the blank expression on the man’s face. Maybe this is useless. “You’re my godfather – Mum said so,” he whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks some more. He sniffled.

Harry dropped his face into his hands, pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

He had tried – tried again and yet again it was going to blow up in his face. He’d hoped – oh, how he’d hoped – that this man would feel just a tiny bit of mercy towards him. But it wasn’t going to work with him, because he was Harry Potter. He was the son of a bully.

Sobs broke through; shoulders curled inward – and Harry cried into his hands, his body shaking with each sob.

A chair pushed against the floor. A hand, tentative, touched his shoulder. Harry looked up, glasses askew, at the man. Briefly, Harry thought the man looked terrified, but it faded into a more firm gaze. Caution gone, he threw his arms around the man’s waist. Snape stiffened.

“Please,” begged Harry. “I promise I won’t be a bother. I swear it!”

A hand touched his back.

“Mr. Potter…” There was a deep, agonizing sigh. “Don’t make such promises. A child shouldn’t have to make them.”

That hand patted his back twice. Two hands touched his upper arms, slowly forcing Harry back. Before he could tear away, despair swelling at the thought of rejection, the man knelt onto the hard stone floor. Harry looked down at Snape, his eyes wide.

“Your relatives, then?”

Harry nodded.

“Your uncle?”

Another nod.

“What of your aunt… Petunia?” asked Snape, his face pinched slightly. “How does she treat you?”

Harry pushed the sleeve of his robes up, displaying a burn mark on his forearm. “She didn’t like it when I burned their food. I never did it again.”

Snape dropped his gaze to the floor. His hands on Harry’s arms squeezed lightly. There was a moment of silence, a moment of stillness. There was another deep sigh.

“Are you certain I’m your godfather?” asked Snape, a whisper along his tone. “Lily… made me your godfather?”

“The goblins confirmed it,” whispered Harry. “I double checked when they gave the letters to me.”

The man sighed again. He stood up; there was strength in those dark eyes. Something about that strength fortified Harry’s hope.

“You’ll not return to your relatives,” said Snape. He inhaled, closing his eyes briefly. “If you wish it… You may… You may come home with me this summer.” The man’s expression turned hard and he leveled a stern look at Harry. “I’m not going to cater to the whims of a disobedient child. There will be no more rule breaking and you will have consequences for your actions should you do so. You know what kind of man I am. Are you sure you want to live with that?”

“Oh, yes! Thank you, sir!” cried Harry excitedly; his eyes burned again. This is real, isn’t it? “And I swear I’ll do all my chores and cook and—”

“You’re not a house elf!” snapped Snape. He huffed. His tone dropped. “You are not a house elf. I do not need a thirteen year old boy cleaning my house for me.”

“Oh…”

“Your inherent need to overly appease your guardian is unnecessary,” said Snape with a shake of his head. “You are a child and should be treated as such. You do not have to do an inordinate amount of chores nor worry about whether or not you have burned a meal. However, a healthy amount of chores is good for the development of a child. You will have your responsibilities – but you are not a house elf. You are not the maid.”

Harry stared at the man, not fully understanding everything said, but he got the gist. He smiled.

“I expect you to work harder in your studies, young man,” said Snape sternly. “From what I’ve seen and heard, your efforts have been lackluster. This will cease immediately. You will not like the consequences should you continue to laze about.”

He’s really going to take me in. He’s going to let me live with him.

Is this a dream?

“I really don’t have to go back to the Dursleys?”

I want to hear it. Tell me I don’t have to go back.

“Of course not,” snapped Snape. “You’re never setting foot in that atrocious house again – not if I have anything to say about it – and I assure you, Mr. Potter, no one would dare argue against me. Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? One would think you have sludge in your ears. Pay attention, child.”

A hand pressed against his back, leading him out of the classroom. They walked – rather marched – through the corridors; Harry recognized the path towards the hospital wing. The man continued to rant, going on and on about how Harry better shape up or there would be dire consequences – oh, the horror of those dire consequences.

And, somehow, Harry didn’t mind it so much.