Severus keeps watching as the new wave of first years enters the Great Hall, watching them with a careful eye. He does his yearly routine of trying to pick out who would end up becoming a snake, trying to find the tells that usually give them away before the Hat ever touches their heads.

There is usually an edge or hint of nervousness in their eyes. His Slytherins usually fall somewhere on a spectrum of being aloof and haughty, or broody and mistrustful.

It’s usually all in the eyes, he muses.

“Where is Potter?” Pomona asks, gazing down at the wild gaggle of new idiots. He bites back a sneer at the words, trying to find someone who would, undoubtedly, end up becoming a massive pain in his side. He spots a few with cocky grins who could match the bill, boys with a stature like the elder Potter.

He tunes out for the next while, rather bored with the whole procedure given how many times he’s seen it. When the sorting begins, however, he begins to listen in so that he can clap for the newest additions to his house. His own applause cannot compare to the applause of Slytherin’s table, and neither can that drown out the awkward array of pity-claps from the other tables.

There is a good mix of Half-Bloods among the Pure Bloods, as well as a few Muggle-Born.

One is a girl with her head held high, her face set into a defiant expression as if she’s daring to be challenged. There is something feral and calculating in her eyes, though Severus recognizes that she’s Muggle-Born. He will need to cultivate that spark, fan it into a flame that she can control. And, of course, like every year, he will have to warn the others to behave and not to give her too much grief.

Slytherins, after all, have to watch out for their own. The other Houses surely won’t.

“Potter, Harry!” Minerva calls out far too soon for Severus, and Severus watches a boy he hadn’t noticed before begin his trek to the Hat.

He is small and scrawny, his shoulders hunched as if he isn’t sure what to do with all the attention, his face pink as he sits down. His hair, hiding the famous scar, is a mess of black curls that look like they haven’t met a hairbrush in their time, and a rather poorly kept together set of glasses rests on his nose.

He mustn’t have inherited Potter’s charm and love for being the center of attention. Maybe he’ll warm up to it after a honeymoon period. Either way, it’s already quite obvious where the boy will go. The sorting is more courtesy at this point for him. Of course, he’ll go to Gryffindor, just like his father before him.

Silence overtakes the entire Hall as everyone waits, watching him with bated breath. Even Severus cannot deny how he waits quietly as the Sorting takes longer than is usual for most. Then: “SLYTHERIN!”

There is silence for a moment before the Hall breaks out into more applause than it did for the other Slytherin’s, likely a ploy to get on the hero’s good side. The Slytherin table, in spite of their shock, claps heartily. Keeping the surprise and unhappiness off his face, Severus claps as well.

At least this way, he can give the boy a guiding hand, ensuring he doesn’t end up like the elder Potter.

He is a strict and cold man, but nobody has ever even insinuated that he doesn’t know how to be the head of Slytherin. And Potter or not, the boy is a snake- though one that will inevitably cause Severus many headaches.

Severus looks over to see Minerva and Pomona looking faint, held frozen by their surprise at the turn of events.

“Has… the Hat ever been wrong, Albus?” Minerva asks quietly.

Albus gives Minerva an amused look, but Severus catches the calculating look behind those eyes. “Not as far as I’ve seen. Young Harry Potter is a Slytherin, it seems.”

“What if… defeating You-Know-Who… changed something in him?” Pomona asks hesitantly, making Severus sneer.

“Is it so impossible to believe that your hero could be a Slytherin?” he snaps, causing the other staff to fall into silence, but luckily the students are too engrossed in Potter’s sorting to properly notice the tension at the staff’s tables.

As it is, Potter barely pays the applause attention, fumbling as he gets off of the stool and slinking over to a girl with bushy hair who gives him a warm smile as if they know one another.

Interesting. A Potter in Slytherin. Oh, James Potter would be turning so hard in his grave that he might as well be a maraca. Severus gives the boy a nod as he sits down at the table and pays special attention to how his own godson switches places with one of the Half-Bloods to be able to sit beside the Boy Who Lived.

They whisper something to each other, then Potter straightens his posture and tries to look impassive, but his eyes are far too open, too full of something almost akin to fear.

Once Draco looks away, Potter looks to his Housemates and once he's sure none of them see him, Severus watches as a pale hand reaches out and grabs a bread roll, hiding it in his robes.

It's definitely odd behavior, Severus thinks, but then again, the boy has been an odd boy so far. Perhaps he wants a snack in between meals.

It's nothing too serious. But it's enough to note for future reference.

With a small sigh, Severus turns back to the proceedings, effectively pushing Potter out of his mind. He will be Severus’ problem in several days, but not yet.

Stupid old man, Severus thinks in frustration before he pauses to ensure his mental shields are all the way up. He couldn’t even warn any of us that classes will be pushed back by a week. The Ministry had decided to enforce a mandatory screening for students.

Something about wanting to catch certain things early. Certain illnesses, certain issues, certain… hazards to the children’s lives.

We can’t lose another one.

Severus does his best not to think that maybe having Draco in Hogwarts might have something to do with that. And Lucius might be many things- a bastard among one of those things, and a fame-hungry manipulator, sure, but luckily, he actually cares for his son.

Who would have thought? Severus certainly feared when he found out that Lucius would be having a spawn, but then he’d been made godfather and realized that the boy was changing things in his father. It wasn’t long before Lucius had swallowed his pride and decided to play for both sides of the war, becoming another spy in the closest circles of the Dark Lord.

Severus had been there, standing beside Lucius as the man's hands had trembled on his cane. They both knew that if Dumbledore turned the man away, then no place on Earth would be far enough from the Dark Lord. Not even Azkaban could compare to what would await them, should their cruel Master find out about their wavering loyalties.

But the Headmaster has never been anything but a marionettist in a war of dark and light, and the more pieces for him to move into place, the better, of course.

“Over the course of five days, everyone will be inspected and given a screening to ensure their safety as students of Hogwarts. Think of it as a mandatory check-up. If I find out that one of you tries to get out of this-” his eyes try to meet Potter’s to give him a warning, but the boy has his eyes on the ground, “I will give you a month in detention. You won’t like what happens. During the exam, you will obey whoever the examiner is. The notices will be put up later tonight, and on there, you will find out when your appointment will take place, as well as who will be examining you. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” his first-years reply quietly, though obviously with some hesitation.

“Good. Classes begin Monday after the next. That doesn’t mean you can slack off and not do some self-study, especially of Potions, given that I teach the class. Do not disappoint me. You’re dismissed.”

The group disperses quickly, leaving behind Potter, who stands there as if it pains him to do so. “Mr. Potter, I believe I dismissed everyone. Is there something you need or are you simply trying to disobey me before classes even begin? I assure you that your hero status doesn’t bar you from receiving detention.”

Potter shifts from foot to foot, before those green eyes dart up to meet Severus’. Severus’ breath stops in his chest for a moment. The boy has Lily’s eyes. “Sir… what are they looking for… in the screening?” he asks, eyes genuine and nervous, as though it's taking all of his courage to ask.

Severus gives the boy a look. “Magical illnesses, any signs of abuse, and other such things. Why? Are you afraid of needles or something?”

Potter doesn’t react to the bait, rubbing his palm over his arm. “And… If they find something?”

“Well, then it’ll be handled properly.” Severus narrows his eyes. “Are you hiding something, Potter? Is there something I should know?”

Potter averts his eyes and turns pink. “No, sir. Thank you for answering.”

He quickly turns and hurries over to Draco, who deliberately places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, whispering into his ear. Potter nods quickly, taking a breath in before he relaxes marginally and says something too quiet for anyone but Draco to hear.

How curious… Severus meets his godson’s eye. Draco nods at him in understanding, leading Potter up to their quarters.

For a few hours, he puts it out of his mind. Then Draco finds his way into Severus’ quarters as if he owns it, taking a seat on the seat opposite Severus, looking at his hands, thinking. “You have something to say, Draco?”

“He’s odd. Potter, I mean. There’s something-” he waves a hand vaguely at his head, “off about him.”

Frowning, Severus looks over the papers that Dumbledore handed off to him. “Maybe it’s a ploy for attention. I’m sure that being an attention-seeker is in his blood, Slytherin or not.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Draco responds quietly. “Hermione noticed it as well. Hermione says that it’s textbook trauma… The food hoarding, the flinching, the… the bruises.”

He mentally notes the budding friendship between Potter, Draco, and Granger, putting it aside for later.

With a small sigh, Severus rubs the bridge of his nose. “Did she now?” It’s easier to acknowledge one aspect of it than the latter half, so he says, “I’m sure she’s a licensed medic- however, I suggest that we wait for his assessment to draw conclusions. Has Potter himself been complaining about his home life? Suggesting his family isn't worthy of his presence, perhaps?”

Draco fidgets. “No… He doesn’t speak about it. Well… he doesn’t speak much outside of it, but when asked about his family, he doesn’t say anything against them. He just makes an excuse or changes topics. All I know about them is that they never told him that he was a wizard and that they told him his parents died in a- in a, um, car crash, whatever that is. But I saw him when I was shopping for my clothes and he was wearing rags and he had a black eye!”

“You were with your father?”

He nods. “Yes. Father told me to befriend Potter because it looks like not very many people have in the past.”

A student’s word is one thing, but an adult who has extensive experience with trauma is another. “I see. I’ll look into it.” Draco lets out a soft breath as if a weight has been taken from his shoulders and he nods. “Thank you for telling me.”

Yes, Severus will need to think more deeply about this issue. Potter hasn't been meeting many of Severus' expectations of him, from landing in Slytherin to his nervous politeness to the way his eyes keep darting to and fro, always on the watch for new threats.

Harry is observant, clever, and he has that same spark of ambition in his eyes as the other Slytherins.

The boy has a revolution in his eyes.

He doesn't act like a celebrity, but there's a fire in his eyes that overflows with determination, like someone who's spent their entire life staring up with hungry eyes at a dream that they're not willing to let go of.

What are you hiding, Potter?

Harry hides his trembling hands in his robes as he stands outside of the infirmary door, looking left and right at the empty hall before he finally musters up the bravery to knock.

Maybe that’s the reason I wasn’t a Gryffindor… he thinks to himself as the door opens, revealing his Head of House. The man gives Harry a brief lookover before he steps aside and ushers Harry in. “I’ll be supervising your assessment and Madam Pomfrey will be the one in charge of the assessment.” He leads Harry into an area of the infirmary and hands him a Johnny gown. “Change into this and then open the curtains so that we know you’re ready to begin.”

He quickly leaves, shutting the curtains behind him. Harry shakily puts the hospital gown on, taking in deep breaths. He can’t mess this up. If he messes this up, then he’ll be sent home, and he doesn’t think he would last until the end of the year if he is. Uncle Vernon was so happy to send him away… He’ll be so angry if he has Harry dropped off onto his doorstep a second before summer.

Harry pulls the curtains open slowly, looking up to see Professor Snape standing there with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

“Poppy!” he calls out for the medi-witch suddenly, making Harry jump, his palms sweating profusely. Professor Snape gives him a look that makes him feel like the man can read his mind, so he looks away awkwardly, not really caring how cowardly it makes him look.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” the nurse says, giving Harry a smile. “Now, lie down for me, please. I’m going to cast some spells on you to ascertain your physical condition before we move onto a mental assessment. Does that sound okay to you?”

Harry looks between Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey nervously, his stomach twisting as Madam Pomfrey takes out her wand. He remembers Uncle Vernon’s “wand”, a useless branch that he’d used on Harry when Harry was 6 and read a book about magic. Stupidly enough, he’d asked his Uncle if magic was real.

He learned pretty quickly after that not to ask questions involving magic.

He tries to say nothing, but the words tumble out before he can stop them. “Will it hurt, ma’am?” His voice sounds nervous even to his own ears, but the woman doesn’t look at him with derision or mock him for it, instead, her gaze softens slightly and she shakes her head.

“It’ll be painless, though it might feel a little bit like your skin tingles. If you feel that, I assure you it’s only the spell looking for any past injuries and illnesses for documentation.”

He nods and lies down quickly, even though his instinct is to run. After a few moments, he feels the tingle that she was talking about, but he forces himself to breathe. Breathe in, breathe out.

“Oh,” Madam Pomfrey says and he hears her shuffle over to Professor Snape, who grumbles out something that Harry can’t hear past the rushing of wind in his ears. “Harry, will you stand up, please?”

Harry obeys quickly, standing up. He lets the nurse turn him around and open the gown slightly to peak at his bruises, ignoring the burst of pain when she presses her fingers against one of the welts. She tells him to lie back down and he does so, watching as a floating piece of parchment glows in a pulsating red that seems like it may be urgent.

Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey murmur to each other in quiet tones some more.They look over the results of the floating parchment that's throbbing rather like a wound that's particularly sore. 

“Severus, we need to talk to the Headmaster about this,” Harry hears Madam Pomfrey say, and his heart begins pounding in his ears even faster.

He sits up quickly, almost too quick that he worries he might pass out but the dots at the corners of his vision clears, so he sits there, looking up at them with wide eyes. “Wait. Please...” He should know better than to speak out of turn, but he doesn’t think he’d survive another beating so soon. He licks his lips and tries to think of the right words to say, the right sequence of sentences that can help him remain a student. “I don’t know what I did wrong, but I- I’ll be better.”

He's mildly aware of the shaking potion bottles on the table in the corner, but he doesn't pay it any mind, too focused on the two adults standing in front of him.

Two pairs of eyes stare back at him, both with anger and horror in them. It makes his insides tremble and he wants to cry because he’s only just got here, but he doesn’t cry. He doesn’t trust himself to be able to speak if he does. He doesn't cry often, but when he does, it's usually painful sobs that rip their way out of his throat, and he feels the tightness of his chest tell him that that might be what he's dealing with if he cries.

He should really know better than to beg, so he looks between the two of them, mind racing but feeling oddly empty at the same time. His breathing is too fast but his chest still feels tight, like there's no air entering his lungs, so he breathes harder, trying to breathe and speak and not shatter under the tightness wrapped around his chest.

“Please, Professor,” he turns to the man, who has such a peculiar look in his eyes. “You can- you can punish me here for what I did wrong, right? I won’t tell anyone if you do, you have my word. I can do whatever chores you need done, I can be your- your test subject for potions. I don't even really need much food, or a bed, or anything really. I can work with the house elves for most of the day except for classes. I'll do whatever you want,” he says slowly and calmly as if his hands aren't shaking under the sheets and his heart isn't pounding so hard in his chest that he feels like it's trying to escape.

It's manipulative, of course, to bring up potions because he knows the man is the teacher of the subject, and to make himself seem so subservient and at the other man's mercy, but it usually works on Uncle Vernon because the man likes to feel powerful, to feel like he's in charge all the time. Pride is useless if he has no power to back it up.

"Mr Potter," his professor says quietly, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"I just can't go back yet, sir, but I'll do anything you want if you let me stay, I swear that you won't regret it." Seeing the man's expression remain inscrutable, he makes a gambit. "I have enough money in my vaults if that's- that's something you need, for your potions. I don't need it, but if you have need for it and you promise not to send me back-"

He wouldn't survive being sent back. He's sure of that. He doesn't need money or food or anything else, as long as he can be free from the Dursley's.

He doesn't care what he has to do to stay. Too much is depending on this one dream, and he doesn't care what he has to sacrifice to stay. He keeps his eyes on Professor Snape, begging, trying to find what could get him to allow him to stay, but the man seems only more and more upset by the suggestions.

"Mr. Potter, stop talking," the man grits out, anger in his eyes burning as if Harry had said something offensive. 

Insulting the man wasn't his intention. He's awfully wrong-footed, he doesn't know what the man could be allured by and all of the things that Uncle Vernon usually liked wasn't pleasing the man. He doesn't know what to do and it's dangerous, it's terrifying, because a cruel man is easier to work with than a man whose motives aren't yet known.

A beating, Harry could take. He could take almost anything just to make this one dream of his work. He could take anything as long as he has hope.

Hope doesn't survive in the Dursley house for long, though. There's no place for hope in dark cupboards and cold corners.

Losing his composure, terrified he's lost, Harry begins to yell past the lump in his throat, "I can't go back, I can't, I can't, I won't, you can't make me, I-"

The potion bottle shatters at the same time that Professor Snape yells out,  “Mr. Potter!”  Harry flinches back, certain he's just ruined his chance of staying at Hogwarts altogether. Before he can apologize, however, in a tone that sounds almost choked, the man says, “I assure you, nobody is sending you home. We just have to alert the Headmaster about your injuries after this assessment. It’s protocol.”

Harry quiets down but his body does not listen to his order to stop trembling. He's made a fool of himself.

Madam Pomfrey, who had turned around earlier- Harry didn’t notice when- turns back around to face him, giving him a sad smile. “That’s right, Harry. Telling the Headmaster our findings is a part of the process so that he can keep everyone safe and- and document what needs to be documented. Next, I need to ask you some questions next. Is that okay with you?”

Gauging the truthfulness of the adults, Harry nods, if only because Draco told him that Professor Snape is his godfather, and that means that he could be trusted a little bit more than normal adults.

“Here, have a drink of this,” Madam Pomfrey says, handing him a blue potion. At his suspicious look, she clarifies, “I assure you, it’s only Calming Draught.”

“It’s safe,” Professor Snape says after Harry looks to him. “It’ll taste minty and a bit bitter, but it won’t have any adverse side effects.”

Harry opens the vial and with a single movement, he downs it. Immediately he feels his mind clear and his body stops shaking so violently. Instead, his muscles relax as if he doesn’t have to keep looking out for dangers everywhere. Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey take their seats, and Madam Pomfrey runs through a list of questions that he answers truthfully, though a small part of him wonders why he does so.

In normal circumstances, he would be more afraid, he wouldn’t utter a word for fear of being punished… But he’s so calm that he answers their silly questions, even though he doesn’t quite understand why he does so. Nor why they ask the questions they ask.

They ask questions like “has your family ever hurt you” and “how many times a day do you eat” and “do you feel safe” and other questions about his family.

They also ask him things like “do you ever have thoughts about hurting yourself or others” and “do you have trouble falling asleep” and “do you have recurrent nightmares of bad things happening” and things to make sure he isn’t missing any screws in his head.

He answers so many questions. By the end of it, he’s tired and sleepy, and their faces show that they’re perhaps just as tired as he is. Maybe they also took the potion for it to work on Harry? That would explain why they look exhausted and sad and maybe a little like they regret having this entire conversation.

Right when Harry is falling asleep, he hears Professor Snape murmur something that sounds an awful lot like “I’m sorry” as he runs his fingers through Harry's hair, but that doesn’t make sense so he thinks it must be his imagination. His uncle always did say he's a very imaginative boy, to think that people would care about a freak like him.

So many words in the English language, but none of them can properly encapsulate that he’d trusted this man, had placed all faith in him- and for someone like Severus, that has weight, has meaning. Spies aren’t meant to trust, but he had. He had, and that’s what makes this entire situation hurt worse. 

Because the Headmaster had failed Potter, and by doing so, failed all of those who care for him. People like Lily. Like Minerva.

Like Severus.

Albus taps his finger against his desk, leaning back, his eyebrows furrowed as he stares at Severus and Poppy. Severus looks over at him, then at Minerva who took her place sitting beside the Headmaster. Both of them don solemn expressions, having been told what this emergency meeting would be about. 

Once Poppy looks over to see them both ready for the report, she takes a deep breath before she begins speaking matter-of-factly. “Harry J. Potter was examined earlier today, with Severus Snape as witness and assistant, during which Potter received the mandatory diagnosis spell to document his injuries throughout his life. This spell revealed things that gave cause for suspicion of abuse.”

Severus nods. “Due to the numerous injuries- which Poppy will tell you about in-depth shortly- and his panic and hysteria at the idea of being returned to his family after overhearing us say that we needed to report this, we decided to administer calming draught mixed in with a mild truth serum to properly continue the assessment and ask him questions about his home life.” He pulls out the transcripts of the interview, handing the copies to the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, placing the extra copies onto the table. Albus and Minerva stare back at him with eyes full of raw emotion, anger being the most powerful one, followed by horror and sorrow before they look down at the transcript and begin to read it.

The temperature in the room drops quickly, causing Poppy to give Severus a look. They’ve been in this position before, of course. Slytherin usually has a few cases every year, and though there are cases in other houses, nobody would disagree that Slytherin has the most cases of abuse in general. 

It doesn’t get easier, though, to see children who have been failed by adults. It doesn’t get easier to discuss injuries, both mental and physical. It doesn’t get easier and when things so delicate and tragic are being discussed, magic is bound to get a bit out of control.

“Oh, Harry,” Minerva exclaims, reading the transcript. “Severus Snape: Why do you wish to be a student at Hogwarts? Harry Potter: I like having a bed, and food, and I want to go to school so I can be free and not need to live in a cupboard anymore.”

“He was beside himself with terror at the mere idea of being sent back to his relatives, and even proposed to give up his bed and food in exchange for being allowed to remain a student here,” Severus says evenly though the words make something cold and vile claw at his insides.

Minerva looks ready to have a heart attack or fly into a rage. Severus silently muses to himself that both of those seem equally likely. “I warned you about those Muggles, Albus,” Minerva said through gritted teeth. “Not an ounce of good in them, I said. You told me I was just worrying too much.” 

Albus looks up from the transcript, his crescent glasses dropping down his nose. Clearing his throat, the man says, “What became of the physical assessment?” he asks.

“He has broken numerous bones, some of which never healed properly. Sprained his right ankle twice. Had three concussions throughout his life. Suffered from strep throat twice and pneumonia once- he didn’t receive medical care for those. The bruises and welts, of course, are the result of his uncle’s idea for discipline, which is a regular occurrence as can be proven by the sudden spikes of contusions and welts every few weeks.” Poppy hands them a copy of the medical report and photographs of the injuries still on the boy’s body, still holding the parchment upon which Potter’s medical history was written. “I’ve already taken the necessary photographs of the boy’s body when the assessment took place, then healed him of all that I could.”

“I trusted them,” Albus responds so quietly that Severus almost misses it. Louder, he addresses Poppy. “Is that all of it?”

“He also has terrible eyesight that isn’t properly corrected by his glasses, and he is, of course, at risk of certain… behavioral and mental issues, given his upbringing. Post-traumatic stress is something he seems to suffer from, as is. The intense scarring on his back is something I’m unsure if potions or magic can fix, given how old some of them are. I worry that some of them may be with him permanently, as well as the cigarette burn on his hand.”

“You said that it was his uncle who did all of this?” Albus asks, voice low and dangerous, no trace of the frail old man persona on his face or in his posture. 

Not Dumbledore the Headmaster, Severus thinks, Albus Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore the Grand Sorcerer. Supreme Mugwump.

Wielder of the Elder Wand.

Poppy nods. “According to his own statement, his Uncle was the abuser. His Aunt, per his report, seems to have also been helpless in the situation, and was occasionally the receiver of the man’s ire but never reported it for fear of her son being taken away from her.”

Albus tsks under his breath. “And their son? Was he also a victim of abuse?”

“He is deeply loved by his father, but he suffers from behavioral issues due to the tense environment of the household which manifests through violence and anger.”

Minerva’s face twists for a moment before she schools her expression and voices her question. “You’ve addressed physical abuse. What other kinds of abuse did the boy face?”

It is Severus who answers for Poppy. “He’s been abused in almost every manner, from physical to emotional. His Uncle would physically harm the boy for his infractions, be they real or imagined, as well as withhold food for extended periods, and gave him a long list of chores that were physically taxing. His small stature might be, in part, due to being made to sleep in a cupboard since early childhood, as well as being malnourished and having certain deficiencies in his diet.

“Emotionally, the boy seems to have low self-esteem and little trust in adults, given his experience with them. He considers himself a ‘freak’ due to a title allotted to him by his loving Uncle, is of the belief that his existence isn’t worth much, and grew up convinced that all the suffering his family endured at the hands of Vernon Dursley was his fault.”

If possible, the room temperature drops even lower. Severus suppresses a shiver as he gazes into the cold blue eyes of his mentor who looks so entrenched in anger that Severus remembers red eyes with the same expression. “And sexually?” Dumbledore asks quietly, but Severus recognizes it as the demand for answers that it is.

It takes Severus a moment to shake himself of the sudden ice in his veins from the expression before he shakes his head. “There is no evidence of any sexual abuse occurring, and nothing from his statement to hint at it. We cannot rule it out without questioning him on the matter, but I do not think it occurred.”

For a moment nobody speaks, filling the silence with nothing but mourning and anger for a boy horribly wronged.

“I’ve given them compensation, agreed to their terms of staying away, and still that vile, horrible man would dare to harm the boy he swore to care for. As if the boy hadn’t lost enough, he would treat him as a house-elf rather than family,” Albus says bitterly. 

After a few moments Poppy asks quietly, “What do we do with the boy now?”

At the question, Albus pauses, taking several breaths. After a few seconds, he deflates and the room stops being so frigid. Severus remembers to breathe, glad that he’s never been on the receiving end of the Headmaster’s wrath. Albus looks up at the two of them. “If it is as grave as you’ve said, we have no other choice but to revoke their guardianship of Harry. We cannot send Harry back to such a place. And by taking Harry out of the equation, I feel like we’d be giving Petunia the freedom to flee the situation as well.”

Severus, for all his thoughts about the woman, has to agree that such an outcome would be best. Nobody deserves to live in such a household. Petunia, for all her faults, had done her best to shelter her son and nephew from her husband’s abusive nature, though she was also targeted for her efforts.

“I have the required documents to go through the Muggle channels, as well as Wizarding Child Protection Services if you decide to do it that way,” Poppy says. 

Severus sighs and lets himself take a seat, watching as Poppy does the same now that they’re no longer reporting. “Should it be decided that the Dursley’s are punished through the Wizarding law system, I’m quite certain that Malfoy could ensure that this is expedited and doesn’t need to be prolonged for longer than absolutely necessary.”

Albus considers it, nodding. “I see.” He picks up the files, straightening them. “Through Muggle channels, we risk the case being publicized and Death Eaters finding out about his family and possibly risk Petunia and Dudley Dursley’s lives. As for through Wizarding Child Protective Services, there’s no guarantee for objectivity, and it would tarnish young Potter’s name until adulthood, should he choose to live among wizards.”

Severus sees the calculation behind the Headmaster’s cold eyes and knows immediately that there will be no investigation nor trial.

“He’s branded as a victim, giving him another reason to stand out, and not for a good reason. It also gives Death Eater’s intimate information on him, given how public that affair would be,” Minerva murmurs. 

Severus nods after a moment. “It would also be a traumatizing event for an eleven-year-old to know that the World that foolishly idolizes and borderline worships them as the hero of this era would be privy to such information. Everyone he encounters in our World would know about it, even his enemies. He’d never be free from those memories so long as his fans and reporters bring it up.”

“But we need justice for Harry! After what that loathsome man has done to him, to imagine that he’d go free…” Poppy says, her eyes burning something fierce. 

“He’ll be receiving his dues,” Albus says with authority dripping from every syllable. “Rest assured, Vernon Dursley will be punished.”

Severus muses that had Albus made some different choices in his life, he would have made a formidable Dark Lord. Those piercing blue eyes, after all, are calculating and ruthless and filled with the same call to war as many Dark Wizards who grew mad in their quest for power.

Poppy, ever the Hufflepuff, looks at Albus for a second, confused. “But you just said that-”

“Severus and I will visit the Dursley residence to gather his belongings. Lucius Malfoy will be writing up the necessary forms to revoke their guardianship of Harry and they will be signing it. I will handle Vernon personally.”

It takes a second for Minerva and Poppy to catch his drift but neither of them questions it. 

Minerva sighs, waving a hand to summon tea and biscuits. “I guess now we know why he was placed into Slytherin,” she says casually, taking a sip of her tea. 

Severus bristles at the words, turning around and scowling at her. Unfortunately, the effect of his glare doesn’t work on the woman who was his teacher when he was young and is his senior by at least 30 years. 

“Abused children can be placed anywhere,” Severus counters, defensive of his House after so long of being told that Slytherin is only for the Dark or the broken. 

“It’s not an insult,” his colleague says tiredly, placing a pacifying hand on his arm. “I merely meant that of course, he would be Slytherin, what with him needing to be resourceful and shrewd to survive living with that oaf of a man. Nobody is more ambitious than a child wrapping their bleeding hands around a star and shaping their own destiny with it.”

Severus doesn’t admit that he, too, can see why Potter’s a Slytherin now. He lets out a noncommittal hum to acknowledge her words. 

“Hm. The boy had made an awful attempt at manipulation when we were interviewing him. Potter was willing to make a gambit and put his life in my hands to remain a student here rather than be returned to his poor excuse of a family. I cannot comprehend why he deliberately singled me out specifically, given I’ve barely interacted enough with him for him to think of me as the horrible bat of the dungeons yet.

“Though as it stands, he does need to learn proper manipulation and perhaps some subtlety to go along with it. I can forgive him for it for the time being, given I’m sure he was in the throes of panic and hasn’t learned yet from his peers or my training, but in time, I’m sure he can improve his skills.”

Poppy slaps his arm. “Severus, be serious about these things,” she chides. 

Severus raises an eyebrow and frowns at her words. “I train all the students under my house to recognize and combat manipulation. I train them to use persuasion and intimidation to give them an upper hand in dire situations where they’re outnumbered or outmatched- life is rarely fair, so it’ll happen sooner rather than later. A stuttering or hesitating child may well become a dead one if they’re standing in front of the Dark Lord unable to meet his demands. Harry will learn the soft skills of grace and charisma and cunning, as all my students must.” 

“That doesn’t seem… right,” Minerva says with a frown of her own.

He scowls. “He wasn’t placed in my house because green complements his eye color. He was placed in it because Slytherin is the house that will help him develop the skills he has and learn the skills he doesn’t. If he were placed under your House, I wouldn’t insist on him learning, but as it is, he’s my student, and he will learn.”

Albus clears his throat, returning to the original conversation, “Teaching methods aside, I think Harry’s decision to appeal to you rather than Poppy might be, at least in part, because you’re a man in a position of authority over him. And from his own words, it seems like his uncle is the one who abuses him. I imagine that trusting men will be hard for him. He has to learn that his life living in such conditions is over and that he’s safe now.”

Severus wants to growl at the words. “Most abuse victims don’t know it’s over for a long time,” he replies, causing Poppy to give him a look of sympathy.

“Where would Harry go?” Minerva asks. “There’s a lot of people who would love to take him in, but few who would really be a good fit for tending to such a young and hurting boy.”

Poppy gives Severus a look that he thoroughly ignores, not caring to see her expressive eyes looking back at him as if he’s still a child of 14 staggering into her quarters late at night for healing. 

Albus gives Severus a look. “As Harry’s Head of House, I think Severus would be the primary candidate. Unless, of course, you have any objections?” Severus shakes his head. “Severus will be granted temporary guardianship to give him and Harry a chance to see how things go before making it into a permanent arrangement. Should they not work out, I’m sure many will be willing to take on the boy’s guardianship.”

With that out of the way, Severus takes his cold tea into his hands and listens with half an ear as the conversation moves forward, discussing more legalities and notes about Potter. After another half hour, the two witches take their leave, retiring to their own quarters. Severus gives Poppy a nod before he turns to look at Albus to see the man already observing him.

Severus hates these moments, these silences between him and Albus. He hates how the man can look at him and make him feel like a lost schoolboy wandering the halls in need of something that he doesn’t yet know. 

Severus doesn’t move from his spot, holding his cup of tea and regarding Albus. Albus doesn’t question him, letting the silence stretch on until Severus can barely bear it.

Severus isn’t soft. He’s all hard edges and bloody teeth and burning anger and a heart that refuses to stop beating purely out of spite for those that want it to. He’s the keeper of the dungeons, guardian of his snakes, the Dark Lord’s esteemed Potion Master.

He’s done so many things worthy of awe and fear alike.

But something in Albus always draws out the vulnerable keening part of him, the sorrowful teenager who spoke barely above a whisper when spoken to, the lost young man who was desperate for any kind of validation and acceptance.

“Did you know?” he asks and his voice comes out more monotonous than he was planning, his wrists itching with the urge to clench his hands into fists but anger doesn’t come. The grief is more painful than anger, burns worse, and more voraciously. Albus looks at him with genuine eyes full of sadness, silent as he regards the Potions Master. Severus merely stares at the shelves of trinkets, but as he sits in his mentor’s presence, the desperate need for answers only grows stronger by the second. 

Once upon a time, he’d knelt in front of those shelves, begging for the Headmaster to save him from his own stupid mistakes. 

Albus had pulled him into an embrace as he knelt at the man’s feet, offering everything- life, body, and service- just so his best friend would be safe. And Severus had trembled and trembled like a weak lamb, offering his arm for marking before Albus shook his head and made him a promise that the man wasn’t able to keep.

“Severus?” Albus responds cautiously.

“Did you know, Headmaster?” 

“Arabella told me the boy was rather quiet for a boy his age, would have the odd bruise here or there, but I never imagined, I never would have thought…” The man falls silent, staring at Severus over his steepled fingers. “No, Severus. I didn’t know the boy was being abused.”

“Was it part of your plan?” Severus hisses through his teeth, “To have him live in that kind of environment so he could be trained to become the boy who lived?”

Albus turns to look at him, a flash of hurt going through his eyes. “Of course not,” he responds in a tone just as quietly. When Severus meets his eyes, there is only honesty there, and Severus doesn’t need to cast a spell to know that he means it. “Did you think it was?”

Severus pauses, analyzing the Headmaster, dark eyes staring up at his mentor. “No. Of course not, I didn’t intend to insinuate that you did. It’s just-” He exhales, jaw clenching. By Merlin, these conversations have no right to be so difficult.

Why didn’t you let me see him? I could have taken him in, Severus wants to ask, to demand answers from the man about his best friend’s child, but he doesn’t, biting his tongue and looking away so that he doesn’t lose his job.

“Say what you want to say,” Albus says calmly, “I am not Him, Severus.”

Severus doesn’t say, You’re my master just as much as He was. 

It’s a conversation they’ve already had, and he doesn’t feel like being on the receiving end of one of Albus’s sad lectures or allegories like he’s some first year in need for comfort or explanation.

“You assured me that he would be safe,” Severus says, the words tumbling from his lips, “You swore to me! You forbade me from visiting him, saying that I would only compromise his location, that I would only end up complicating things for the boy. He lived in a cupboard, Headmaster. I trusted you to keep him safe and you never even checked up on him!”

Albus stares at him for a few seconds and Severus doesn’t avert his eyes. “I did what I thought was best for the boy. I was trying to give him time to prepare him for when it’s time for him to take his place as the herald that leads us all into a new era.”

“But...” Severus doesn’t know the words to insist that that isn’t enough. So many words in the English language, but none of them can properly encapsulate that he’d trusted this man, had placed all faith in him- and for someone like Severus, that has weight, has meaning. Spies aren’t meant to trust, but he had. He had, and that’s what makes this entire situation hurt worse. 

Because the Headmaster had failed Potter, and by doing so, failed all of those who care for him. People like Lily. Like Minerva.

Like Severus.

“I do not have the answers you want, my boy,” Albus quiets him, placing a hand on his left forearm. “I’m truly sorry. Both to him for his suffering, and to you. I am not as omnipotent or all-powerful as you would like to believe, Severus. I trusted the Dursley’s to care for him as one of their own, and I was wrong in my decision to do so.”

You’re not supposed to make mistakes, Severus wants to snarl back, especially not when that mistake involves a child’s life. 

Not when it’s Lily’s child.

“He’s only a boy,” Severus says instead, the anger leaving his chest as he utters the words, leaving only tiredness as the words sink into his bones. “He’s too young to be brought to the table of adults, to have this war hanging over him like a guillotine.” 

He’s too young to be hurt so much.

“I know, Severus,” Albus affirms quietly.

The silence resumes. Albus sips his tea, unafraid to lean into the silence and let it take over. Severus finishes his own tea, reciting the ingredients to Wolfsbane Potion until he can take a breath in without it burning. Albus, bless his soul, reads over some paperwork in the meantime so as to give him the privacy he needs.

After composing himself, Severus straightens his back, assuming his role as Snape. His impassive and harsh facade falls into place the same moment that his occlumency walls become solid.

“What kind of justice do you plan for Dursley?” Severus asks, “I assume nothing less than death awaits him?”

Albus merely gives him a smile, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Sometimes, my boy, death is not the worst punishment one can receive. But we shall see.”

The words do not match his amused expression at all. Were Severus anyone else, he would be deeply unsettled. Fortunately for Albus and unfortunately for Vernon, Severus is used to dealing with the mad. “So what do you have in mind?”

 “You won’t be able to take it where you’re going, will you?” Severus asks. Petunia freezes where she’s standing, still half-way up a step. “You’re going to escape the moment you can.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Petunia responds.

“The house is painfully unremarkable. I expected something… more,” Lucius says as they walk down the street towards it. 

Albus gives the man a look and says drily, “I believe that’s rather the point.”

Lucius merely ignores the comment, still looking put-upon at the sudden summons and bizarre request to don ‘Muggle-passing attire’. After much discussion, the Pureblood finally allowed Severus to force him into a plain black morning coat of completely Muggle making, matched with gray trousers and his cane. Though still posher than Severus would have liked, at least it was nowhere near as ostentatious and showy as the other options the man presented him with.

“Here we are. At the ready, boys,” Albus says to them. For the rest of the walk up to the door, nobody speaks, each one busy looking for possible escape routes or things that could complicate the situation. Severus spots a neighbor trying to look as if she’s tending to her garden, surreptitiously giving them looks.

After having to knock a second time, the door opens. For a moment, Petunia Dursley does nothing. Then, the spark of recognition enters her eyes and she gasps. “You promised Vernon that-”

Albus gives her a deliberately polite smile that doesn’t fool anyone. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Dursley. We’re here to discuss your nephew’s well-being due to certain information that we’ve received about your husband’s treatment of him.”

“Is Harry okay?” she asks quietly, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself, and it only shows how thin she is under the loose-fitting cardigan. Lucius frowns but wisely keeps silent. “I know he was injured, but I don’t… know the extent. Is he- I mean to ask… Is Harry…”

“He’s alive,” Severus cuts in smoothly. Petunia sighs in relief, nodding. “But we need to discuss how he came to be injured. And more specifically, why he was so injured.”

Albus nods. “He’s received the proper medical care under our school nurse. He’s spent the last few days in bed due to the toll that healing took on his young body, but he will recover.”

Looking over, Severus makes eye contact with the woman who has, in the few seconds that passed, called her husband to ‘help her water the plants’. 

“Will you let us in, Petunia? I highly doubt you want to give your neighbors more to gossip about,” Severus says. At the words, Petunia seems to snap back to herself, moving aside so that they can enter. 

“Bloody neighbors. Always looking for something new to talk about,” she mumbles to herself. “You’ll need to forgive the mess.”

“It’s no concern of ours,” Albus says kindly, eliciting a ghost of a smile from the woman. 

The house itself is clean, meticulously so. The amount of salmon and peach makes Severus wince as he inspects the house. 

“Have a seat. Vernon will be home for dinner, and Dudley will come home at 3:45. I’ll get you men some tea,” she says and her tone makes Severus wince. 

What happened to you?  

She was a spirited and hot-tempered girl and though she had a mean streak the size of the moon, she had personality. This- this woman standing before them has nothing but a suburban mother’s smile to cover up for the hollowness behind her eyes.

It reminds him too much of… of her. 

“Allow me,” Severus says, standing. Petunia looks at him for a moment, looking torn on wanting to say something before she nods, letting him enter their kitchen. Moving slowly so he can inspect the kitchen, he spots the balled-up tissues of blood in the garbage bin, as well as the uneven photo frame just above it.

Looking closely at the general area, it does seem like there was some kind of altercation in that specific area, though probably short given how it’s limited to the area right next to the fireplace. Carefully, Severus rights the photo frame laying on its front, looking at the photograph of a happy family of three.

Potter isn’t there.

Shaking his head, he waits for the kettle. There isn’t much else to give him information in the kitchen. It’s as clean as the living room, and aside from the bloodied tissues and the shelves being in disarray, there’s little to draw on.

Lucius enters the kitchen and places a hand on Severus’ shoulder, pushing him towards the door. “I will deal with the tea.”

Narrowing his eyes, he says, “You have no understanding of Muggle appliances.”

Lucius doesn’t roll his eyes-the action is too undignified- but he comes close to it. “No, but I understand tea. Now go.”

Suspicious, Severus walks down the hall to eavesdrop, hearing Petunia quietly saying, “You ought to take the boy. Vernon will end up killing him one of these days and I don’t know how much longer any of us can keep going in this- in this kind of lifestyle.”

“He’s hurt you as well?” Albus responds. From Severus’s position, he can see neither of them through the crack in the door. Petunia must have nodded, because Albus continues, “Why didn’t you report him? Or come to us for assistance, given how long this has gone on?”

Petunia sighs. “I thought that if I could just keep the boy safe, teach him to be up to Vernon’s liking- and if I could meet Vernon’s standards as his wife, then maybe he would…”

“You thought that once you met his standards he would finally be the man you thought he was when you married,” Albus finishes for her. “Petunia, surely you understand that there is no way for you to do that. The moment you do, his standards will change. There’s no way of winning against a husband like that.”

“I know,” Petunia croaks, “But I don’t want to believe that the man I love is so cruel so as to…” 

A moment passes. 

“What papers do you need me to sign to hand over the boy?” Petunia asks instead of continuing. “It’s best to get this over with before he comes home.”

Severus leaves his spot by the door, going upstairs to look through the rooms. He resolutely ignores the cupboard, deciding to save it for last.

The first room is a small one but filled with toys that lay scattered on the floor, a forgotten punching bag leaning against the wall in the corner. It's more of a storage room than anything else. The amount of broken toys makes something in him wince. He’d grown up without much coin to spare, so seeing such carelessness with toys brings his father’s angry face to the forefront of his mind.

The second room seems more fit for a boy of Harry’s age, and for a moment Severus wants to make himself believe it’s Harry’s, but the massive lettering on the wall spells out DUDLEY so clearly that he can’t help but accept the reality of Harry’s real living space.

The master bedroom belongs to the couple, and it’s set rather plainly with a closet, wardrobe, desk, and king-sized bed. There’s nothing that stands out except for the bag shoved in the very back of the closet, open just enough to show that it has two passports inside of it.

Not as defeated and broken as one would assume, it seems. 

He observes the frames on the walls for a moment in the hall. Unsurprisingly, none of them show that another boy except Dudley lives in the house. 

Retreating back down the steps, he finally decides to face the cupboard. It’s exterior is unassuming and simple, save for the lock on the outside. With a deep breath, he unlatches the cupboard and looks inside. 

Harry’s Room, it says on the wall in shaky childlike handwriting, starting with red crayon before it’s continued by blue. 

“His belongings are in there,” says Petunia’s voice from behind him. “Though he doesn’t have much, mind you. Maybe a stuffed toy or two, a photo album, his old notebooks from school and whatnot. He has Dudley’s old clothes, but… I doubt he’d want them.”

Severus rips his gaze from the cupboard too small with the mattress that doesn’t seem much better than sleeping on the floor itself. He looks at Petunia, who stares into the cupboard with regret in her eyes.

Petunia crosses her arms, leaning against the wall. “You’re taking Harry in, Albus said.”

Severus nods. “I am. Do you have an issue with my decision to do so?”

Petunia only gives him a hint of a smile. “If I had, I wouldn’t have signed the documents, Rusty.”

“For the last time,” Severus says with a scowl, “My name is Severus, not Rusty.”

“And for the last time, Severus ends in Rus, which means that I am perfectly sensible in my decision to call you Rusty,” Petunia replies. They stare at each for a few moments. “Take care of him, will you? I tried to do my best, but the more I tried to show him I cared, the more my husband… went out of his way to make the boy’s life harder.”

“I will,” Severus replies. He pauses for a moment before he adds, “Thank you, Tunes.”

Petunia only gives him a smile before she begins to walk up the stairs. “I’ll give him a few other things as a parting gift. I doubt that Dudley will miss a few shirts, anyway.”

“You won’t be able to take it where you’re going, will you?” Severus asks. Petunia freezes where she’s standing, still half-way up a step. “You’re going to escape the moment you can.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Petunia responds meaningfully. “I’m not an animal that’s trying to escape an enclosure. My son and I are only going to go to an event this weekend for mother and son’s, and we will enjoy ourselves thoroughly and then go home.”

But this place hasn’t been your home in years, Severus thinks with a small smirk. 

Had the woman been a witch, she’d be a Slytherin. 

She’s always carried that spark- one that made her a terrible playmate but quite fun if one were looking for a proper bad influence. And formidable as an ally as well, because she did know how to scare off anyone who gave you a mean look. 

Severus turns back to the cupboard, dragging out the mattress so he could properly have a look inside. He digs around, finding a dirty stuffed bear that may have once been white. He sets it aside for later. He quickly adds the photo album Petunia mentioned to the pile, as well as a small garbage bag full of clothes. 

He traces the floorboards with his fingers until he finds a loose one. Pulling it up, he finds several notebooks, writing utensils, and a compass. 

“She wasn’t exaggerating when she said he didn’t have much,” he murmurs to himself, placing all of the items into the black bag before he shrinks it and places it in his pocket. 

He returns the mattress back in its place and shuts the cupboard, content to never look at the damned cupboard again. Returning to the living room, he takes his seat beside Lucius on the sofa, taking the offered beverage.

Albus looks up from the paperwork. “Well, it seems like this is all we need from Petunia. It should be sufficient, given the circumstances, and because she’s the only blood relative of his and technically his only legal guardian.” He hands over the rolled-up pieces of parchment to Lucius. “You can ensure that these won’t be made public?”

Lucius gives the man a confident smile worthy of a Pureblood of his reputation. “Of course, Headmaster. I’ll make sure of it personally.”

Albus nods. “You can go ahead and put that into motion in that case. Return here once you’re done. Severus, you should go back to the castle and check up on Harry.”

“And what will you be doing?” Severus asks, knowing that this very conversation may be brought up in the future. 

Albus gives him a small smile. “Waiting to have a discussion with Vernon Dursley. It might take me some hours. I still have to wait for him to return home, but I don’t think Petunia will mind. It may get ugly though, so I think Lucius should accompany me.”

Catching the meaning of his words, Severus nods and stands. He and Lucius head towards the door, seeing Petunia there. Lucius bids her farewell and takes his leave, waiting for Severus on the porch. Petunia places a hand on Severus’s arm to stop him. 

“Take this, Rusty,” she says, handing him a thick leather journal. “That one's yours. And this is for Harry.”

She hands him another black garbage bag. Severus shrinks that one down as well, placing it into his pocket. 

“Take care, Tunes,” he says quietly. 

Petunia just gives him a tired smile. “Take care of Lily’s boy, Rusty. I know you’ll do a better job than I damn well could while here. Tell him that I’m sorry. I’ll try to write to him when I’m able.”

With that, Severus turns and meets Lucius on the porch. Lucius says nothing of Severus’ words, walking to the end of the street where the anti-apparition wards fade off. He takes Severus’ arm and apparates them to the boundaries of Hogwarts’ wards. 

“Well, I’ll see you around,” Lucius says with a knowing smile. He moves a finger through a strand of his hair and Severus catches his meaning quickly.

Follow the plan, the sign says. It’s one of their older signs, a system that only the Slytherins in their year would know. 

“Oh, hold on Lucius, is it true that you’ve been having problems with your knee?” Severus says conversationally, picking his words carefully. “I don’t mean to pry, of course. Narcissa mentioned it to me more than a fortnight ago and I’ve only just now remembered.”

Lucius sighs. “Indeed. Blasted knee’s been giving me pain, given that it’s been getting colder and colder these days.”

Severus hums in thought. “Why don’t you come back with me to my quarters? I can give you something to help you, a salve for your knee. It works on bruises, cuts, and other types of injuries that would otherwise be non-lethal.”

Lucius nods easily. “I understand. I’m sure that the Headmaster wouldn’t mind the short delay,” he says, following Severus back through to the castle. “Where is Potter if I may ask? My son informed me he hasn’t returned to their shared dorm room. He’s quite concerned for his friend’s health, given that last he saw the boy, he was fairly battered.”

“Yes, I would think so. He’s harangued me with questions as well, but unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to share with him the location or status of Mr. Potter yet.”

He wipes dust off of his left arm, subtly signing hospital while trying to make it seem like an absent-minded gesture.

Lucius hums. “I suppose I’ll be looking forward to my son’s letter complaining about it, then.”

They continue the walk to the castle, the wind biting at Severus’ face. “Your son seems to be making friends of those in other houses, as well as those who aren’t Purebloods,” Severus says. “Was that your instruction?”

Lucius chuckles. “My friend, my son is to me what I was to my father. I can’t tell him to befriend those he considers “dull and stale” any more than I could order a doorknob to do square dancing. I have… heard he’s befriended a Muggle-born. Granger, was it?” Severus hums affirmatively. “Yes, she does seem quite bright, from his own reports. I’ve yet to meet any of his friends yet.”

“You could always stop by. I’m sure Draco would be happy to see you.”

Lucius gives Severus a smile. “Perhaps next time. For now, I still need to return to Dumbledore and I doubt I could do so before the night is out if he tries to parade me before all of his friends like I’m some type of zoo creature.”

Severus thinks of the rest of the plan as he walks, already knowing that at the end of the day, Vernon’s punishment will be in Petunia’s hands more than it’ll be in Albus' hands. 

They enter the castle, ignoring the students chatting in the halls. Luckily, most of them know well enough to behave until Severus is no longer within earshot, so they have no reason to stall on their way to Severus’ lab. 

“The healing salve is something you rub onto your skin where the wound was, and it evaporates quickly- I know how you value your robes, so it won’t leave a trace on clothing either, should it be rubbed against it. I developed it myself, though it isn’t cheap so it’s still obscure in many circles,” Severus says quickly, pulling out a 2.5-centimeter tall jar and placing it onto the table between him and Lucius.

“I see.” Lucius takes it into his hands, inspecting it. “It must be hard to be torn between developing potions and teaching students.”

“I don’t see why I can’t do both.” Severus takes a moment to give his friend a lookover. “I… don’t want to cross any lines here, Lucius, but while we’re here… are you still taking the potion for your stress on a regular regimen?”

Lucius looks over at him sharply. “Indeed.”

“Would you consider trying out some of the other potions I’ve made for it? I know that the one you’re taking currently has been giving you troubles with sleep.”

“Show me.”

Severus pulls out two bottles, both of equal size, the only difference between them being the color of the liquid within it. “This purple one is for the nightmares and it’ll help you sleep better as well as remain more level-headed during the day. This green one soothes the soul, which will aid you in handling more stressful situations, but it’s only for emergencies- crises and the like.”

Lucius turns the two of them over in his hand. “As close as we are, I feel like you’re not giving these to me solely because we’re friends. You want a testimony of some sort?”

Severus gives his friend a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s always good to have a Malfoy backing my developments.” 

And one to back my statement, should this reach Auror’s ears.

“I suppose fair is fair,” Lucius replies coolly. “Anything about these I should know?”

“Yes, actually. The salve that I gave to you doesn’t react well when it’s used in conjunction with either of those two- it reacts quite badly if the potion is taken within an hour of rubbing in the salve. With the purple one, it affects the state of mind and forces the victim into a sort of trance-like state where they’re easily coerced into certain things akin to a geas. As for the latter, the chemical reaction causes the heart to stop pumping within 6 hours if not given the proper medical care.”

Lucius frowns at the potions. “Hm, that doesn’t sound very marketable…”

“It is when it can be used by even squibs and, from my research, even Muggles with no ill effects on them. Not only that, but as long as they’re not used together, they don’t react with other potions or salves.”

Grey eyes look up at Severus for a moment, the meaning clear as he looks at Severus. “I suppose I stand corrected.” He turns to leave, pocketing the containers. “It was good to see you, Severus.”

Lucius traces his hand against the counter on his way out, sending a final sign to Severus. 

End of plan in motion. 

As the door to the lab slams shut, Severus allows himself a small exhale of relief. It went off as planned, full of carefully planned words and a conversation steered in the right direction so as to give everyone plausible deniability, should there be an “unfortunate” accident with Vernon Dursley.

Next Chapter:

For a moment, the men stare at Harry as he processes the information. He feels something cold in his stomach unraveling and tightening all at once. Suddenly, an understanding of the situation hits him, and it feels as though he’s been dunked under ice water, his hands shaking. 

He’d been so focused on the possibility of being expelled that he hadn’t even thought about what would happen to his Aunt now that he’d gone on and yapped about his life story.

It had felt good, at the time, to tell his story. For once, people were looking at him, they were listening and he wasn’t afraid of what would happen if his Uncle found out.

For once in his freakish life, adults seemed to care even though the very idea of it was laughable- him, a freak, being listened to by adults as if he had something important to say? But he was so desperate not to be sent home and for someone to care. He just wanted someone to finally know so that he would be able to tell himself that what had happened was real and wasn't just some terrible nightmare or him overreacting, it was real.

Harry looks up quickly as the door to the infirmary slams open and shut. Rubbing his eyes, he reaches around for his glasses and finds it on the nearby nightstand. Pushing the glasses up onto his nose, he looks around, waiting for whoever entered to either come closer to him or walk to another area of the medical wing. Straining his ears to hear the stranger, he listens as two pairs of steps walk closer and closer to his curtain before it stops right outside of it.

“Mr. Potter,” says Professor Snape, “I will be entering soon. Are you decent?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry responds, sitting up in his bed to look presentable, combing through his hair with his fingers to try and push it down into something that his Uncle wouldn’t be angry at seeing. 

The curtain to his room swishes open, Professor Snape striding in alongside the Headmaster. For a moment, Harry wonders how they can get their robes to move like it does, if it’s a spell they have to apply on their clothes every morning or if it’s like the subconscious magic that he’d read about in Magical Theory.

“Good afternoon, Professor. Headmaster,” Harry says politely, holding his pillow on his lap, feeling terribly underdressed for the occasion in his hospital slacks and shirt standing in front of two men in elaborate possibly-magical robes.

The Headmaster gives Harry a kind smile, the kind that a grandfather might give to a child, full of warmth and patience. It makes something in Harry ache for what he lacks, something he will never have. “Good afternoon, Harry. How are you feeling?”

Harry pauses at the question, unsure what the man would like to hear. If he is as kind and caring as the others say, he would like to know that Harry is doing fine. Caring people tend to like those answers, after all, because it lets their conscience stay intact. But at the same time, Hermione told him that the Headmaster is the leader of the resistance in the war, so perhaps he doesn’t want to know if Harry is hurting or not, but rather, if Harry is being strong and brave and ruthless.

A warrior, like some books make him out to be. 

He doesn’t answer quickly enough though, and the Headmaster and his Professor share a look with one another.

“I’m fine, sir,” he settles on, “I can handle a lot worse.”

Dumbledore gives Harry a look that he cannot decipher. “Yes, my boy, I’m sure that you can,” he says without anger or approval. Before Harry can decide if he’s comfortable with that response or not, Dumbledore continues, “I’ve seen the results of your screening exam. Now, I’m an old man and my memory isn’t what it used to be, so I was wondering if you could tell me if your wounds were from your Aunt or your Uncle?” 

Harry stares at Dumbledore for a few seconds, trying to find the script that they’re using but he keeps coming up empty for what the man might be wanting to hear. Unable to find the right answer, he sighs. “My Uncle. My Aunt- she cared about me.”

“She never physically laid a finger on you, correct?” Harry nods. “Would you say that she loved you?”

Unfortunately for everyone, Harry wants to respond, but he doesn’t. “I believe she did.”

Dumbledore considers that answer for a few more seconds, then says, “She told me that it was her idea to put you in the cupboard.”

“It was her idea,” Harry defends quickly, “but she didn’t want it to be a permanent thing. Not at first, anyways. It was to keep me safe, though. It was just a way to ensure that I was out of the way for Uncle, because if I was out of sight and out of the way, then I wasn’t being…”

“Beaten, yes, that does corroborate what she told me. I see.” Dumbledore waves his hand and a tray of goods appear before them. He picks out a brownie for himself, placing it onto the stool to ensure that it’s in easy reach for all of them. “Pick something, Mr Potter. You as well, Severus.”

Severus Snape, Harry files that away for later, glad to finally know the man’s name. He’d felt so anxious at the Welcoming Feast that he hadn’t been able to listen to the introductions of the staff. It was only Draco’s company that finally allowed him to calm down enough to eat.

He hesitantly picks out a small donut, watching as Severus grabs a small pastry for himself, though he seems just as hesitant and awkward with his as Harry. It’s mildly comforting to not be the only one struggling to not make a mess or mistake. 

“Am I being expelled?” Harry asks after they spend too much time in silence. 

The Professor looks over at Harry, dark eyes staring right into Harry’s soul. 

“I said to you that you were not being sent home previously. I assumed you could come to the conclusion you would not be expelled either on your own,” Snape responds with a glare at the pastry in his hand, “but... to assuage your worries, I will make it crystal clear for you, Mr Potter. No, you will not be expelled from Hogwarts, given that you’ve done nothing deserving of an expulsion. You will also not be sent back to the Dursley’s, now or at any future date. You will remain a student here at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future.” 

Professor Snape shares another look with the Headmaster before the Headmaster says, “We were actually going to discuss your placement with you.”

“But I’m a Slytherin?” Harry says, meaning to state it but it comes out as a question. For a heartstopping moment, he considers having to switch Houses when he’s already found a small group of people who don’t hate him. 

Hermione is smart, and she’s nice to him, and even though she does talk his ear off sometimes and get on his case about the possibility of inviting ants with his food hoarding, she taught him a statis charm to keep his food from going bad.

Draco, too, is nice to him, and has been friendly ever since they bumped into each other while getting fitted for robes. 

“Hogwarts, too?” asked the blond boy still getting his robes fitted to his frame, looking at Harry through the mirror. “I’m going to be a first year.”

Harry nods. “Me too.”   

“I’m Draco Lucius Malfoy. And yourself?”

And Harry, in spite of the curling shame in his stomach at standing next to someone so polished while wearing his cousin’s cast-offs with a blackeye as an accessory, responds, “Harry James Potter.”

For a moment, Draco pauses, eyes wandering to the scar that Harry’s always tried to hide his entire life. If Harry could move his hands without interfering with the magical measuring tape, he would have pushed his hair down to cover it up better, but he can’t, so he watches as the boy catches sight of it, barely reacting.

After a second full of anxiety on Harry’s part, Draco says, “My father is waiting for me nearby. If it’s alright with you, would you like to have some lunch with us after we’re done here? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, and I’m honestly starving.”

After that day, Draco and he had exchanged letters through Hedwig. Uncle Vernon hadn’t been brave enough to stop the letters, simply throwing him into the smaller room and considering him all but gone. 

And when they finally shared a room, Draco and he had spent a lot of time together, studying or playing chess or just sitting at one table together with the other Slytherins that Draco’s also friends with. 

And even though he hasn’t exactly been out-going, the other Slytherins have been friendly to him, which is more than he’s ever received from his peers before. He doesn’t want to lose that. He doesn’t want to go on for another 7 years in a House that doesn’t even notice he exists or just wants to be friends because he’s meant to save their world or whatever.

He wants friends. Allies are useful, sure, but keeping an alliance is fickle business. And the Slytherins are as close to having friends as he’s ever had.

“I don’t w- Do I have to switch Houses, sir?” Harry corrects himself, catching himself before he begins to complain or go on with an I want statement.

The Headmaster shakes his head but doesn’t chide Harry for his insolence. “Not your House placement, Harry. I meant where you would be placed- who your guardian will be and where you’ll be living, that is.”

For a moment, the men stare at Harry as he processes the information. He feels something cold in his stomach unraveling and tightening all at once. Suddenly, an understanding of the situation hits him, and it feels as though he’s been dunked under ice water, his hands shaking. 

He’d been so focused on the possibility of being expelled that he hadn’t even thought about what would happen to his Aunt now that he’d gone on and yapped about his life story.

It had felt good, at the time, to tell his story. For once, people were looking at him, they were listening and he wasn’t afraid of what would happen if his Uncle found out.

For once in his freakish life, adults seemed to care even though the very idea of it was laughable- him, a freak, being listened to by adults as if he had something important to say? But he was so desperate not to be sent home and for someone to care. He just wanted someone to finally know so that he would be able to tell himself that what had happened was real and wasn't just some terrible nightmare or him overreacting- it was real.

And it was. It was real. And Harry doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. 

“Are you going to have my Aunt arrested for abuse?” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Dumbledore looks at him over his glasses. “No, Harry. I went to the Dursley household to speak with your Aunt, who did confirm your testimony. She was also abused, and, from the information you’ve given us and the information that she gave- you and her were on good terms. She wasn’t an abuser of yours, is that correct?”

Shakily, Harry nods. 

“If that’s the case, then there’s no reason to worry for her. Your Aunt will be fine.”

“Is my uncle…?” Harry trails off, unsure of how to continue.

Severus is the one to help him ask the question without finishing the sentence. “The Headmaster is the one who’ll be handling the case to ensure that you have the utmost privacy from the press and that your information will not reach any of the Dark Lord’s followers. Because of that, this won’t be reaching the law enforcement, nor will he be imprisoned.”

“And my aunt?”

“Safe. She left with your cousin shortly after the Headmaster spoke with them, though she did tell me to give you her regards. Once she secures a more permanent living situation, she says that she would love to meet with you again.”

Harry looks down at his hands, trying to bite down on the burning feeling in his chest. Of course they would leave him behind. 

It makes sense, of course, that they’d leave now that they didn’t need to worry about Vernon going mental and hurting anyone.

But...after he spent so long being Vernon’s punching bag so that Aunt Petunia wouldn’t be, and they just left him when he wasn’t even there to protest. He couldn’t have even demanded to go with them, because he wasn’t there when they discussed it. He wasn’t there when she made that decision to leave.

Guess Uncle Vernon was right, then. Nobody wants freaks like him, after all. 

“So… She’s gone? That’s it?” he asks, wanting to be angry but only landing in denial and a desperate hope that this is all a bad dream. “She left me?”

The Headmaster hums, setting down his third brownie. “Harry, you must understand that your Aunt did not want to leave you behind, but she couldn’t be allowed to keep you. The only reason that she managed to escape now is because your Uncle can no longer threaten her into submission, using you and your cousin as bargaining chips to keep your Aunt in line.”

After Harry falls into silence for too long, Snape says, “Why do you think she’s only escaping now, Potter?”

“She decided to escape now...” Harry whispers, frowning as he thinks more on it. “Because Uncle Vernon had the key to my cupboard, so leaving would have meant leaving me in his care.”

“And what if she tried to unlock that cupboard door, maybe broke it down using whatever tools were at her disposal?”

“If she ran off with me anyway… Uncle would have called the police. He used to threaten her saying that he’d call in his law buddies and say that it was her who hurt me, because she really hated my mum. So if she ran off with me as bruised as I was, she would’ve… gotten in trouble.”

“Indeed,” Snape responds, “But if you were brought to court- what then? Surely, she could tell them that it was he who abused you? You’d be able to corroborate that story, wouldn’t you?”

Harry thinks on it for a few seconds before he sighs and the anger slowly drips from his fingers. “Uncle Vernon convinced our neighbors and my teachers that I’m off in the head. I don’t think many would’ve believed me.” 

A few times, Uncle Vernon had even convinced his teachers. Maybe there are some files that still list him as mad, or disturbed. Or whatever the name for him was in their files, names too long and hard to pronounce to remember. Some files with terrible lies on them, painting a picture that wouldn’t help them escape. Another piece of the puzzle of the shackles that kept them bound to the man who built himself to be a tyrant to his own family.

“So she’d have lost me, at the very least, and quite likely Dudley too, because he’d rather stay with Uncle and would agree with whatever story she tells.”

Though Harry hates the lumbering oaf, he can acknowledge that Dudley’s had his mind twisted into a mess by Uncle Vernon. Dudley’s practically Vernon Jr, but with more issues, more anger, and a lot more fear in his eyes whenever he sees his father turn to him. 

“Don’t treat me like I’m Harry!” Dudley had shouted once, aiming for a brave and angry tone, but the quiver of his voice said enough.

And Harry- Harry has always been his Aunt’s and nobody else’s.

While his cousin would sit with his father in front of the telly, getting bigger and stronger and angrier, Harry sat at his Aunt’s feet as she taught him about how to make himself scarce, how to even out the playing field by fighting smart and not hard. 

She taught him how to be courteous and how to weave words into pretty little non-lies and negotiate and persuade and succeed.

He’s always been a scrawny kid, but he wasn’t dumb, at least. He read his weight in books and even the Sorting Hat said he could make it in Ravenclaw with his drive to learn. But his Aunt didn’t teach him to study hard and to always be observant to become a scholar- she taught him to aim for the top, to climb with bloodstained fingers until all of his competition looked like specks in the distance.

It was ambition that got him through 11 years. Ambition to become someone. To prove Vernon wrong. 

To make his Aunt proud.

“So?” Severus says impatiently, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. 

“So it’d be the word of a jobless housewife and a mental boy, versus the director of a company and a student on a scholarship for athletics. It was too risky to try with how likely it was we would lose the case.”

Severus nods sharply. “Do you see?” he asks and Harry does. He does understand. But it still hurts.

“Where’s she going?” Harry asks through the ache in his chest.

“She’s going to be staying with one of her friends until she can find a job and support herself and her son.”

Harry nods, staring down at his lap so that they don’t see how weak he’s being. He’s never been a crybaby, but finding out that your only family is gone is surely an event where he’s definitely allowed to be one. “Which orphanage am I going to, then?” he asks, glad that his voice only shakes a little.

Severus clears his throat. Harry looks up at him past the tears in his eyes. “As your Head of House, I stand as the second parent of all my students. Whenever there is a case where the legal guardians or parents of a child are unavailable, they fall under my care. So, you will legally become my ward.”

If Aunt Petunia cannot take him back… At least this way, he remains a student.

Harry tries to push down the hope that burns alive in his chest like a phoenix coming to life. He can’t afford to be hasty in his hope, because he knows it often leads to disappointment quicker than it can burn into something fruitful. But this is a man who Draco trusts with his life, who Hermoine says is a genius in his field. 

If there is anyone who will be able to help Harry to survive and to do what he needs to do and make a life for himself and prove that he’s someone worth his parents’ sacrifice- it has to be Professor Severus Snape.

Harry blinks, realizing that Professor Snape is still speaking. “... understand that I might not be your first choice, but we will need to be civil and mature for this arrangement to work to both of our expectations. Do you have any questions?”

“Was it... your choice to take me in, Professor? Or was it just… protocol?” he asks, tilting his head. He already knows his decision, but this will give him a bit of insight into what he’s in for. 

An enemy can almost be an ally if you know how to push them in the right direction to do what you want them to.

Professor Snape gives him a look that’s almost understanding before he nods. “It was my decision to accept you as my ward. If I’d refused to accept the responsibility, you would have been placed elsewhere. Do you have any objections to this, Harry?”

Harry. 

Not Potter.

“I have no objections,” he says with a small smile, trying to remain casual and not like he’s desperate for a parent or anything.

Professor Snape gives him a small smile, one that Harry’s only ever seen him use with Draco. It makes his chest fill with so much warmth that he thinks it may shatter him, but instead of shattering, his grin grows wider. 

“You will be given an extra room in Professor Snape’s quarters, along with the room you already have, in case you have a need for it. In the case of breaks from school, Christmas, and summer vacation, you will also be staying with Professor Snape, whether that be at Hogwarts with him or at his own private home. As you are under his care, he can also sign for you in medical treatment, permission slips, and fill whatever duties a parent normally would.”

Harry nods at that, not really caring about the fine print of his ward-ship. 

“Harry, might I ask you a personal question?” Dumbledore asks quietly, his eyes becoming serious. Harry nods. “If you were to decide on your Uncle’s punishment- and there were no limits to what you could do, you had the ability to alter reality itself and would face no consequences- what would you want for him?”

The question stuns Harry, but it’s no more convoluted than the would-you-rathers he’s heard before, so he thinks. 

He doesn’t want the man dead, because killing someone is illegal. And even after everything he’s done to Harry, Harry doesn’t want to kill him. And he’s still Harry’s uncle, so even wishing that he was dead feels wrong. 

The same goes with torture, even though he could think of a few of those. It’s not something that Harry could dole out to anyone, even his Uncle Vernon. Maybe not even Voldemort.

But if Harry could decide… 

“I would want him to humiliate himself,” Harry says quietly, unsure if this is a test of some sort or if they’re going to punish him for having such wicked thoughts. “Maybe at work or something.”

His Uncle always degraded him, insulting him constantly, reminding him how low and worthless he is, even when he tries his best. Maybe if his uncle could feel that sharp burn of humiliation on something that means a lot to him and feel the sense of knowing that no matter how much you try, you’re a fool for whatever you do, maybe he can learn to become more empathetic. Maybe if he messes up at work and people start whispering about him, he can begin to understand how Harry feels whenever his uncle begins telling horrible lies about him.

The Headmaster nods at that, eyes twinkling, while his own Head of House assesses him like he’s a particularly interesting potion. It’s both unnerving and comforting, because he’s never been truly seen in such a way before and nobody’s cared enough to look so closely as Professor Snape does to him whenever he moves funny or opens his mouth.

“Well, I will give you two boys some space. I’ll begin the paperwork,” Dumbledore says, giving Harry a kind smile before he stands up and walks away, closing the curtain behind him. 

For a moment, neither Snape nor Harry speak, just regarding one another. Then Harry blurts out the first question that enters his head. “What if I fail potions?”

His professor stays silent for a moment, his jaw clenching as though trying to keep himself from yelling or laughing. 

It doesn’t bode well with Harry that he doesn’t know which.

“Well, Potter, if you fail Potions, then that means you’d need remedial classes in the subject, just as with any other class, though I do insist that you don’t make it your goal to fail in my class or any other,” the man says, “I will not be going easy on you in my class simply because you’re my charge. If anything, I expect even more from you than your peers.”

The answer makes an embarrassing amount of sense. 

“Now, it’s my turn to ask a question.” Snape moves the tray of goodies closer to Harry. “I’ve heard that you hoard food in your room. Can you tell me why that is?”

Harry shifts before he finds the words. So far, he hadn’t been punished for telling the truth. For once in his life, he’d had a teacher listen to him and Vernon hadn’t immediately swooped in and ‘taken care of’ the situation. 

“Having food in my room… means that I won’t run out of food, just in case.”

Snape places his hand under his chin, scrutinizing Harry. “In your room in my quarters, would it make you feel safer to have access to food that nobody can take away from you? A small container that you can hide wherever you want?”

For a moment Harry wants to say yes, hope shining in his eyes, but then it deflates just as quickly when he realizes that this may very well just be a test. Being greedy and needing a lot isn’t something any adult would want to deal with. 

Harry clamps down on the disappointment and shakes his head. “It’s okay. I don’t need it. I eat enough already during meals.” 

Small and humble, not asking for too much. It’s what will make him pleasant and good and desirable as a child. 

Snape hums deep in his throat, looking at the tray. “I know there is more than enough food in the Great Hall to sate your hunger. I was asking if you want it. It’ll be no problem to have installed, after all, as it’ll be provided by the school itself as part of the compensation that is given for your care.”

Harry hesitates again before nodding. If it’s his money, then maybe he can actually benefit from it even a little bit before it’s taken from him. 

“Is there anything about you- a medical condition or something else- that I should know?” 

For a moment, Harry wants to open his mouth and tell his Professor about the way his magic sometimes “explodes”, and it feels terrifying and amazing all at once, like there’s a casanova and a storm in his veins but he isn’t sure if his body can contain that kind of energy without bursting.

He wants to talk about the aching and insatiable hunger and the way that everything tilts and he’s burning for a few moments or a few hours or more, before he wakes up, bedraggled, stained in dirt and blood and morning dew, clothes torn into shreds that even his Uncle has to frown at.

Harry doesn’t understand what happens during those moments, but his Uncle beats the casanova right out of him until he’s sure that nothing except for blood has ever flowed through his veins.

He wants to share it, but… Madam Pompfrey’s already told him that accidental magic is normal, so telling his Head of House that seems rather redundant, like telling someone who teaches science that the sun is a star. 

So instead he shakes his head. “No, sir, I don’t think so.”

“In that case, perhaps it should be best if you rest some more. I’ll fetch you after you’ve been cleared by Madam Pompfrey and we will have dinner together in my quarters. Maybe you can have a night in my quarters to acquaint yourself with it before classes begin. Do you have any disagreements with that?”

Harry gives the man a small smile. “That sounds great, sir. I look forward to it.”

Next Chapter:

“Several people worked together to ensure you have a comfortable and safe bedroom,” Severus says gently, “Even Hagrid tried to give you some kind of creature’s egg, but after some bawling, he finally conceded into giving you that painting of a dragon and a stuffed kneazle.” Severus jerked his head at the table. “Albus… left you a gift, which you can find in your closet if you’re perceptive enough. One that James Potter would have wanted you to have, according to him. He also kindly added numerous wards to the room to keep you as safe as possible.”