A snowplough trailed along the otherwise empty, frozen roads of Little Whinging on a Tuesday afternoon, the heavy flurry seemingly deterring any of the traffic that would normally frequent the roads on any other day. Sheets of snow covered every house along the street and every bare tree was graced with a layer of ice, mirroring the layer of the ice that covered the field, preventing even an inkling of green from shining through the vast, undisturbed white. A lone man in pitch-black lay witness to the plow as it crossed paths with him as he trudged through the layers of white cold. 

Clad in all black muggle clothing, Severus Snape made his way down to the path towards the primary school feeling more annoyed than he usually did, if that was even possible with the bitter man. He had apparated as close to the school as he could have in consideration for the possible eyes that could have been peeking through the shutters of the picturesque houses that lined the quaint-looking neighbourhood. Even then, the twenty-minute trek from Wisteria Walk was less than ideal for virtually anyone.

His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his long, wool coat and his face was tucked into the collar of said coat to fight back against the biting winds of the early December day. The only bliss he had in his current predicament was the impermeability charm he had cast on his body, ensuring that any snow that may have stuck to his form would immediately melt from his body heat and slide off as if it were rain sliding off a window, leaving him dry in spite of the cold.

When Dumbledore came into his office that morning, face conveying that he had an agenda, Severus knew that he would be privy to an unpleasant day. There was a call from Arabella Figg, the headmaster had told him, claiming that Harriet Potter’s school had called for her to be collected and that the Dursleys were unavailable. This was the start of his mission to her kneazle-infested house and into the Muggle world that he despised so greatly. To think he was forced to floo all this way simply to walk a child back from school, barely an hour after it started was more than a little infuriating to him.

He stepped into the linoleum floors of the school, out of place in the small but bright building. As he walked along the walls, which were covered in crudely made crafts from young hands, his face soured further as he laid eyes on the small office at the end of the hall. Entering, he was met with a stout, severe-looking woman who watched him with caution. 

“Harriet Potter, where is she?” Severus demanded standoffishly at the doughty woman behind the desk, who continued to gape at him and his demeanour. When she finally seemed to snap out of her disposition, her face morphed into one of suspicion.

“What is your relation to her?” her dark blue eyeshadow crinkled as she regarded him with narrowed eyes and tried to discern his possible relation to the seven-year-old, “I don’t suppose you are who Petunia Dursley noted would come to collect her today.”

“Cokeworth.”

Her eyes lit up in recognition at the code word that the Dursley matriarch must have left at the front desk for the man who would come pick up the student. The frown on her face deepened and it did not seem as if her apprehensiveness of the man was alleviated in any way. But seemingly feeling as if she had done her due diligence and done with her inquiry, her voice turned perky as she rattled off explanations regarding the child in question. 

“The child had fallen into a ditch before the bell, lord knows what she could have been doing to have that happen. Not only did she come to class late and soaking wet,” she paused to jot down something into a massive binder laid out on her desk, her poorly painted nails leaving a green streak beside whatever nonsense she had recorded before she continued, “but when her teacher, Mrs. Martin tried her best to reprimand her, she didn’t seem to respond to any of it. She asked to go home, and we had no business keeping her here-”

“I did not ask for gossip, I asked for her location.”

Letting out an offended noise, she responded, “she went to the restroom to try and dry up. Her uniform was a sloshing mess,” she glanced towards the door behind him, “here she comes now.”

Severus turned to follow her gaze, eyes landing on a small form walking towards the office.

 She was dressed in her aforementioned uniform, but it seemed ill-fitting as if it were not even bought for her in the first place. Tuney’s only child was a boy, a reportedly overweight one if Figg’s account was anything to go by but not one with the penchant for female clothing, as far as he knew. However, the skirt seemed to be just that, made for someone twice her size if its bagginess was anything to go by. As she shifted around an incoming student, Severus caught sight of the waist of the skirt, which seemed to have been held up by a cord of rope which scrunched up the skirt so it would stay up. Her equally large blazer peaked out from underneath a dull-coloured sweater which itself seemed to be standing on its last legs. 

Her face was expectedly a near-identical copy of his former bully, save for the absent glasses, and he could feel his resentment growing just looking at her. Though, she sported heavy, purple bags under her eyes and she seemed to purposefully be avoiding eye contact with anyone, especially the adults that passed her as they eyed her damp figure but not made any move to approach her. 

His eyes wandered down to her shoes, which contrasted her leggings that he noted were torn at the knees, likely from her recent tumble into the aforementioned ditch if the redness of her knees was any indication. The shoes themselves were scuffed beyond recognition, more grey than black with all the marks that covered them. His breath got caught in his throat as he finally landed on her scar, which occasionally peeked out from behind her curtain of shaggy curls. 

She looked pathetic, every aspect of her looking desolate and nothing like what he would assume the saviour of the Wizarding World to look like. Severus felt a twinge of annoyance looking at her and he sighed as he reminded himself that he still had to talk to her, so he could not exhaust all his negative emotions already. She seemed oblivious to the stares projected her way, eyes focussed solely on her hands for whatever reason. However, as she got closer, he realized just what she was looking at.

Her chapped hands were in a state. The tips of them were still blue from frostbite, despite evidently being inside for a period of time, and they were covered in lacerations so severe that they were purple with swelling. While no longer bleeding, it was clear that they were at one point though that trip to the restroom seemed to be for more than just drying herself off. They were cleaned to the best of their ability, yet still distorted with little cuts and bruises that looked as painful as they were fresh.

“I see your school makes it a habit to practice corporal punishment,” he remarked dryly to the receptionist- Charlotte Smith her desk plaque read- trying to contain his anger at the familiar practice.

A bead of foundation was collecting sluggishly at the woman’s hairline as a groaning portable heater in the corner of the room continued to blast warm air towards her relentlessly. She tittered off, “Not usually, but she apparently doesn’t respond to words. We have tried everything but poor thing may be lame I’m afraid: skipping class, destroying school property. She hasn’t done a shred of her homework since the beginning of the year, I don’t even think she can read yet.”

“‘Lame’,” Severus repeated. Before the chatty lady could elaborate, the girl made it into earshot and finally seemed to look up, eyes immediately landing on the imposing Potions Master, familiar green eyes meeting his own dark ones. Severus could feel any possible resentment he was feeling immediately dissipate as they stared at each other for a moment wordlessly.

It had been six years since he last got to see those eyes. Six years since those green eyes looked up at him lifelessly as he became only just too late to save their owner. 

She broke the silence. 

“H-hi,” she started lamely. When Severus did not respond, she continued, “Are you here to pick me up? Where’s Aunt Petunia? Or Mrs. Figg?”

Snapping out of his memory-induced trance, Severus’ eyes hardened once again when her face as a whole came back into focus. 

“I will be escorting you home today, Ms. Potter. Your aunt was predisposed. Arabella is ill-prepared to venture into the snow simply because you do not wish to be at school,” he started coldly, his unintentional nostalgia dissipating as he watched her squeeze her less injured hand in nervousness, “If you could collect your school things, we can leave.”

Harriet seemed to not notice his disdain of her, or remained pointedly undeterred by it, “I don’t have anything,” she responded dismissively. Severus heard the older woman let out a sympathetic noise at that, causing Harriet to tense but not respond as she continued, “I’m ready to go.”

Severus’ eyes widened when he regarded her sweater once again. It was threadbare at best, falling apart at worst. Either way, it was nowhere near appropriate for the below-zero atmosphere outside, nor was she otherwise prepared to brave the weather or the snow that rested outside the brick walls. She bit her lip as he looked her over, aware of his disapproval of her. He was about to protest before he paused. 

It wasn’t his business if she decided to go into the snow dressed as she was, his only job was to get her home and who was he to make that job more complicated than it had to be? If she did not take the responsibility of coming to school in the appropriate attire or with the appropriate supplies, far be it for him to parent her for it. Biting back his opposition, he turned to the receptionist, “Very well, need I sign anything before we go?”

The receptionist handed him the binder and pointed to the green stain she had made with her nail. 

“Just sign here and she is free to lollygag as she pleases,” she turned to the girl in false pity, “I hope Mrs. Martin was able to teach you a lesson today, dear. Don’t think that we enjoy this as much as you seem to think we do,” as if she were the one to inflict those injuries on her hand in the first place and was now apologizing for harassing her. 

“Yes Mrs. Smith. Thank you,” Harriet nodded obediently though her face remained skillfully blank as Severus signed her off. She tucked her hands into the paws of her sweater as she turned and walked out of the office without a goodbye to the woman, waiting outside as the man signed for her release. 

“With any luck, perhaps her aunt and uncle will eventually be able to undo any lunacy she inherited from those lousy parents of hers” the receptionist rattled off. Severus tensed at the implication about his former friend but remained otherwise unreactive - only because it would be inappropriate to hex her into the next century at a primary school. Without saying goodbye either, Severus handed back her binder and exited the small office, already prepared to never return if he had anything to say about it.

He found her waiting patiently at the entrance of the school, leaning against the wall and keeping her head down and not meeting any of the glances sent her way by passing students or teachers. Even under her sweater paws which were tucked in front of her, her hands trembled, and she seemed as if she were moments from fainting at any given moment.

When Severus entered the vestibule, the entire area seemingly emptied itself. His tall, imposing demeanour seemed to daunt anyone from trying to approach the duo. Harriet seemed to notice this, evidently relaxing as scared children and intimated adults left them alone in the small entryway. She smiled a small smile of relief to herself before letting her green eyes travel up to his face in apprehension. 

Severus sucked in a breath as he looked at her. All he needed to do was get her home yet…

“Let me see your hands,” he instructed, feeling the need to look them over for his own peace of mind; the idea that he needed peace of mind from her injuries being a frustrating thought. Harriet remained hesitant yet, following a shrug of her shoulders, pulled back her sweater, wincing at the biting chill of the foyer. He glanced down taking in the state of her bluish hands. As he did, her observation remained on the icicles that lined the bricks outside the large glass windows with lidded eyes, seemingly half-asleep already.

Up close, the injuries were much redder and rawer than he had initially given them credit for. Bending down slightly, he took gentle hold of her sweater to push it up to see more of the same injury lining her skinny forearms, though now paired with a plethora of bruises, both new and old judging by the colour of it. Her attention seemed to have homed in on the expression on his face because when he lifted his head to look at her, her face had shifted into surprise at whatever his face expressed. 

Looking back down, he deemed the injuries superficial enough to be treated when they get back to her house, “You will survive. Let us go, Potter. The sooner you get to your home, the sooner I can leave you to your idiocy,” he informed her impatiently, mindfully pulling her sweater back down, pointedly keeping himself from asking of the origin of her injuries. They could have very well been from her tumble, yet he stifled the part of his mind that contested that conclusion. He stood upright and started to leave until he heard her speak up.

“Wait!” Severus turned back to give her a scathing look, prompting her to shy away but she continued regardless, “I-I don’t know your name.”

“Is it important?” he demanded impatiently. Harriet began to chew her lip again, fiddling with the end of s strand of hair with two fingers that peeked out from the sleeves of her sweater.

“You knew my name,” she whispered, “I… wanted to know yours. I can’t go home with a stranger.”

“You may call me Professor Snape.”

She perked up at his admittance, “You’re a professor? What do you teach?”

She seemed more spritely than she was moments ago but Severus was in no mood to talk to her when he did not need to. Ignoring her question, he started towards the door again, only vaguely aware of her following. He stepped outside and realized it was snowing again with disdain, though he noticed the gasp from the child as she walked onto the salted concrete more so than the chill that seemed to occupy his body from the sudden shift in the temperature.

“It- it got colder,” she did not seem keen in the slightest to trek home in the current weather and while Severus did not blame her, he also did not sympathize with her. 

Severus could not hold back his smarminess at her remark, “It would be for someone who chose to dress as you did.”

“I didn’t choose it,” she muttered. For the first time, he could hear her voice held an air of… bitterness, though Severus did not follow up. Part of him felt self-loathing for assuming that she would actually choose to be out in the below-freezing temperature without even a scarf. Not addressing the issue any further, Severus turned and prompted the start to their trek back to the Privet Drive home, as snow fell around them.

The first half of their venture was entirely silent, save for the crunching of their feet in the light layer on snow that was overtaking the newly cleaned sidewalk. He kept his steps brisk, intentionally at first, though eventually a mindless pace, only to be somewhat matched by the noise of softer, quicker paces from a bit behind him. He could only imagine what it looked like with him bundled to brave the cold while she stumbled along in her thin sweater and overly large skirt among the snowy paths. 

“Why did Aunt Petunia ask you to come get me? Do you know her? Was there no one else?” she must have realized how that must have sounded because she was quick to amend as she said, “I don’t mind that you came! I’m glad in fact. I just don’t know who you are unless we’ve met before and I forgot. If I did then- ah!”

Severus turned in time to notice her on the ground. He didn’t have a chance to help her up before she was already scrambling to her feet, mindful of the patch of ice that sent her tumbling in the first place. Her hair covered her face as she wiped the snow that clung to her clothes as a result of the fall, muttering apologies under her breathe.

“Are you alright?” he asked impatiently. Eyeing as one of her hands turned a violent shade of blue as she rushed to brush off the snow and tuck it safely into the confines of her useless sweater. She was shivering now and breathing heavily.

“I’m fine,” though the inflection in her voice made it clear that she was close to tears. As she pushed her hair back, wiping her nose briefly on the shoulder of her sweater before walking forward, much slower than last time. She looked exhausted yet she did not complain and seemed to be holding herself back from becoming a sobbing mess in his presence, something he was both grateful for and inexplicably annoyed by. The Potions Master stifled any emotions he could have projected and turned to continue the walk back though he allowed her the courtesy of slowing down ever so slightly so that she could somewhat keep up with her new pace.

As they reached the main road, Severus could not help but watch as her condition continued to deteriorate in front of him with unease. Her lips were a proper blue now and she was trembling, but she kept walking on with her sweater-tucked hands pushed into the cavities of her arms to retain some semblance of warmth. Contrasting his dryness, her layers of hair were covered in flecks of snow, matching those that graced her eyelashes and the shoulders of her sweater as well. Severus’ eyes widened as she narrowly avoided a large patch of ice vaguely hidden underneath the accumulating layer of snow on the sidewalk, only to lose her balance to be on the verge of falling again. 

Severus didn’t know what instinct took over him, but he started moving towards her just as she began to collapse, knobby knees crossing as she fell towards the ground. He immediately caught her before she could land. His hands landed under her arms and hers lands on top of his and he noted regretfully as her uncovered hands were now a violent shade of red, making her injuries look entirely purple.

She was breathing heavily, laboriously as she tried to temper her panic. She was shaking harder than ever at this point, in combination of both the cold and her own anxiety at his proximity.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why…” she immediately tried her best to stand on her own and hold in her tears at the same time. Before he could rationalize himself out of it, he pulled her closer before her legs gave out from below her, wrapping an arm around her knees as he did before he stood back to his full form with her in his grip. She dropped her hands on his shoulders lightly, pushing herself away as her eyes widened.

“You don’t have to. I’m sorry,” she babbled urgently, looking desperate to be left down despite the likelihood that she wouldn’t be able to even stand, let alone move. Her voice was pitched high, and she looked uncomfortable as though she had never been carried before.

“Quiet,” he snapped, agitated. She immediately pressed her lips together, quietly letting him take her home as he was required to.

The snow fell around them more urgently and initially. Harriet had made a pointed effort to lean away from Severus as much as she could without actively toppling over. She remained stiff in his hold, and the older man could feel himself biting back from cursing at her for making this so much more difficult for the two of them than it had to be. She looked as if she was unsure of what she had to do with herself, none the wiser on the etiquette on how to be held as he was to how to hold her. 

Severus did not enjoy how small she was. He had not met too many kids her age, but he knew enough to know she could not have been healthy. For instance, in comparison to his goddaughter, Harriet was severely underweight. Severus would not be surprised if her subtle shivers were perpetual and not just reserved for the cold winter morning or the injuries she was sporting.  

As they passed Figg’s house on Wisteria Walk, he slowly felt her inching closer into him, until eventually she had swayed in enough that the pull of resting her head on his shoulder became too tempting to resist. He tried to ignore her tentative placement in the crook of his neck; the way her cold cheek siphoned his warmth even though she seemed all too determined to avoid trying anything literally moments ago. He glanced down at her, finding her eyes shut. 

He finally saw the blue sign which innocuously announced their destination, the third house from the left looking equally as unassuming as every house on the rest of the street, perhaps every house in the rest of the city. 

He regarded the house, unimpressed. 

“Aunt Petunia let me pick out the bows,” Harriet mentioned without turning around to motion at the string of excessively glittery red bows that lined the front door. He heeded them little mind and silently opened the door with one hand, balancing the girl in the other arm.

“Aunt Petunia let me pick out the bows,” Harriet mentioned without turning around to motion at the string of excessively glittery red bows that lined the front door. He heeded them little mind and silently opened the door with one hand, balancing the girl in the other arm.

Continued…

The inside looked much like the outside; unintentionally gaudy and alarmingly ordinary. He set down the child, lingering until he was sure that she wouldn’t keel over. 

She removed her shoes and pulled off her sweater and blazer to take everything to the hallway closet, where she shoved the items to the very back. She turned back to him, left in an equally shoddy looking white button down that looked as if it could fit a man of his size into it as opposed to a girl of hers. She had folded up the sleeves at least thrice just so they would only just end above her hands. 

Finished with the task, she looked around the home, unsure of what she was to do now.

 “Go sit in the living room,” he instructed. She hesitated at the threshold of the living room for only a moment before carefully making her way to sit on the couch. Severus followed behind, not bothering to take his winter clothes off. They were entirely dry anyways.

Harriet ran a hand over the couch’s upholstery as if she had only experienced it for the first time. Severus couldn’t help but ask, “Why were you sent home early?”

“I didn’t get sent home, I asked to go home,” Harriet replied, adjusting her damp sleeves so that they covered her hands, a habit it would seem.

“Was school not worth your precious time?” the Potion’s Master scoffed. He took in the state of her hands and he felt his annoyance get shadowed by concern and he felt the words leave his mouth before he could think of them, “Why are you wet?”

“My cousin Dudley and his friends were chasing me across the field,” she explained vaguely, “I tripped and fell into the ditch and I stayed under there until they left. By the time they left, the bell had gone off and I was covered in snow.”

“Why were they chasing you?” Snape asked.

“Dudley’s friend Piers dared him to cut off a piece of my hair so he started running after me with scissors,” she explained, “But Dudley is… he isn’t the fastest, he’s kind of big, so his friends were trying to help him.”

She was staring at the Christmas tree next to the windowsill as she spoke, eyes trailing across the never-ending piles of presents that lined the ground and the fireplace that Severus somehow knew were not meant for her. Her jaw was clenched in frustration more than sadness, and yet she spoke as if she were speaking on the weather and not on the brutal harassment she was facing at the hands of her cousin.  

“Why did your teacher hit you if your cousin was the instigator?” indicating towards her frail hands, eyeing the layers of injuries that were inflicted upon them by someone who had forgotten the virtues of restraint.

“I… was late to class so I got 10 lashes and I made a mess because I was dirty so I got 10 more. So, I got 20 altogether,” she responded, with a hint of pride only when she explained the math of her abuse, “I was troublesome and then I didn’t say sorry.”

“Did she not ask why you were late and dirty?”

“No, she didn’t ask,” she said, picking at the peeling skin on one of her hands casually, “She gave me the lashes and then she made me stand in the corner for a long time and when my time was done, I didn’t want to be there anymore. I asked if I could go home because I was feeling sick, and Mrs. Martin said that it would be good riddance so I… just…I don’t think Mrs. Martin likes me very much.”

The silence aired in the room for what seemed to be forever as Severus held back the desire to hex “Mrs. Martin” straight into the cells of Azkaban. Instead, holding in a groan, the man kneeled down on one knee in front of her, forcing her to shuffle back from her position on the couch in surprise, “What are you…”

Severus did not allow her a chance to continue as he ruffled through his bottomless pockets, wincing as he felt some things get knocked over, though continued his search until he palmed what he was looking for and pulled it out: his healing kit. She looked at the sizable bag curiously, before letting her eyes drift to his pocket, clearly questioning where he could have possibly stored that bag though he did not provide an explanation. 

“Your hands,” he demanded dryly, which she presented readily and with too much trust for someone she had just met less than one hour ago. 

She didn’t seem the slightest bit scared of him, despite presenting her with glares and remarks that would have sent even his seventh-year students spiralling into a stay at St. Mungo’s. Severus knew what he looked like. Most days, it was a blessing to know that his batlike persona would defend him from unwelcome interaction but this seven-year-old seemed to have lost any sense of self-preservation and readily interacted with him instead of cowering away in fear. He could only imagine what would elicit a fearful response from her, if not him. Her perpetual demeanour of nervousness seemed only to be her steeling for the low likelihood that he would somehow make her injuries worse but was trusting of him regardless.

“These cuts need to be treated,” he determined. 

He took both of her hands into his with the utmost caution, holding them up as he silently made a list of what he would need. Her arm brushed his coat as he pulled her closer, her tired eyes widening slightly as she realized something. One of her hands immediately left his hold and went to his shoulder in wonderment. As much as Severus wanted to shrug it away, he stilled himself while the small force got more excited as she confirmed her realization.

“I couldn’t feel it outside but… you’re dry,” she noted wondrously, a small, eager hand running over the wool of his coat, “How are you still dry?”

“You ask quite a few questions, Potter,” Severus remarked, not looking up from her injured hand. They were blue again, and the cuts were again an aggravated purple, but she seemed unperturbed by it. 

She instantly pulled her hand away from its position on his shoulder, rolling it into a tight fist; a position he could imagine would extremely aggravate her injuries (and a brief flash of dread elicited the thought that perhaps that was the point), “I’m sorry. I can stop asking. I don’t know why I thought it was okay,” she said glumly. His long, spindly fingers ran over her tightly wound ones, encouraging her to stop, though she did not seem to notice in favour of tending to her anxiety around supposedly doing something wrong by simply being curious. 

 “I simply stated that you had many questions, I did not demand you stop asking. Though I will reserve to answer only what I choose.”

He could feel the fingers relax at his statement and when she spoke, it seemed lighter, if marginally so as they were returned to match the other one in his palm, “Right. So how did you stay so dry? And that pouch, where did it come from?”

Severus rolled his eyes, pulling out a small vial of wound-cleaning potion and dittany paste from his healing supplies. Harriet took in the bright, glittering purple of the potion with interest.

A penchant for glitter it would seem. Severus noted, remembering her choice of Christmas decoration outside. 

“I don’t suppose you would believe me if I said magic,” he pitched sarcastically, ruffling around his pouch for gauze. Once he found some, he poured the wound-cleaner on it, murmuring a quick warning of it stinging before running it over the cuts whilst ignoring her half-hearted yelp in protest.

The entire atmosphere of the room darkened at Severus’ remark, “Don’t say that word,” she warned seriously, the stinging of the potion immediately forgotten. Severus paused his treatment at her reaction.

Her face looked grim and pale at the same time. Severus raised a brow at her demeanour, wordlessly waiting for her to elaborate yet when she failed to, he finally asked, “Why not?”

“That’s only for freaks and we don’t welcome them here,” she stated unsurely, though they didn’t seem to be her own thoughts. If Severus didn’t know any better, she was merely reciting something that she must have heard many times before. As much as Severus wished to contest her with angry rhetoric, he supposed there was a better way to address the words that so clearly were not hers.

“And who told you that?” he drawled. He ignored her whimper as he ran the potion over a particularly large cut on the back of her wrist. He gave her a moment to catch her breath before he continued his treatment, surprised that she maintained as much composure as she was. 

“My Aunt Petunia and my Uncle Vernon,” she answered, “they say that my parents died because they were freaks, and that if I don’t want to join them then I should keep my freakishness to myself.”

“Your parents did not die because they were freaks,” Severus scowled. Harriet’s eyes snapped up to him in question but a look of warning from him must have been enough to let her know that this was one of the things that she was not to ask about it. She immediately shrunk away from her line of questioning; eyes apologetic as she realized that she probably hit a nerve. In an attempt to shift the conversation away from where it was heading, Severus wracked his brain for something to say.

“Besides,” he remarked in a hushed tone, “I am quite alright with being a freak if it means being nothing like that aunt of yours.”

He put down the potion and unscrewing the dittany tube with one hand as the other one occupied the both of hers. It was silent for a moment before she let out a single laugh, bright and jubilant, allowing what he could only assume was a rare smile to grace her face before she covered it behind her mane. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” he glowered. 

Despite the harsh words, Severus used gentle, skilled hands to dab the dittany over then wounds, pulling up her sweater to swipe some of it on her forearm, pointedly stopping at her scrawny elbow because he refused to see how far they go, because ignorance is bliss. The child leaned back on the couch, letting him work as he pleased. 

“Where are you from?” she asked, closing her eyes to avoid making a noise at the stinging of the paste as it worked to close up her wounds. Tucking her legs underneath her, she fell onto the arm of the couch, opening a single eye to look up him and waiting for an answer. 

“I come from a school,” he answered vaguely as he rubbed the paste into the last of her wounds; a small, infected one on the end of her elbow. 

“You live at a school?” she started, opening one confused eye before realization dawned her face, “It must be a boarding school.”

Severus nodded, “Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“My Uncle Vernon wants to send me to a boarding school for troubled children,” she murmured, somewhat upset, “but I think that I’m too small to go now, so I have to wait until I’m older.”

“Unfortunately, your uncle may be disappointed. When you come of age, I will have the displeasure of seeing you at Hogwarts. Your name has been on the list since the day you were born,” he whispered to match the new atmosphere of the room. 

Her head immediately shot up, both eyes wide and Severus had to lean away slightly to avoid getting hit in the head, “I get to go?”

“Unfortunately,” he agreed dryly, “When you turn 11.”

“I get to go,” she repeated, ignorant of his contempt at the notion, “I get to be a wizard.”

“A witch, you imbecile,” he grumbled, “And you already are one, you will just get to learn how to control your magic,” she flinched at the word, but he ignored it. 

“What do you teach?” she inquired, settling back further into the couch hesitantly as if this were her first time sitting on it. 

She seemed to have latched onto the idea of magic rather quickly, Severus was almost impressed. Still, Severus was becoming wearisome of all the questions, but he maintained his composure and rattled off impatiently, “Potions,” he motioned towards the vials lying next to him, hoping that the dismissiveness in his voice carried.

Though, apparently not. 

“Do you have a wand?” He monitored the arm, satisfied as the welts started to heal themselves before looking up at her to nod briefly and dropping her hands as his task came to an end. 

“Would you show me mag-” she started, before bristling at the forbidden word, “Would you use your wand? Please?”

Contemplating it for a second, Severus almost said no and announcing his leave. However, when she stared at him with those wide, green eyes, he felt himself reaching for his wand before he could even think to stop. Allowing her a moment to regard it, he pointed it in her direction. Her eyes in alarm before they screwed shut and she moved to cover her face, as if anticipating a blow. Undeterred, the potions master watched as the tendrils of coloured magic took form from the tip of his wand and wandered towards the small girl. He saw her crack open and gasp as she realized the harmless nature of the magic. Her eyes widened as the soft yellow magic took form of a herd of safari animals, which lazily circled her. 

Nudging her arm until it was parallel to the floor, he continued manipulating the magic into the form of a giraffe to walk along the skinny forearm noting intently as she took her other hand to lightly run over it and letting out a weak but delighted laugh as it dissipated into a cloud of glitter before reforming and seemingly huffed at her. Her green eyes then wandered to the lion and her cub as they floated around her rolling around in invisible grass and as a several birds floated around her head. 

“Magic is so pretty” she murmured, no longer tense as she voiced the previously forbidden word while a rhino stood in her small, injured palm. She quietly nudged it, the action prompting it to continue its lethargic run along her pale forearm before it came into contact with a galloping gazelle, and both dissipated into a bout of glitter. She ran one of her hands along her healed arms, marvelling as all that was left was the worst of her bruises as all of the cuts had faded away, not even a scar to indicate that they were ever even there. 

Severus watched her as she preoccupied herself with the display, looking at her frostbitten, bleeding hands and baggy, damp clothing, out of place in the picturesque suburban living room. The same clothes which he knew hid a plethora of additional injuries which he was too unwilling to take a look at. He looked at her, taking in her scuffed shoes as well as her frizzy, roughly chopped hair and he knew the signs when he saw it. 

“How can Aunt Petunia think it’s bad when this is what it is?” 

Severus eyed her famous scar, knowing just how bad magic can be though choosing not to bring it up in this moment. 

“I accidentally do freaky things sometimes,” she admitted distractedly, “I don’t mean to but I can do things that I know others can’t do,” she seemed to realize what she was saying and immediately stopped, opting to wordlessly focus on the animals that Severus was channeling instead. 

He suddenly understood why she wasn’t surprised; while she was seemingly forbidden from mentioning magic, it wasn’t at all a new idea to her for she had been using it, albeit accidentally, for quite a while now. As the illusion disappeared, he watched her hand curl around the last of the glitter with her mouth twisted in a small, sad smile as her eyes met his, “you brought me home. Do you have to go now?”

Severus opened his mouth to confirm but the front door opened before he could. Harriet tensed and she promptly sprung off of the couch, standing with her now-healed hands wringing anxiously in front of her as she let her hair curtain her face, concealing him to discerning what exact she was feeling in that moment. As she did, Severus glanced down at her by his side, catching sight of the back of her neck. From under the collar of her shirt, he could see a single red lash peeking out from where she had made clear efforts to conceal it with her blazer and Severus suddenly felt sick.

“Girl!” Severus heard her stern, loud voice before he could witness her withered face. Tuney only briefly glanced at the child before her face screwed into fury at her childhood enemy, “You. I never said you could enter my house.”

“Hello to you too, Tuney,” Severus started, catching Harriet’s confusion from the corner of his eye though she remained silent, “I see suburbia has failed to suit you.”

“Shut up, Severus,” she snarled viciously. She then turned back to Harriet, her demeanour stiff as she addressed the child though this time she included an inflection of more contained disdain, “You’re lucky I didn’t let you rot at school. You will find a way to clean up in there or Vernon will be more than happy to show you the consequences,” she told her coldly, referring to the specks of melted snow she had unintentionally left all over the couch and floor. 

Petunia’s hand was held to her side, hidden in a dark brown leather glove which matched the shade of her fur lined parka near perfectly, making her look like a large bear rug. Her other hand clutched a set of shopping bags, giving away where the woman was when she claimed that she was supposedly unavailable to pick up the child from school.

Harriet winced uncomfortably as she looked back at the mess but nodded and whispered obediently, maintaining her composure through her shaky response, “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

“She would be heartbroken if she saw the way you treated her daughter,” he remarked. Her face screwed into agony and sheer fury at his meaningful implication. 

“You do not get to say that to me, traitor. You don’t,” she snarled in contained rage. She almost took a step towards them, pausing only when Harriet flinched, and Severus made the point to take a small step in front of the child before turning back to the older woman in warning. Harriet was trembling more violently now, Severus could hear her breath pick up as the atmosphere of the room became sinister, “you don’t.”

They glared at each other for a long moment of tension before she finally broke the connection. Not giving Harriet or Severus another word, the older woman whirled around and silently made her way up the stairs, out of sight, not pausing to rid herself of her ridiculous winter attire. As she did, she gave the cupboard under the stairs a brief look and alarm brushed her face only briefly before she let indifference take over again. Harriet kept her head down as she went, Severus on the other hand maintained his glare on her form until she disappeared. It took a moment for Harriet’s breathing to return to normal, but she did not look any less scared.  

Something about his demeanour must have indicated that the child not ask what that was about because when Harriet leaned back to look at the much taller man again she repeated instead, “Do you have to go now?” 

“I do,” he acquiesced, ignoring the part of him that screamed at him to not leave her alone here again. 

His only job was to get her home, he reminded himself. 

Harriet nodded, unsurprised, and watched as he took a few steps back, not a word spoken between them. 

Regarding him for a moment, she finally spoke quietly, “will you remember my name?”

Severus nodded confused as she continued, “I don’t get to hear it very often. No one ever calls me by my name… so, will you?”

Finally understanding, he ignored the pit in his stomach and waved a hand carelessly as he scoffed, “As if anyone could forget the great Harriet Potter.” 

She frowned at that, “I am not the great anything.”

“One day, you will come to realize what it means,” he told her, placing his wand in front of him. He hesitated for a moment, staring pointedly at the collar of her shirt. 

He did what he needed to do; he got her back to her residence in on piece as he was required to. However, something about the desolate look on her face reminded him of what Dumbledore had suggested before he left, and he had readily grimaced at the idea of.

“If you need something… anything,” he started, clearing his throat, “where I come from, owls are trained to relay messages. If you write a letter with my name on the front and leave it under the mat on the front porch, it will reach me.”

“Can I write to you tomorrow?” she posed. He rolled his eyes but nodded. He cast a quick drying spell on her clothing, followed by a warming charm which evoked a sigh of pleasure, before deciding to clear up the dirtied carpet and sofa also. He tried not to look much into a sigh of relief that was emitted from the girl at the now-clean furniture. 

She hesitantly reached out a hand, almost letting it grasp onto his before she paused and pulled away, looking apologetic, “I- thank you. For everything.”

“Goodbye, Potter,” he called, releasing a breath he did not know he was holding.

“Goodbye, Professor Snape,” she replied softly and the last thing he saw before he apparated to Arabella Figg’s home was her face turning away as he had apparated away, looking so incredibly sad.

The next night, just as dinner was coming to an end, Severus was contemplating his immediate exit from the Great Hall when an owl dropped something on his cleared plate. Minerva glanced over at the single, slightly damp lined paper in front of the dreary man, letting out a snort as she took in the small glittery star-shaped sticker that was stuck to the front of the folded page next to his name: Perfessor Snap. Hogwarts. 

“Is it from the child?” Minerva asked, “How was she when you saw her?”

Severus did not answer, opting to unfold the letter with as few fingers as he possibly could instead to avoid touching too much of the light layer of grime on the surface of the folded page. Looking it over, Severus initially thought that the child was trying to create some kind of drawing, with all the scraggly lines. But as he peered closer, he was horrified to find the most poorly written letters he had ever seen. 

What should have been a quick glance at the page turned into an entire 10 minutes of trying to decipher what she was trying to say in her short letter. 

Dear Perfesor Snap,

Do u member me? It is Harriet Potter. I hope you are okay at Hogwarts. Was the principil mad that you skipped school? Thank you for fixing my hands, they don’t hurt no more!! I membered to rite. I hop you rite back. 

Do you like the star stikker? It was sparkly. I got the stikker from Mr. Abe the nurse. He is nice.

Have you seen a dragon before? Are they red? I have a red pencil. I hid it under my bed.

I hope you rite back to me. Aunt petunia was sad and angry when you came but I do not think it was your folt. 

Please rite back.

Harriet Lily Potter

“What does it say, Severus?”

“It says nonsense,” he murmured. Minerva glanced over his shoulder at the letter, plucking it out of his hands and letting out a loud howl that had heads turning to stare at the duo who were trying their best to read the poorly written letter. Lupin glanced over to see what the commotion was about, eyes lighting up whilst reading the letter along with Minerva. 

“There is no possible way you can understand what she is saying,” Severus accused, when the other man let out a chuckle at something she had written.

Minerva heeded him little mind, “It takes a second, it certainly isn’t the worst writing I’ve seen. Most muggle-borns who have never held a quill have the same issue.” 

Severus did not bother reminding her that Harriet was not writing this with a quill. 

“She seems quite spritely,” Lupin remarked warmly, “Hagrid would love to show her some dragons, I’m sure.”

Hagrid looked over at the call of his name, the large lumbering man leaning over to see what all the commotion was about. He tried to mouth out the words of the letter slowly, before giving up and just nodding in agreement. 

Finally having enough, he scoffed and accio’d the letter back into his fingers in order to tuck it into his robes, understanding the gist of the letter well enough to not torture himself with looking at it again. Standing up and walking out of the Hall just as the bell chimed, leaving the pensive older woman behind in her chair. 

“You should write back, Professor Snap!” Lupin called and Minerva howled in the back once again, much to the ire of the Slytherin head. Severus tensed as his Slytherins turned to look at him curiously, but a quick glare had them scurrying out urgently without a single question asked. He sulked his way to his quarters and dropped the letter on his bedside table, where he planned on letting it remain until he felt ready to answer. 

Severus waited until the end of the week to respond, having ignored the wrinkled letter glaring at him from the desk in his office. Pulling out a piece of parchment, he briskly wrote back a short message.

Ms. Potter,

I would like to begin by stating that your written skills are less than stellar. I had an abysmal time trying to decipher what you could have possibly been trying to say with that atrocious letter of yours. 

The headmaster of Hogwarts was the one who instructed me to come get you. Trust me when I say that I was less than interested to do so of my own volition.

For the future, please refrain from writing unless you have actually something valuable to say- 

“Severus!” a kind, giddy voice announced as his door flung open, “Minerva told me that Harriet has been writing to you.”

The other man scowled at the abrupt entrance, putting down his quill and glaring at the jubilant man, “Why not write to her yourself?”

“That’s exactly what I’ve come to ask. I would love to receive letters from her as well. In fact, I let all the teachers know and they’re all ready to speak to her! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before-” 

“Her aunt had a hard enough time seeing me that one time, I severely doubt she would be open to piles of letters on her front door from everyone in the Wizarding World,” he grumbled. Dumbledore’s excitement dimmed slightly at that.

“How was she? When you saw her, did she seem alright?”

Severus thought back to her pathetic clothing and her inability to maintain eye contact with her family and failingly forced himself to not think about the lashes on her hands and those that he could see on her skin. He thought about her exhaustion, the indications of malnutrition and her sheer sadness at his departure and he know exactly how she was.

“She was fine. As fine as she could be in the company of a golum,” he stated plainly, succeeding at not letting any emotion infiltrate his voice from years of practice. He knew the formula. Brief statements, followed by his perpetual air of snarl and that was enough to mask his lies from his truth. He used the method almost every day when he worked for the Dark Lord and then again when he deferred and worked for the right side. He knew it worked.

Severus met his old mentor’s now sad eyes and realized that while he succeeded in fooling everyone else with his act, he could never fool his headmaster with his lies, “How terrible is it really?”

They stared at each other for a moment, and Severus almost considered not answering. But he eventually relented as bright blue eyes stared into his black ones with genuine earnestness and sadness, “I am not entirely certain but… she was less than happy. I do not know how much of it was from the actual treatment of her and how much was from her own adolescent angst.”

“Did she seem to be the dramatic type?” 

Severus avoided the question. Severus would be the last to admit that Harriet’s demeanour was anything but exaggerated childish fervour, “I will include an anecdote that she write to you also. Now, if you could kindly leave the office.”

The headmaster ignored him, instead eying the letter on his desk curiously, a small smile bubbling over his face when he regarded the small sticker on the front of the folded letter. He picked up the letter to read over it briefly before asking. “Should you and Minerva do a check up on her?” 

Severus bristled at the notion but nodded frigidly, “Minerva can do whatever she wishes, I already did what I had to do.”

“It seems like she would like to see you again as well,” he offered, referring to the letter, “It wouldn’t hurt to see her again, now would it?”

Thinking back to the familiar, green eyes, he tried to push away the memories of the woman from whom they were inherited, “it would hurt more than you think,” he murmured bitterly. Dumbledore, understanding that he not ask about it any further, changed the subject.

“Consider it, Severus. She would appreciate the gesture,” he suggested, putting down the letter on his desk. Starting towards the door, Dumbledore paused only for a moment longer to add sadly, “I hold the predilection that kindnesses may be something she may not be privy to,” before exiting the office. 

Severus turned back to his letter and reading it over before spelling away what he had started on. He supposed it did not inconvenience him too greatly to reply to her letters on occasion. There logically was no need to forbid her from writing, especially when he offered in the first place. He picked up his quill again, and started again:

Ms. Potter,

I am pleased to hear that you are no longer hurt. 

Professor Dumbledore, the Hogwarts headmaster, was not upset that I “skipped school.” He was the one that instructed me to come get you. In fact, your future headmaster has been nagging to me that you write to him as well, so you may make the effort to do so if you wish. 

As for the dragons, I have seen plenty of dragons and yes, some of them are red. 

Let your Aunt know what we are looking to come monitor your living conditions next week.

You may write if you need something until then. Preferably on lighter coloured paper. 

Professor Severus Snape.

Later, that same day to Severus’ surprise, the owl – Livinia – returned with another letter. 

The yellow construction paper fell to the floor from the mail slot in his office door, and he glared at it for a second. Finally summoning it towards his seat, he found that this time, his name was written correctly on the outside and, to his relief, the yellow paper with the red marker on the inside was vastly easier to read. The writing itself was still terribly underdeveloped for someone of her age but it was no longer borderline illegible nonetheless. 

Plastered to the bottom of the page, he discovered a crudely drawn and cut out paper star, which was scribbled on with a fading sparkly, green gel pen. 

He ran his eyes over the page once and 

Dear Professor Snape,

I told aunt petunia that you would come and she yelled at me and told me to tell you not to come.

But in seecret, I want you to come. Dont tell her I said that when you come. 

Can you show me a dragon 1 day? I want to see a red 1.

I gave you a star, I made in at reecus and I hope you like it. 

Thank you for riting writing back. I hop I see you soon.

Harriet Lily Potter

Finding himself smiling wryly, Severus immediately wiped the expression from his face and tossed the letter beside the other one in the uppermost drawer in his desk, willing himself to forget it. 

The subsequent week saw no more letters exchanged between the two of them, however, Dumbledore would waltz into his office the eve of their departure back into the Dursley neighbourhood proudly holding a letter between his fingers. It was written on green construction paper and with a blue marker, and Severus had do wonder if the older man was actually able to read it at all considering how illegible it was or if he was only excited to receive the letter from the girl wonder in the first place. 

Certainly not helpful to its illegibility was her poor spelling and indecipherable letters. If Severus did not know the headmaster as well as he did, he would have been surprised at how excited he was for the letter. Had it been him, he would have readily tossed it out without a second thought. However, Severus instead did take a good while to decipher what she had written, and the general message seemed to have been on how excited she was to see Severus again and that she had found a heart-shaped pebble on the playground. 

“I think she likes me, Severus!” Dumbledore exclaimed. Severus didn’t bother to remind him that the child didn’t know a single thing of him beyond his name and his occupation. Instead, he packed away a fresh tube of dittany for tomorrow and chose to remain silent as the headmaster went on and on about the ten, short, ill-written sentences that the Potter child had gifted him with. 

The next afternoon, after classes ended, Lupin waltzed into his office, dressed to the nines in his muggle clothing. Severus gave him a confused look and the werewolf returned it with an apologetic one, “Professor McGonagall found two students trying to sneak into the Forbidden Forest past curfew last night. She is on detention duty.”

“And Dumbledore asked you to come supervise me instead,” he finished in annoyance, pulling on his muggle coat before casting another impermeability charm over his being. He vaguely pushed away the memory of small fingers running curiously over his miraculously dry shoulder. He turned back to his potions bench, rifling through the many jars until he found the tube of dittany as well as a tin of bruising balm. Finding what he was looking for, he stuffed it into his potions arsenal pouch before shoving it into his coat pocket.

“He asked me to provide you with backup should you need it,” Lupin clarified, interrupting his internal conflict. He conjured a chocolate bar to stuff into his coat pocket as he added, “Besides, I would like to see what dear old Tuney is up to these days as well.” 

Severus relented, despite his very core tempting him to refute, marching alongside his colleague to Dumbledore’s office. Stepping into the floo together, Lupin drew a healthy clutch of floo powder into his hands and announced Arabella Figg’s residence as clearly as he could.

Arabella squawked as they landed, dropping the cane that she was holding. Recognizing the duo, she finally calmed down enough to babble out a welcome as she retrieved her fallen staff. She stood quickly, ignoring the rather audible crack in her back as she did.  

“Mr. Snape! Mr. Lupin!” She pulled one of her cats into her arms, opening up a small square of her cat-infested couch, “Please sit. What brings you here today?”

Severus took a deliberate step away from the offered spot, but Arabella didn’t seem to notice. Lupin opened his mouth to try and respond, however realization dawned upon the older woman, “Is the child alright?”

“We’re just checking in,” Severus answered snippily.

Arabella nodded thoughtfully, “I saw her the other day, sitting in the front yard looking worse for wear until Mr. Dursley called her in.”

He pulled back a gaudy, cream-coloured lace curtain to peer through frost covered glass where the streets were predictably covered in sheets of snow. He wondered what could have happened that persuaded her to sit on frost-covered ground as opposed to the warmth of the house. 

“She was sitting outside in the snow?” Lupin asked softly, pointedly avoiding the patronizing kneazle eyes that infested the room. A grey-coloured creature rested knowingly on the couch, fixing the werewolf with a particularly judgemental glare. The old woman seemed to notice the professor’s uncomfortableness and shuffled over to the blue-eyed animal, clicking her tongue softly in punishment. The kneazle burrowed itself into Stroking the smoky fur softly, she hummed thoughtfully as she answered.

“Hecuba is guarded around lycanthropes, Mr. Lupin. She means well.”

“Call me Remus, please,” Remus responded with a painful smile, attempting to maintain decorum while gripping the end of his cane more firmly. 

Severus repeated the other man’s question, prompting Figg to continue her dutiful explanation, “The girl was a little worse for wear,” she started, deflating as she continued, “Nothing unusual though. She never seems particularly happy.”

Hecuba purred huffily and hopped out of the woman’s arms, disappearing out of the den and into a different room. Following her example, Severus made a beeline to the exit of the house. 

“Mr. Snape,” Figg called. He turned back to the eccentric woman, just as Lupin also crossed the threshold of the cat-infested den, “Are you and Lupin considering removing her from the home.”

“We will see if that is necessary, Ms. Figg,” Remus answered for him. Figg went to take hold of another one of her kneazles, who nuzzled the underside of her chin fondly.

“I think you may see that it is,” she told them thoughtfully, “They really are the worst kinds of muggles.”

Snape and Remus exited the house silently and made the short trek to the Dursley residence without a word exchanged between them. 

Snape and Remus exited the house silently and made the short trek to the Dursley residence without a word exchanged between them. 

When they arrived at the house, Remus knocked on the door once. A chair inside scraped backwards and a light set of steps made their way to the door. It flew open faster than either man could expect it and they both came face to face with their old nuisance, who stared back at them looking perplexed.

“What are you doing here?” she sounded almost whiny, like she would in the old days when he and Lily would go camping in the backyard together and she was told she had had to play nice with her younger sister and her friend. Severus brushed past her and into the house while Remus followed silently, both ignoring the squawk of indignation coming from Petunia. 

Inside, a muggle television was playing some brightly lit show and the two males of the home were staring at it as though it were revealing the secrets of the universe to them. The patriarch was the first to break his gaze from the moving picture box, and his eyes first landed on Remus with his brow scrunched up in unplaceable familiarity, 

Suddenly, as his eyes drifted to Severus himself, his face flushed red and took on a look of anger. 

“I know you!” The largest man bellowed, standing abruptly from the dining room, and stomping his way to the two of them with a fist waving comically. Petunia slammed the door shut and went to stand at the foot of the stairs whilst her husband moved forward animatedly. Severus lazily pointed his wand at the man, freezing him mid-step in his approach. 

“Where is she, Dursley?” Severus asked warningly. When the muggle scoffed, unperturbed. Severus could feel his temper rising already and Lupin tried to place a pacifying hand on his shoulder, only to have it shrugged off. 

“As if I would tell the likes of you,” he jeered as if he had any sort of parity in the situation. Before Lupin could even try to stop him, Severus surged forward, and the large man started moving backwards until his back slammed into the hallway closet. He pointed his wand right under his multi-layered chin. 

“Don’t make me ask again,” he hollered. The overfed child, staring from his seat in the dining room, swallowed heavily before his mouth fell open in shock at never having seen his intimidating father look so vulnerable; especially being so at a thin piece of wood being pointed at him.  

“School. She went to school,” he lied unconvincingly, his eyes crossing to try and look down at the weapon pointed to this throat.  

“We know how weekends work, you oversized whale,” Severus seethed. He pushed the point of his wand into the red-faced man’s throat. The muggle let out a choked wheeze and he tried to further back away from the man as though he were trying to blend into the closet. 

The oversized child squawked annoyingly from the dining room and Petunia floated around her husband and the former death eater looking angry and desperate. 

She turned fiercely to the other professor, eyes wild and teeth bared menacingly, “Aren’t you going to stop him?”

Lupin gave her a relenting look, “Nothing I say will stop him, Tuney. You know that.” 

Petunia’s face turned a fierce scarlet, and she bared her teeth at him. Severus looked back without intimidation, knowing that she was close to screaming at this point. He vaguely wondered if she ever grew out of those tantrums that she used to throw when she was a child. He remembered the particularly large screaming fit she had thrown when she was fifteen, when Mrs. Evans forbade her from going on a date with Charles Rutherford, the local delinquent. He and Lily had been sitting at the dining room table, doing their summer homework when she stormed past them, red-faced and practically feral. She shot them a wild glare that would have been scary had she not had her hair piled on top of her head with a lumpsum of mismatched clips and her face not resembled a Pollock. Lily and Severus were lucky enough to have been able to hold their laughs until after she screeched in fury once again and stomped upstairs. He heard her screaming in her room until he had left to go back home. 

As unsurprising that would be, it was amusing to think that she hadn’t grown out of her tantrums and was preparing to start screaming right then and there in front of both her husband and son. 

A shy knock from somewhere behind him Severus from considering the possibility of taking deliberate action to provoke her screaming fit, arresting his thoughts as a silence fell over them all. As the two uninvited guests tried to determine where it came from, Petunia paled significantly as the knock repeated itself from the cupboard under the stairs. When Severus gave him a sharp look, Lupin reached a shaking hand towards the small storage area in order to unlock the two locks that kept it firmly shut. Severus stared as the doorknob twisted and the door swung open. 

Initially, Severus did not know what he was looking at and slowly all the pieces fell together. She sat up on her arms, looking as if she had just woken up from a fitful sleep. She was bundled up in a throw, resting on a tiny, yellowing mattress. As if the cupboard weren’t small enough, a stack of cleaning supplies occupied the corner of it, leaving her to make do with less than half of the already limited space. 

His eyes flitted over the pathetic excuse for a bedroom before landing on the bleary-looking Harriet, honing into her eyes – well eye. One eye because the other was nearly swollen and bruised shut. He continued to trail over her form, taking in injuries that somehow seemed worse than what he had healed only the week before and undoing all of the work he had done to heal her. 

“P-Professor Snape?” She regarded the pale man tiredly, unaware of his shock at her current habitation. A tired smile stretched across her face, none the wiser on the state of every adult in the room, “You came.”

She then noticed his position, holding her wheezing uncle to the staircase with his wand and she was suddenly wide awake and alert, “W-What’s going on?”

She clutched her head, rubbing her temple gingerly and Severus feared the possibility of a concussion in addition to whatever caused her that black eye. He looked at Lupin, who had been standing and staring with equal shock at what they were witnessing. Severus’ glare must have snapped him out of his state because he bounded unsteadily towards the child, who whimpered and scrambled back into the cupboard at the sight of his unfamiliarity. Lupin held up his hands in a placating gesture, before reaching one hand in his pocket and pulling out the bar of chocolate. Dursley tried to escape his captivity only to freeze once again when Severus turned back to his, wand sparking harmlessly but with an implied air of intimidation. 

“Hello Harriet,” he smiled kindly, holding the candy towards her, “Remus Lupin, I was a friend of your parent’s.”

“You knew my parents too?” she gaped as she started inching outside but Tuney let out a noise of warning and Harriet immediately clammed up and froze in her spot. 

Severus noted the Tuney’s bloated son’s leer towards the candy, practically drooling at the sight of it. Lupin seemed solely focussed on failingly comforting the scared child. Severus sent the man at wand-point as well as his wife a furious glare before he dropped his wand and shoved the obese man to the side.

Harriet slowly crawled out upon the sight of Severus’ approach, timidly accepting the chocolate bar from the werewolf. Severus crouched down in front of her, taking her chin into his hand. She held the chocolate helplessly in front of her, relieved green looking into strict black.

“Are you feeling dizzy? Tired?” he asked, intentionally keeping his voice low in the case that she did. Her half of the storage room was filled with small pieces of trash that she decided to display like treasure including a modest collection of broken toys, rocks and other small trinkets that lined the shelves behind her head, all illuminated by a bare, flickering overhead lightbulb. A piece of paper that proudly read Harry’s Room was taped above her head with three coloured-pencils and a pile of construction paper resting on the shelf under the sign.

He absently started pulling out his healing supplies with his unoccupied hand, turning her head from side to side to assess the severity of her black eye. She shook her head for no. Lupin gripped his cane firmly in an attempt to control his anger when the turn of her head revealed more bruises on the back of her neck. 

“My head hurts a little,” she mumbled, offering Lupin a shy smile when she noticed his grim stare in her direction. Severus pulled down the collar of her t-shirt slightly, where he was met with an endless mottling of hand-shaped bruises that connected to the path of them on her forearms and the hidden ones he somehow knew she sported on her back. Severus did not think he brought along enough bruising balm for all the injuries she was sporting. She reached up to push away loose hair from her face and Severus caught a set of severe lashes inflicted onto her small hands, almost an exact replica of the ones he had healed only a week ago.  

“That’s to be expected from an injury like this,” He allowed himself to run a gentle finger over her bruised eye, pulling away and resting his hand on the lumpy mattress beside her when she winced at the touch, “However, no ringing in the ears? Is your vision blurry?”

She shook her head once again and Severus decided that should she have a concussion; it was mild enough to be dealt with until after her more pressing wounds, fearing infection more than a headache if that was what it really was. 

Harriet glanced out towards the huddled Dursley family, hearing the patriarch huffing and as red as a toadstool as he sat on the stairs. Petunia tried to step closer towards the three of them, only to be met with an animalistic flash of eyes on her form from one of her former foes. Lupin was failing at controlling his anger as each new bruise presented itself, transfiguring the staff back into his wand and pointing it at the approaching women, halting her into place. 

“Where did those injuries come from?” he demanded scathingly. Petunia narrowed her eyes, pinching her entire face into her signature grimace. 

However, her husband was the one that answered, “The bloody whelp manages to get herself into trouble.”

Part of Severus hoped that Lupin had taken his wolfsbane potion that morning, while another part of him considered the possibility to apparating away with the child so that the werewolf could have free reign to desecrate the wretched muggles as he wished. Harriet watched him cautiously becoming distressed when Lupin’s nails started to turn black and grow longer as he started to lose his temper. She started to inch back into the cupboard once again in search of safety.

“Lupin,” he warned him, extremely cautiously, “you’re scaring her.” 

The werewolf immediately deflated at the news and his sharp, werewolf nails shrunk back down until he was left with his normal human hands. He turned away from the cowering trio, his face once again relaxed and even sheepish as he made his way back to them.

“I apologize, Harriet. I mean you no harm,” he mentioned, tucking his wand away. Harriet nodded apprehensively at him, before glancing down at the chocolate unsurely. She silently held it back up to him, as though he had given it to her with the expectation that she was to return it. Lupin smiled sadly at the seven-year-old and shook his head, pushing it gently back towards her chest in indication that she could keep it. She clutched it close to a baggy paint splattered shirt, behind a ragged and equally large flannel that she had pulled down to shield her forearms from his scrutiny. She had poked holes into it so that her thumbs could protrude from a seam in the cuffs. She crawled back into her confines to bury the candy away briskly before enthusiastically crawling back to greet the snide man. 

“Are you a professor at Hogwarts too, Mr. Lupin?” she asked politely, ignoring his apology as curiosity got the best of her now that he no longer seemed to pose a threat. She also wore a pair of grey jeans that were somehow closer to her size and showing off just how small she truly was. Unable to help himself at her innocent inquiry, he nodded and elaborated.

“Indeed. I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he started, noting her confused reaction with amusement, “You will certainly be in my class one day.” 

“Shut up, you freaks!” Vernon yelled, causing both the young girl and her cousin to whinge, though the former in much distress as opposed to indignation like the latter. A nervous Harriet dropped her hand on top of Severus’ from where it rested beside her and Severus begrudgingly allowed it, “Shut up! Don’t speak of that in our house.”

Severus ignored his demand, feeling the lacerations that grazed her palm on the back of his own hand.

“Is that why you hit her, Dursley?” Harriet’s hand gripped his own, indicating that his accusation was accurate, “Did she say something you didn’t want?”

The previously red-faced Dursley turned immediately pale at the accusation, indicating that the two wizards had hit the nail on the head. A quick analysis of his bruised knuckles proved his hypothesis correct. 

While Severus did not need any more proof as to what was happening in that house, it was clear as day that there was no alternative explanation anymore if Severus was looking for one. Petunia sat down shakily next to her husband and child, gripping the edge of the table with an impressive ferocity as she turned just as pale as her husband. 

“It’s because she wouldn’t let dad throw away that letter she got, that’s why,” the son elaborated ignorantly, snatching a piece of bacon from a nearby plate with grubby hands. He hadn’t stopped flickering between the chocolate bar in Harriet’s hands and the television running away incessantly from inside the dining room, oblivious to the looks that the rest of them were giving him. Petunia burned holes into the ground, unable to make a move to shut her son up. Behind her, Severus found a small pile of clothing that was burrowed neatly in the furthest corner of her bed, on top of which Severus could somewhat make out the parchment paper of the letters he had sent.

“Is that why she is in a cupboard right now?” Lupin asked him, appalled. The boy scoffed and went to grab another waffle from the pile in the centre of the table.

“No, that’s just the freak’s bedroom,” he sneered, far too menacingly than a child should before biting into the slice of bacon, oblivious to the rising tension amongst the adults in the room in favour of filling himself up. 

Severus gripped his wand apprehensively with his free hand, turning back to addressing her eye. She refused to look at him, paling in shame at her cousin’s remarks, “I can heal it, but it may hurt a little.”

Harriet nodded slowly, consenting to whatever treatment he was suggesting. 

Severus reacted without warning, pointing the wand at her injury before immediately hissing episkey.

She gasped in pain, groaning as the mottled skin healed itself. 

“Ouch,” she added belatedly, pressing gentle fingers into the entirely uninjured skin as Severus tucked his wand away easily. 

Thinking that that was well and over with, Severus started to fiddle with the cap of the dittany tube with his unoccupied hand though he knew realistically he did not bring nearly enough to treat all of the injuries she was sporting. He did not think half of those injuries would even heal with dittany alone. 

To their collective surprise, however, Harriet then started to cry.

Before Severus prepare himself, she leaned forward into his chest and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. She buried her face into him and started to cry harder. Lupin let out a huff that was largely surprised and perhaps even amused as the scene in front of him unfolded. Severus tugged on her once, but her chokehold was so firm that the half-hearted attempt was entirely useless. 

“That hurt a lot,” she bawled.

“Get a hold of yourself, Potter,” but despite his harsh command, the potions master’s tone could not have been less authoritative as he dropped the tube and reluctantly wrapped his arms around her as well. As little as he wanted this, even he couldn’t bring himself to shove away an injured, crying child. But she didn’t respond in the slightest, opting to release the occasional sob and grip at his collar instead. 

Minding her head, he lifted her out of the closet and stood. He settled her into his hold and allowed her to wail away into his shoulder as he approached Lupin. 

Petunia looked oddly neutral at the sight of them, while Vernon refused to look at them entirely. Their son seemed no longer interested in the confrontation and he had entirely returned to his food, eating with a dead look in his eye while staring at the television. 

“I won’t leave her here, Severus,” Lupin told him in a low, firm voice and Severus knew that there was no arguing it. 

Harriet’s cries had muted down to simple sniffles, but Severus made no move to put her down, deciding it would be easier to just carry her rather than have to yank her away and risk Lupin’s nagging should she start to cry again. Harriet did not seem to mind either, relaxing her arms and absently brushing a finger on his charmed wool coat.

Severus sighed and defeatedly tucked away his healing pouch, much to Lupin’s confusion. Knowing there was no possibility of convincing Lupin to just leave and defeatedly admitting to himself that he would be unable to convince himself of such as well, he just said, “Poppy could treat these better than I could.”

Relief washed over the professor’s face and, to the ire of Severus, Petunia insistently and uninvitedly chimed on, “We are leaving for the cottage today, likely until Tuesday. Take her until then.”

“Were you ever planning on taking her with you?” Severus bit out. Petunia frowned, having the audacity to look offended at the implication. 

“Obviously,” Vernon answered on her behalf, “Who knows what that wretched thing would do to our house if we left her here alone.”

“I’m not a thing,” she voiced so softly that it could not have been meant to be heard by anyone except Severus himself, into Severus’ neck before turning to press her forehead into his shoulder again. Severus rubbed his hand down her back only once, hoping it was enough to ensure her that she indeed was not.  

Having heard enough, Severus turned to Remus to motion that they leave and the werewolf more than readily flung open the door. From his shoulder, Severus could hear a small noise of discomfort from the cold and Severus just again remembered that she was wearing only the most threadbare of clothing despite the below zero weather. 

From behind them, Petunia watched her shiver and let out a noise of consideration. Severus was toying with the possibility of transfiguring his coat into something for her but when he turned, he found Tuney making her way to the closet from where she dug into the back to pull out a decently warm, large sickly green sweater and held it towards Severus without looking at him. 

Vernon scoffed and went back to his breakfast, but Petunia ignored him and justified her odd attempt at humanity, “I won’t let her into my house if she is sick.”

It was not a perfect solution; a perfect solution would have been providing her with appropriate winter clothing, but it was a surprising gesture regardless. Severus cast a spell and suddenly, Harriet was sporting the sweater. Subsequently, Petunia wiped her hand on her apron, as though the touch of magic near her was enough to dirty her. 

Remus still let out a huff of concern as he immediately whipped out his wand as well. 

Impervious he started before also casting a brief warming charm on her. She let out a noise of appreciation and absently buried herself further into the raven-headed man’s hold. 

Finally deeming her ready to leave and anxious to get back to the school so he could deposit her from him, Severus jerked his head to silently usher Lupin outside and started to step out. From behind them, the door slammed shut and the noise echoed in the quiet streets before everything went silent once again. 

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