Burning Memories by Flooney
Summary: “What— What are you doing?” To his credit, he manages to pull the child to a full stop by yanking him back, bringing him in closer to hold his shoulders again and glare at him in the eyes, no matter the way he winces at their familiar colour. “You are aware that you have just undergone a panic attack, are you not?”


There’s something in Potter’s eyes that seems to flash at that, but it’s gone within the moment. Severus files that away for later ruminations.


“I know,” he says matter-of-factly, like he’s just declared that the sky is blue.
Categories: Teacher Snape > Trusted Mentor Snape, Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Dudley, Dumbledore, Flitwick, Fred George, Ginny, Hagrid, Hedwig, Hermione, McGonagall, Molly, Neville, Petunia, Pomfrey, Remus, Ron, Sirius, Vernon, Voldemort
Snape Flavour: Snape is Angry, Snape Comforts, Snape is Kind, Snape is Loving, Snape is Stern
Genres: Angst, Family, Fantasy, Fluff, General, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Time Travel
Takes Place: 1st summer before Hogwarts, 1st Year
Warnings: Neglect, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 7 Completed: No Word count: 9515 Read: 10276 Published: 27 Jun 2022 Updated: 29 Nov 2022
rememberance and hope. by Flooney
There’s a knitted furrow situated between his brows as he watches Potter walk around the piles of galleons and towards the back of the room.

The boy hadn’t seemed surprised, nor even disturbed at the appearance of Griphook — one of the many hundreds of Goblins that operated all of Gringotts — and had even bowed his head a few times at the creature. While the cart down was disorientating, they’d made it to the vault Potter’s parents had specifically saved for him in record time.

Although, Severus’ nausea was only now subsiding.

“Mr. Potter?” Griphook’s voice was a raggedy sort of sound, one that scraped on the ears like chalk to a board. “Is there something you’re looking for explicitly?”

There’s the sound of the boy rummaging through something in the far corner of the room, something of books and boxes being pushed aside. Severus is just about to confront the boy when he’s suddenly shooting up to his feet and heading back their way, a small ornate box made of polished rosewood with a simple pattern on top in the nook of his arm.

It’s a special kind of smile that’s gracing the boy’s features this time.

“I’ve got what I need,” he tells them, though his eyes are fixated on the box he holds. Then his smile turns sheepish once he looks at the pile of gold and then back at the box in his hands. “Or, uh, maybe not, actually.”

The box is being offered up to Severus before he’s able to process the movement, small hands gripping onto the sides with a delicate carefulness that makes it look as though Potter’s holding a box full of all of his worldly possessions resting inside it— all of which he is asking him, of all people, to hold.

“Can you hold onto this for me, please?”

Severus takes the box on auto-pilot, but he has enough awareness in him to be gentle in taking it into the palms of his hands. The boy takes the pouch Griphook gives him with a small nod of appreciation towards the Goblin before rushing to the pile of galleons and haphazardly shoving whatever he can scoop up in one hand into it.

Looking down at the box now, he examines it more closely, shifting it around in his hands while disregarding the raised eyebrow and sneer coming from the creature next to him.

It’s plain, really. There’s specks of dust and a bit of grime that’s lingering underneath the edges, but other than that, it looks well-preserved for something that’s been buried away beneath all of that clutter in the corner. Clutter that he hadn’t even noticed because of the utter dimness of the room.

The boy comes running back with the pouch in hand, a perturbed expression covering his face as he stares down at the small bag. Severus hands him back the ornate box hurriedly, shrinking it as an afterthought for the boy to stash it away into his pouch before stomping down any remaining curiosity about its contents. Griphook gives a small nod before leading them back to the entrance.

“I don’t know how to count wizarding money,” Potter starts, holding up one of the coins between his index finger and thumb to Severus. “But this looks like it’s made out of real gold— would I be considered as, uh, wealthy?”

“If you’re planning to go on a spontaneous shopping spree for redundant items that you don’t need, then I strongly suggest banishing that thought from your head immediately, Potter.”

The boy quickly recoils and backpedals from the harsh response, rearing back with a quiet, “That’s… not what I meant, sir.” Severus shoots him an incredulous stare, Griphook ignoring the both of them in the hopes of reaching the entrance faster while they trailed behind the creature.

“Then what do you mean, Potter?”

He opens his mouth, takes a second, then closes it thoughtfully. Then he makes a show of pointing to his shoes (weathered with time and speckled with dirt and grime), to his flannel jacket (holes and tears punctured in oddly placed spots), then to his glasses. He nearly trips over his feet as he does this process since they’re still walking, but he recovers within seconds.

Severus frowns the longer he watches, pieces he wished he couldn’t see coming together.

Potter takes that as confusion on his part, making a small spasming gesture in the air to point at his glasses again, telling him, “They’re not the correct prescription.”

When he asks why not, the boy gives him a look that tells him that he thinks the reason is obvious. “My aunt told me it’s too expensive, so we just got them from a charity bin.” Which it is not. The reason is not obvious because it’s a clear sign of negligence by his guardians and god fucking damn it, Petunia.

Griphook actually bows to the boy when they’re on their way out.

A headache blooms behind his temples and no amount of massaging carries it away.




A whirring and buzzing sound erupts from a cupboard under the stairs, the ticking of a neatly polished and preserved pocket watch with an hourglass ingrained on its other half ringing throughout the small, cluttered space. It hangs innocently above a weathered piece of paper with a scribbled drawing of green, all in different shades with no tangible shape or form.

The hands circle backwards, rapid and loud.

It promises change and whispers words of remembrance and hope.




“Oh, oh! Look!” The boy all but jabs a finger towards the front of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour with a smile bright as diamonds. “Do you mind if we get some ice cream? I like vanilla, but I don’t mind settling for any other flavour. What flavour do you like?”

Severus drags a hand down the length of his face, exasperation clearer than the glass of a window. The action brings only a smidge of comfort to his person.

“No.”

“Please?”

“I said no,” he hissed.

“Just one?”

Potter.

“I’ll be quiet for the rest of the trip.”

Dear Merlin, the boy was actually trying to haggle with him here.

“Fine.”

“Oh, come on, I— wait, really?” Eyes of emerald sparkle up at him, idiotically hopeful.

No.




She can hear her husband grumble as he makes his way down the staircase, the structure groaning in harsh protest at the man’s weight. It makes her hide a strained wince while she takes a long, heavy sip from her mug, hiding it from view when the man finally stumbles on through the doorway and into the kitchen.

“Morning, love,” she ventured, allowing a gentle smile to grace her features. Vernon turns, the sleep in his eyes evident as he made his way to the chair beside her, settling himself down with a gruff grunt.

“Morning, Pet,” came the murmured reply. He glanced around with squinted eyes, leaning over the dining table as if to peer into the living room before pulling back. “Where’s the boy?”

Petunia swallowed hard at that.

Shaking her head and releasing a stuttering sigh from her lips, she tells him, “He’s gone out, left early when it was still dark out.” And she spots the exact moment when the man’s face reddens, the way the hairs of his moustache bristle with barely contained anger. Anger that, while it might be understandable from a certain viewpoint, is just too much too fast.

“So he’s finally run away, huh?” He lets the question linger in the air with a flourish of his hand before letting it fall down with a loud thump against the wood of the table. “After all this time,” he goes on to say. “Unbelievable.”

Petunia takes her chance to intercept with a firm, “No, Vernon. He hasn’t left us, not yet.” And she sees the irritated look that overtakes his face, but ignores it and continues. “He’s… shopping.”

Vernon pauses visibly, turning in his seat to face her properly, frowning. “Shopping? Shopping for what? You said he’d left before dawn—”

“I know what I said, love. He’s gone to the city; said that someone was picking him up from there and taking him shopping for his supplies for school. He’s… god… Vernon, I…”

A much larger hand envelops her own, and she looks up to see Vernon’s rapidly deteriorating expression of alarm, no longer painted a crimson red, but instead a pale paper white. “You can’t be saying that…”

Petunia nods, eyes glassy.

“They’ve found him.”




“I never knew you were the pistachio type of ice cream person!”

Severus arches an eyebrow, unamused, before lightly pushing the boy back into his seat across from him. “Seeing as I’ve only just recently made your acquaintance a mere two hours ago, not to mention that I am your professor and such topics are greatly unlikely — as well as discouraged — to ever be included in any informative conversation relating between the two of us as teacher and student, it’s clearly understandable that you’d not be aware of my personal preferences. As such, you seem to have the unfortunate penchant of tearing down such barriers with little to no regards.”

When he scoops a small proportion of ice cream from his own cup and looks back at the boy, he’s gifted with a rather entertaining nonplussed look from him. One that, while slightly amusing for the better half of five goddamn seconds, morphs into a terrifyingly endearing toothy grin that has him bordering a tired groan inside.

“You sure do talk a lot when you want to,” the boy says, snickering quietly as if sharing an inside joke with himself. Severus is just about to snap a scathing remark back when Potter full-out laughs at him. Loudly. There are more than a few heads that turn their way at the sudden burst of noise. “You should do it more often! Maybe not when you’re being mean to people, but y’know.”

No, actually. He did not know.
To be continued...


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