Lily had been his friend – the only one he had ever admired through his bitter childhood. Potter had been, besides Black, the only one he had truly loathed and hated throughout the same childhood (besides his father, of course. And Black). In the end, they had both made the defeat of the Dark Lord possible. Albus claims this is temporary, and that he is not truly gone, but Severus fails to see how; his Mark has not burned even once in the many years since Lily gave her life for Harry Potter.

Albus has repeatedly told the staff (i.e. Severus Snape) to see Harry Potter as a unique individual, separately from his parents, but Severus does not see how this would be possible when the boy is both of them in one.

When the boy has the soul of Lily and the shell of Potter.

The second clue is how the boy twitches. How he always tries to keep a barrier between himself and any grown-up, be they desks, chairs or simply another student.

Never alone, never vulnerable. Raise your hands, cover your solar plexus and your face. Trust no one and no one will hurt you.

This Severus should have noticed. There is nothing that excuses the fact that he does not. That he assumes it is merely his less than friendly appeal that is once again to blame here. That he assumes the boy has never been reprimanded. That he assumes the boy has never been called upon by an authority figure. That he has never been made to see the error of his own actions – in most of these cases it is the boy's faulty brewing, something he certainly has not inherited from Lily, who was most brilliant at this.

The third clue should be higher up. Should be the first clue that he notices, as it is far too obvious, and really the first fact that Harry Potter presents to you. How small he is. How skinny and short, how even the smallest of Hufflepuff girls are almost taller than him. As the boy's Head of House it is inexcusable that it takes him a month and a half to take notice of how little the boy eats. How carefully and cautiously he eats. How he waits until almost breakfast or lunch or dinner is over until he serves himself. How he takes crumbs and the leftover pieces and bits no one wants.

How the boy is oddly enough drinking milk while most students prefer the freedom of finally being able to drink pumpkin juice instead and how he then relishes it.

The fourth clue falls oddly into place after that. Almost fits. It's the boy's manner. His impeccable manner. How he always uses titles. How he always says thanks, eyes lighting up as if he was just handed the key to the universe every time someone lends a helping hand – which is not often, not often at all considering that he is a Slytherin and the Boy-Who-Lived and in the wrong House all together.

Severus is almost tempted to make this into a fifth clue, but he chooses not to. It is the boy's excessive need to apologise. Spilled ink 'I'm sorry'. Tripping over his robe 'I'm sorry'.

I'm sorry.

Sorry that I am an inconvenience. Sorry that I exist.

Severus does not like weak-minded people who are too afraid to stand up for themselves. It takes him far too long to realise that the boy's apologies have little to do with a weak mind, because Harry Potter is quite stubborn. Just like his mother. When he finally realises that the apologies are a defence mechanism ingrained in him from an early age he begins to wonder what could possibly have caused such a need.

That is clue number five. When he finally sees the flinches for what they are. When he finally sees the fear of punishment in the Lily-green eyes. When he finally sees the way Harry Potter's shoulders slump and a strange look of loathing and resignation settles across the far too pale face.

It is a weak and trembling voice that whisperers, voice fainter than the rustle of his robe, “...sorry, sir.” Little Harry Potter bows his head, and stands his ground. Tense. Shaking.

Severus – eyes narrowed and heart thudding painfully – takes a step closer. Harry bites his lip and hunches his shoulders. Swallowing harshly, Severus raises his arm and Harry begins to cry silently, scuttling back into a corner and curls up in an impossibly small ball, repeating, over and over and over again, “I'm sorry.”

I'm sorry. Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to. Forgive me. I'm sorry, it was an accident, I promise, and I won't do it again. Don't hurt me, please! No, no, I'm sorry, I won't—please!

And Severus knows and he feels horrible and he suddenly understands the bruise on the child's forehead that first week much better and more clearly.

But he knows, too – he knows that if he had merely asked, “are you abused?” little Harry would have, shamefaced, shaken his head. Made up an excuse: that he is a clumsy child, and that he always does things he shouldn't, that he gets in the way and that he is a troublemaker. Severus knows, because once, he too, used those excuses. Excuses that he was always hurt – so, so hurt – that no one ever saw through, because they were always so horribly transparent and it was so obvious that they were lies and why is no one noticing?

He is suddenly kneeling, then sitting, on the cold, hard floor in front of Harry. He places a hand on his shoulder, like Lily used to do once upon a time, long ago, far away. Harry flinches and whines.

“Harry,” he says, voice oddly dark and soothing, “I will never hurt you.”

He knows that, too, even if Harry does not. Severus would never harm a child. But Harry does not know this and he doubts the boy will any time soon. It will take time, he knows, time and patience and a kindness Severus is not sure if he knows how to give.

Lily had never needed him to be kind.

Lily had always known, and Severus had never needed to say.

“I was very close to your mother, Harry,” he finds himself saying, beginning a tale he is not sure he knows the ending off.