1994

Numbly, Harry followed his aunt down the stairs and into the kitchen. As they sat down, neither one spoke for several minutes before his aunt’s head fell into her hands and she began to sob. Her shoulders shook more violently as the moments past.

Harry watched detachedly as the woman wept. He did not know what he should feel for his mother’s sister. For almost thirteen full years Petunia had tortured her nephew, never standing up for him when he was blamed and never caring when he was hurting. Why then did she suddenly break down crying for a man that had broken into her house? The idea of it actually offended Harry as he knew his aunt would not have done half the things for him that she had done for Snape. Was his own life so insignificant compared to someone else’s, even a wizard his family did not even know?

Not knowing what to do, but feeling compelled to do something, Harry raised his hand, almost placing it one his aunt’s shoulder for comfort. But the boy watched as his own hand fell uselessly to his side. What was he thinking? Petunia would probably slap his hand away in revulsion. She had never wanted her nephew to touch her in any way before, why would she want to now?

But not wanting to see the woman in such a state, the young wizard twisted his hands in his shirt. “Aunt Petunia?” his voice was small. “Are…are you alright?” worry leaked into his tone.

Very slow, Petunia’s face looked up, tears still streaming down her eyes. Shaking and pale, the Muggle woman stared into the face of her nephew as though looking for something hidden. There was a frown set firmly in place as though she could not find what she was looking for until she came to his green eyes. It was then that she gasped. “Heavens, you look some much like Potter,” she wheezed.

Scowling, Harry stared at his aunt indignantly. What was that supposed to mean? Was it such a bad thing to look like your father? Merlin, she praised Dudley more and more as he ‘filled out like his dad.’ So what if he looked like a Potter? Harry wanted to look like a Potter. They had been the only family he had ever had, and they were all dead. Looking like James made the young wizard proud. Anything he did that reminded someone of his father made Harry proud.

Harry bit back his temper and decided that it was not worth it to get into a fight, not after his aunt had helped him and agreed to hide his professor. Besides, what would Uncle Vernon do to him if he found the ‘freak’ shouting at his wife? The boy shuddered at the thought. He could almost feel the belt…

“Help me with breakfast,” Petunia said after a moment. With stilling hands, she wiped her eyes, sniffled, but put out a stiff upper lip. For just a moment, Harry thought he could see his mother in his aunt’s stead. The image of Lily Potter standing up straight, her emerald eyes flaring, as she built up her Gryffindor courage struck her son profoundly. How he wished he could have known her!

Sighing tiredly, the young wizard stood with his aunt. The two worked together for a few moments in silence, before Petunia’s eyes widened. “Severus bled all over the parlor!” her voice hitched in her throat. “I’ll go cover up the spots, you stay in here and carry on with breakfast.”

What had gotten into that woman? She was acting… like a real human being. Petunia hadn’t yelled all morning, except when she walked down the stairs to see a half dead man slumped on her couch. And she had not slapped him, which was even more impressive. Why did having Snape in the house make his aunt act so…weird?

A minute later, Petunia returned looking very put out. Although she did not deserve it, Harry handed her a hot cup of tea he had made. She took it gratefully, gulping it down as though it were something much stronger. But then, Harry could not blame her. It had been a rather nasty shock this morning. How many times did it happen that you woke up to find a bleeding man in the parlor? Honestly?

“A-Aunt Petunia?” he spoke up, all of his questions rushed into his mind in a great flood. Only when she looked at him, with weary eyes, did he continue. “How…how do you know Professor Snape?”

The woman turned an interesting shade of green before looking down at her hands helplessly. “How long have you known?” she asked quietly.

“Known what?” Harry frowned. “Professor Snape? I’ve known him since my first year at Hogwarts. How long have you known him?”

Not a second past before her head snapped back up as she openly gawked at her nephew. “You mean…you mean that you don’t… he doesn’t…know?”

An uneasiness spread throughout Harry’s body. His stomach flipped, and there was a second when the boy thought he would throw up. Why did he feel like this? His aunt had not said anything particularly disturbing, but the way she said it made Harry feel…uneasy-at best.

“Known?” he found himself sitting down.

Instantly, Petunia’s head fell back into her hands. “Forget it! Forget it!” she mumbled. Once collecting herself again, she looked up and stared at a spot on the table. “I…I knew Severus when he was a child,” her voice was a whisper. “He lived several houses down from us.”

Snape, living in a Muggle neighborhood? What the hell was that about? Did that mean that the Slytherin was not a pureblood? That was an interesting thought, especially since his little brood of raciest back at school adored him so.

“He…he would come over to play with Lily,” Petunia went on. “He…sometimes… they were… they were good friends.”

“Snape and my mum?” Harry could not help the outburst.

Petunia’s face took on a very odd look when she finally met her nephew’s eyes again. “Yes,” she nodded slowly. “Tell me,” she leaned forward, her eyes craving information. “Why is he here? He has to be here for you.”

Still thinking on the fact that his mum and the greasy git used to be friends, Harry did not think much on his answer as he blurted, “He wouldn’t be here for me.” Why had his voice been so bitter? “He hates me.”

This declaration sent Petunia reeling back in her chair as though Harry had slapped her across the face. The usually pinched, scowling face went into a display of disbelief, horror, anger, and confusion in rapid succession. Although, in the past, she had always fostered the idea that everyone had to hate Harry, it seemed now that she could not grasp the idea of someone else in the house disliking her nephew.

“Hate you?” scorn dripped from her voice. “He can’t hate you!”

“Well he does!” Harry shot back. “He hates me because I’m ‘just a bloody clone and goony of the James the Gryffindor-Golden-Git Potter Club’.” The thought of Snape’s taunts left a bad taste in his mouth. Why was he helping the bastard again?

After this proclamation, Petunia seemed far too stunned to speak. After several fruitless attempts, she seemed to shake off her initial shock enough to get up and pour herself some more tea. She shook her head as though trying to shake Harry’s words out of her ears. “He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know,” she muttered softly, almost too quietly for the young wizard to hear. “He can’t know, but why else would he be here?”

When she turned back around, Petunia saw her nephew staring at her perplexed. Averting her eyes, she looked back down at the tea rocking unsteadily in her hands until she sat back down. Although Harry was not sure, this seemed to be the biggest shock of his aunts life, but for the life of him, he could not figure out why. Wouldn’t the news of your sister and brother-in-law’s death by a man comparable to Hitler be more unsettling than an old neighbor appearing in your parlor?

“We’ll have to watch over him when your uncle and Dudley leave,” she went on, eyes firmly fixed on her cup. “Severus will need a lot more attention.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry responded automatically, while his thoughts were else where.

The two fell into an uneasy silence once more, both pensively staring at their tea. What they were thinking, they kept to themselves. Both parties were unwilling to break the silence now that it settled thickly around them. Whether it was out of fear or apprehension that they kept their mouths shut, neither one would let on, though it was plain on their faces.

“He’s…he’s really alive?”

Harry jumped when the quell was shattered. The question was so absurd, so unexpected that for a moment, the boy thought he had imagined it. But when he looked over and saw his aunt’s expectant face, he knew that he had heard correctly. “He was when we put him to bed,” Harry answered, brows furrowing in confusion.

That did not seem to be the answer that the Muggle woman wanted, but she did not comment further. Instead, she stood up and began preparing breakfast once more. Still puzzled, Harry followed suit and they worked together soundlessly. That is, until Vernon woke.

As always, they heard the man as he got up out of bed, hearing the springs groan in protest, before he stomped off to the bathroom. Petunia began shaking once again, afraid of what her husband would do if he found the wizard in Harry’s room. Harry too began to sweat, his stomach knotting sickeningly. Vernon probably would kill Snape as he had a hard time realizing that wizards were actually people too.

After twenty minutes, the fat man came charging down the stairs, each step creaking rebelliously. Both the woman and the young wizard stiffened as Vernon Dursley entered into the kitchen. He sat down, his chair looking as though it would break at any minute, without really looking up at his wife and nephew. As far as the man was concerned, this was just another day like any other. He had no idea that there was someone ill in the room he had graciously given his nephew.

“Get the paper boy!” Vernon snapped.

Ducking his head, Harry turned to do his hated uncle’s bidding, but not before chancing a glance at his aunt. Petunia kept her eyes stubbornly on the eggs she was frying. So with a sigh, the boy did as he was told, ignoring the death glares he was receiving form his elder.

Once outside, the wizard looked around, trying to see if there were any clues as to what had happened to his professor the night before. But it was really no surprise when he saw nothing. The only thing laying on the ground was the Monday paper.

Disappointed, Harry picked up the paper and started to make his way in when something reflective caught his eye. Curious, he walked into the lawn and picked up a bottle cap. Turning it over in his hands, the boy could not figure to what the cap had come from. There was nothing special about it, so in his frustration with the day, he threw it away into the bushes. Let the animals have it then!

Stocking back inside, the boy carefully put on a neutral face and hoped that his uncle would not have anything particularly nasty to do today. That would just be wonderful, having to do a whole list of chores while worrying about Snape upstairs. Greasy git! Did he have to come here and ruin Harry’s summer, as wretched as it was, too?

But he can’t be that bad. He was friends with mum, he thought placidly. Petunia had said that they had been friends. In his fevered state, Snape had wanted to see Lily. The man could not be as bad as he made himself out to be. Hagrid and Dumbledore had both told Harry how wonderful his mum was and how she was able to find the good in people and could read a person’s character.

Pushing back those thoughts, Harry set the paper on the table for his uncle, who griped at him as he walked by, but made no other move, before returning to his aunt’s side. She still looked sick, but it seemed Vernon had not noticed. Petunia sat down and waited to be served, like usual, and the wizard found himself acting the role of house elf once more, as though nothing had changed. Nothing has, the boy reminded himself rigidly.

When Dudley came thundering down the stairs was when Harry thought he would pass out from tension. His cousin was so loud, it could wake the dead. For a terrifying moment, Harry could see Snape standing there, his wand pointed at his cousin, and hexing him with curses that were borderline Unforgivable. No one at Hogwarts would put it past the Potions Master to do something of the sort. Well, except maybe Dumbledore, but then Harry did not have to worry about that. Snape was likely to be out for some time thanks to the fever reduce potion. Hopefully he was contently sweating it out.

After serving Dudley his twelve fried eggs, twenty link sausages, half a loaf of bread for toast, and a gallon of orange juice, Harry decided that he did not much feel up to eating. How could anyone stand to eat at the same table as Dudley? The boy was absolutely disgusting! No one on the Hogwarts staff would be so tolerant of such behavior, least of all McGonagall and Snape. Those two were sticklers for manners.

“What are you staring at, Potty?” Dudley demanded, mouth full.

Sneering, Harry glared at his cousin. “Nothing. Just watching to see when your heart would stop and you’d fall over dead.”

“Potter!” to everyone’s surprise, it was Petunia who stood up and screamed. Everyone turned wide eyes upon the woman. “I will not tolerate such insolence from you today! Up to your room!”

Unable to speak for a few moments, all Harry could do was stare. Wasn’t Uncle Vernon supposed to be the one that got angry with him and scream? What had gotten into Petunia today? Well, besides Snape being in the house…

And that’s when it hit him. His aunt was taking control of the situation and now had an excuse for sending Harry upstairs to watch over the wounded wizard without it looking suspicious. Very clever! Harry could not help but applaud his aunt’s manipulative ways.

“But Aunt Petunia-!” he foreigned a fight.

“No!” she screeched predictably. “Up to your room! Now! I don’t want to have to look at you the rest of this morning!”

Hanging his head in mock-anger, Harry left the room quietly as he heard Vernon ask what had forced his wife to loose her temper. The wizard smiled once out of the room. Although his aunt had never been particularly kind to him, she had been better than the other two, and ever since seeing her this morning, he could not help but have a grudging respect for her after everything she had done.

Once at the top of the stairs, Harry stopped outside his door. What would he find in there? Would Snape have woken with all the yelling, or would he still be sleeping? If he was awake, would he remember anything about the night before, or would he still be chattering nonsense?

Only one way to find out, Harry thought, and opened the door.