The smell of frying fish mixed with the sent of Old Spice and tobacco, the feeling of a strong male arm around his waist, a flannel shirt under his chubby fingers, the sensation of stubble raking through his hair as his father held him on his hip whilst cooking their morning’s catch. The sound of his father's off key singing. Days before the darkness came.

“Now then Sev, which fishie for you?”

“That one Da!” chirruped the little boy, pointing to the little Dover sole. Da said that he was a Prince and should eat the food of princes.

“An’ which fishie for me?”

“That ‘un”

“Wha? That big fishie all for me?”

“You need it Da” laughed the little boy, poking at his father’s ribs.

“Cheeky li-il’ snot!” kind blue eyes danced with laughter. A special smile for a special boy, lightening the rough, weathered face like sunlight over the mountains.

OoOoO

“Sevvie, how many knots can your little head hold?”

Sitting on his father’s bony knees as long, elegant fingers gently teased the knots out of Sev’s wild, black hair. The fire is warm on his face.

“Not as many as yours!” The child answered pertly, tugging at his father’s rough black mane.

“Oi, you.” Low, warm laughter. “You got more’n that from me”

“I got your nose.”

“And a bloody fine nose it is!”

“Yeah. The bigger the better, right, Da?”

“Right, son.”

“An’ I got your hands” said the child, resting his chubby paws over his father’s elegant fingers.

“Will do one day.”

“But I ain’t got your tummy.”

“No you ain’t. You fat little blighter.” Wriggling fingers attacked his tummy, making the child giggle and squirm around to tickle his father in return.

“An’ you got my ticklish skin too.” laughed Tobias, holding aloft his precious, only child.

OoOoO

“Well, Sev. Me first day at work. How do I look?”

“Very smart Da. But you got ya tie on wonky.”

“Forget me own head.” Sighed Tobias, twisting the tie the right way.

“Why’d you ‘ave to shave?”

“‘Cos it ain’t smart to ‘ave a bristling chin.”

“But you look differen’”

“That’s kinda the purpose” replied Tobias, ruffling his son’s wayward hair. “Now, you be good for yer Ma. Don’t forget to make sure she eats her dinner an’ be kind to her, yeah?”

“O’ course Da.”

OoOoO

“You unnatural ‘arpy!”

Sev trembled at the foot of the stairs, listening to his parents argue in the living room. His face and stomach ached. He hadn’t meant to be naughty. He didn’t realise that Ma would be cross if he took the mick. Da always laughed.

But Ma wasn’t right in the head. She hadn’t ever been like other kids Ma’s: she worked every day and only came back late in the evening, after Sevvie was in bed. But, since she’d had THE accident, she had to stay at home and Da went out to work. Ma thought kids should be seen and not heard.

“‘Ow dare you lay hand on a child. ‘Ow dare you!”

And, when Da came upstairs to tuck him in and smuggle him a bag of humbugs, he’d seen the bruises. Da’s face had darkened and he’d stomped downstairs.

“The squib needs discipline. He does not understand his place.” Ma’s voice was so cold, it chilled Sev to the bone. What was a squib, anyway?

“Don’ you talk about Sev like tha’! Ee’s got spirit; ee’s a deal cleverer than most kids an’ if he don’t get to speak his mind, ‘ee’ll start to forget to use it.”
There was silence and Da’s tone became pleading.

“‘Ee’s a lovely little boy, Leenie, brigh’ as a button. Wha’ does it matter if he ain’ got magic? Ee’ll do you proud. Could even become Prime Minista. Yeh just ‘ave to give ‘im a chance, love.”

“Is it not enough that I marry a second rate man? Must I endure a second rate son?”

“Secon’ rate? Secon’ rate! Sev’s a deal better than you, Eileen. You know why? Cos’ ee’s got a ‘eart! You cold, vicious, old bitch!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Da!” Sev shrieked as a body thudded against the carpet. He ran into the room to see his father, lying on the floor as if asleep. But those beloved blue eyes were open and empty.

The darkness had come.

OoOoO

“Hey, Harry?” Vernon Dursley carefully lowered his bulk onto the hospital bed. In his hand he held a small bunch of hyacinths: the heady scent permeated the chemical smells which hung heavy in the air.

“Lo’” Huge green eyes in a thin pale face scanned the room. No one else was there. The child tried to smile through his cracked, burnt lips.

“Oh Harry! You know it’s bad to open the cupboard under the stairs!”

The child nodded, his eyes filling with tears.

“Well, at least you’ll know to stay away from the bleach.” the large man sighs, resignedly, stroking the child's messy, raven hair.

Harry shut his eyes, allowing the captured tears to overspill. He would never be able to tell his Uncle that Petunia had forced him to drink the nasty stuff.

OoOoO

“Hello Harry! Had a nice birthday?”

Harry nodded, forcing a smile. The presents: a shiny new, bottle-green bike, a paint set and a kite, were laid out around the sitting room and sweet-wrappers littered the floor. It would have been nice if Dudley had given him just one of the chocolates. Or if Aunt Petunia hadn’t made him work all morning on the house and all afternoon on the garden, whilst Dudley enjoyed Harry’s presents.

“Good lad.” Uncle Vernon punched him playfully in the shoulder. Harry winced.

“Sorry kid, don’t know my own strength.” The large man’s face had fallen. He wasn’t to know that there were bruises under the child’s shirt from today’s beating.

Harry turned away, biting his lip hard to stop himself from crying. It wasn’t fair. Why did Uncle Vernon work all day during the week and spend the weekend on the golf course? If his Uncle was home all the time, Harry would be safe.

OoOoO

It became worse after Uncle Vernon’s car crash.

Before the accident, Harry could always be sure that ten hours out of the twenty-four would be bearable: when Uncle Vernon was home from work, Harry was allowed to eat meals with the family and Aunt Petunia didn’t hit him or force him to do all the housework and gardening.

Now, however, Vernon did not come home: he was in a coma and, apparently, it was Harry’s fault because Harry was a freak. The beatings became worse, Harry was turned out of his bedroom and he spent his nights locked in the tiny cupboard under the stairs.

Then Uncle Vernon died. The darkness came.

OoOoO

“Now, then,” whispered the Sorting Hat “Where to put you, Harry? You are brave but not foolhardy; idealism was knocked out of you long ago, eh, boy? A good mind but not a born scholar: if you’re contemplating your navel you won’t be able to see the hand coming to bop you on the head. Hardworking but so suspicious of other people’s motives. Understandable, understandable. And not much ambition either. Hmm…”

“Please don’t send me back to Aunt Petunia!” Harry begged mentally.

“No, no Dear boy. You’re staying here. Hmm, it’s not a House you need: brothers and sisters may be able to put a plaster on the wound but they cannot heal it. However, you’re fearful of Matriarchs. Could be problematic. Though he may seem less than kind, he’s kin in spirit if not in flesh. Yes, yes, you will do very well together.”

“SLYTHERIN!” the Sorting Hat finally announced.

Harry slid off the chair and, passing the Sorting Hat to a shocked Professor McGonagall, headed for the Slytherin table, which was clapping enthusiastically. As Harry passed along the head table, his eyes locked with those of a tall, stern-looking man, who raised an elegant black eyebrow. Harry’s gaze immediately dropped and he scurried onwards. Surprise, tinged with concern, flickered in Severus Snape’s dark eyes. Harry Potter was certainly not what he had expected.