Severus Snape let the blessed silence of the house sink into him. His mother, no doubt was still abed, not yet risen from her slumber. From the window in the kitchen he could still faintly see the path that he had worn behind the house, the one that had ultimately led him to Lily. He rarely looked out that window anymore. She had been dead these past five years and the ache of her loss never seemed to diminish. He wouldn’t let it.
He finished washing the morning dishes, well aware that the rest of the day held nothing but menial tasks and a jaunt belowstairs to check on his latest batch of household potions and curatives for his mother. It was a task that he completed each Saturday that he was scheduled to be off. He returned to his childhood home every fortnight to care for his mother, who had suffered greatly under his father’s brutal hand. She had lost all her magic during the twenty three years of their marriage, and was just now, four years after his departure, beginning to exhibit infinitesimal bouts of accidental magic. Of course, Severus’ own past had set her back; she had told him as much when he took the Mark that had destroyed his life.
He sighed as he dried his hands, purposely pulling his mind from the dark train of his thoughts. There was much to do here before evening, when he would decant the potions into bottles and then return by Floo to Hogwarts ready to face another week of tedium and frustration.
He had been a full professor there for more than six years, and at twenty-seven, he was still the youngest staff member. Even with the cloud that still hung over him from the trials, he was marvelled for being the youngest Potioneer to obtain Mastery in the United Kingdom, and also the youngest Head of House in over five centuries and. He could thank Albus Dumbledore for that latter distinction, along with the accompanying headaches incumbent with the job. Yet, he had only himself to blame for his current state of employment and his lack of real desire to actually instil young minds with the necessary skills of Potioneering. Severus Snape had never wanted to be a teacher.
He had envisioned a much different life, but that was never to be with Lily… dead.
The sharp ache he had been experiencing in his wrists and fingers on and off for the last year returned with a vengeance as he twisted the ancient tap off making him shake his hand to lessen the sensation that shot down his wrist and into his lower hand. It was an irritation most times, but some days, when the weather was foul, he welcomed the acrid taste of willow bark with a greater gusto than was his normal wont. As he looked past the little path, his gaze wandering to the leaden sky, he knew that much of his day would be spent with a dyspeptic stomach and fiery pain. There would be snow soon.
He began his first chore, the annual cleaning of the Floo, careful to keep his spells murmured so that he would not wake his mother.
Soon he was engrossed in the task, vanishing the soot and the residual Floo powder to the dustbin outside, sealing cracks that had appeared in the chimney, with even the limited use his mother made of the outdated fireplace. He finished with a flourish of his wand, only to realise that he was nearly as filthy as the Floo he had just cleaned. He cursed softly under his breath, for forgetting once again to cast an Impervius charm on himself and his clothes, just as the hand-cranked door chime sounded.
Severus rose from the tiled floor of the Floo, only to hear his mother shouting from upstairs, “Severus! Get t’door!”
“Yes, Mum,” he called. He was twenty-seven, not a child, a concept she never seemed to grasp. He knew the importance of the door chime. He took a step toward the small entryway, and nearly stumbled from the pain that shot up his legs from his feet and ankles. The chime sounded again.
“Get the door, Severus! Why do I always have to repeat myself?” Eileen Prince’s words brought back memories of his sullen teen years spent waiting in his room between the time he could see Lily and the time he last left her.
“Awright, Mum! I said I’d get it and I am!” he called, slipping easily back into the Northern vernacular of his childhood. Lucius Malfoy would definitely disapprove if he could hear. Severus muttered to the spectre of his pureblood sponsor, “Sod ‘im.”
He had finally made it to the entryway when he could hear the crank being lifted again. He flicked his wand at the apparatus, silencing it effectively, before he wrenched open the door with a little too much force. It banged against the lath wall and bounced back, bringing a shower of ancient plaster down. It was yet another thing he would have to fix that day.
A small boy waited, his hair covered by a garish hat with a pom-pom on the top. Snape struck his most intimidating professorial pose and barked, “What do you want?”
The boy stepped back, his feet slipping on the slick cobbles because of the too large, obviously handed down clothes he wore. Beyond him, a silver car of some sort idled, one that was obviously much too nice for the neighbourhood in which it was parked. The boy looked back at the occupants, whom Severus could barely see, due to the darkened glass of the windows. The passenger side door opened, and a querulous voice from his past spoke sharply, “Get on with it, boy! We don’t have all day to wait here while you idle about!”
As Petunia Evans’ sharp features came into focus, Severus smirked. “What is it, Tuney? Did you come in search of some freakishness from me? Has your precious spawn showed the same talent as… your sister did?”
The boy seemed to shrink, drawing his shoulders up to his ears. It made him seem, if possible, even smaller than he already was. Mrs. Whatever-Her-Married-Name-Was gave an unladylike snort before she countered, “We don’t want him. He’s yours now. My husband has been transferred to Australia and we don’t want to take that frea… bra… erm… boy with us.” She motioned to the boy, “Give him the letter, boy.” As the tyke seemed to hesitate, she shrilled, “Quickly!”
The boy fished a stained, obviously aged envelope out of his back pocket, and held it out to Severus with a shaking hand. It was then that he looked up at Severus with very familiar, mournful, grass green eyes. Before Snape could react and send the nightmare on its way, the woman clambered into the car and the vehicle sped off.
The two stared at each other for several minutes, the boy’s hand still extended with the envelope, Severus unwilling to take it from his fingers. The boy gave a decided shiver in his inadequate, too large clothing, just as Eileen Snape, nee Prince, appeared behind her son. “Who is this, Severus? He’s not from around here, I’d recognise him if he was. ”
Snape remained mute, unable to give voice to just who exactly it was that had been discarded on his mother’s doorstep. She gave a noisy huff and stepped around her son. “Who are you, young man?”
The boy’s gaze shifted to her. He whispered, even as he appeared to shrink further into his oversized clothes, “’m Harry, Ma’am.”
As the child announced himself, a sharp, cold breeze lifted his fringe, revealing the distinctive scar on his forehead. Eileen sucked in her breath, rounding on her son. “Severus, is that…?”
Snape nodded mechanically as she bustled forward.
“Oh my! Come in, come in. “ As the boy scooted inside, the letter now crumpled in his fist, Severus noticed a small mesh shopping bag left behind on the cobbles. The Potions Master scooped it up and peered inside it. It contained nothing but rags and a few broken toys, yet if the boy had troubled to pack such worthless rubbish, it must be important to him. Severus knew the value of such things to boys, especially those boys who seem to be as unwanted as this one. Impossible. He had to have drawn the wrong conclusion. Potter was supposed to be a haughty little lord, not a pauper, and certainly not unwanted enough to be dumped on a virtual stranger’s doorstep. Especially not his doorstep.
He heard his mum in the kitchen with the child, nattering away over something as she clinked dishes and made noises of rooting around in the under-stocked pantry. His mum called out from the other room, “Severus!”
“Yes, Mum?” He had recovered his voice enough to answer hoarsely.
Eileen popped her head around the doorway. “Clean yourself up before you touch anything, and the boy wants you to have this.”
She held out the envelope, shaking it impatiently whilst he ran his wand over his robes and exposed skin, cleansing himself with a silent spell. Eileen said, “You’ve always been a powerful wizard. No need to show off. Here. Take the letter and this money. I need some fresh milk. Go down to the grocers and get some and bread, and some lunch meats. The boy appears half-starved.”
Severus stalked to her, relieving her of the burden of both money and epistle and strode to the door, his ankles and knees crackling with pain as he did. His mum called behind him, “Take off those robes! Your dad’s old coat is in the closet. I don’t want the neighbours talking about your strange clothes again. You should know better by now!”
Severus stood by the door and placed his robes on the hook in the closet meant for outerwear and such, making sure to secure the envelope inside them. He hesitated before he donned his father’s old worn pea coat, which still stinking of stale ale and cigarettes. Casting a freshening charm on it, he exited the house. He would obviously be returning to Hogwarts sooner than expected. Albus would need to be told post-haste about the boy’s familial defection. He hoped his mother was up to taking care of the boy whilst he sorted what to do with him.
The grocery was a small, run-down building at the end of the row. It had been there since he was a child, still run by the same family, and still stocking the same familiar products. Severus opened the door quickly with a jangling of bells that hung from the frame. Behind the counter, a young West Indian woman lounged, reading a novel as she bobbed her head to some type of rock music a radio blared through the shop. She looked up disinterestedly as he made his way to the back of the shop where the cooler stood. Grabbing the milk and meats, he turned to the counter before remembering bread. He hadn’t seen it on his quick run through the shop. He barked, “Where’s the bread?”
The girl pointed without looking up and Severus followed the direction of her finger. There were so many types. When had Muggles invented so many? The shop had never carried that many before. Finally, he decided to get both the whole wheat and the plain white, not knowing which one was better for children nutritionally. That’s why wizards had house elves serving them food. Letting those creatures care for the sustenance of children freed wizardly minds for more important matters.
The girl rang him up, the beep-beep of the machine becoming more annoying as she did. She finally said, “That’ll be four fifty-eight.”
“Outrageous, is what that is.” Snape murmured. The next time he came home, he would be going to Tesco’s to shop for his mum. He slammed the coins down on the counter and juggled the items, having forgotten the shopping bags at his mum’s house.
The girl smirked, and then fished under the counter, bringing up an ancient canvas bag. “Tell yer Mum to bring it back next time, Mr. Snape.”
As Severus threw the items into the bag, he gave her a sharp, obviously suspicious look. She giggled. “Don’t go getting yer back up now. You look just like her. That’s how I know.”
He hurriedly left the establishment, not liking the fact that a mere Muggle had observed so much. Once home, he dumped the coat in the closet and went to the kitchen.
The boy sat perched on a chair, his shoulders hunched forward, his stockinged feet swinging above the floor, the ratty trainers he had worn discarded below him. Eileen sat across from him sipping plain tea, the way she always took it. “It’s about time. What took so long?”
Severus placed the bag down before his mother with a little more force than strictly necessary, but otherwise ignored her sharp words. “The shop girl said to return the bag next time you’re in.”
He turned to leave the room before adding, “I’ll need to leave the boy here whilst I return to Hogwarts.”
“No you won’t, Severus Tobias Snape.” Eileen rose. She addressed the boy. “Be a good boy and put these away. Feel free to make yourself a sarnie and pour yourself a cup of milk.”
She took Snape by the arm, her fingers digging into the flesh of it. “Cast one of those spells you’re so proud of.”
He wordlessly cast Muffliato, and then whispered superfluously, “Mum, I need you to…”
“He’s a young wizard, Severus,” she countered. “I haven’t any magic, how am I supposed to watch him?”
“Just the same way you did when I was young, Mum.” Her magic had been gone for years.
Eileen’s expression softened before she said with some asperity, “You see how well that turned out.”
They had been over the same territory before, had rowed over it when he had taken the Mark. He answered, “Mum, don’t blame yourself…”
“No, Severus,” she said, “That boy is a special one. He’s too special for around here, even for a few hours. Suppose one of your old friends dropped by. They have before, you know. That Malfoy boy did.”
“One time, Mother.” But even so, Severus knew she was right. He couldn’t risk his position by letting someone such as Malfoy find the Boy Who Lived under his roof and presumably under his protection. “Very well. I’ll take him with me. I’ll need to contact Albus before I do.”
“You know where the Floo is.” She turned back towards the kitchen. “Cancel the spell, son.”
He did so with a wave of his wand, and she smirked, “Show off.”
“Always, Mum.”