Fairytale Of Home by Livia Ethelind

Harry Potter was known in the village of Athlea as a quiet boy. Public opinion on whether the now ten year old was a well behaved boy was divided between a group of people who had either spoken to him, observed nothing bad or simply disliked Severus Snape. This was a rather large portion of the villagers. Another, smaller, group believed that despite Snape's reputation, as much as he corrected the boy he had to have done something. Of course the population of the small muggle village knew very little about the boy or the family residing at Prince Manor as a whole for that matter. Some years ago Lord Prince, the elderly owner of the manor, had died and as far as they could tell the place had been deserted until his English grandson moved in with his pretty disabled wife and his stepson. The new owner was not well liked in the village but the family mainly kept to themselves and so they were rarely the topic of conversation. They seemed happy enough at least. They had, or so it was said, a deal of money and who wouldn't be happy then?

Of course the inhabitants of the little Irish village hardly knew the truth of the matter. Neighbors rarely do. For a man who had come into moderate wealth at a young age, Snape was in most aspects mature beyond his years and rather frugal. He had never wanted anything from his grandfather nor would he have accepted anything had it not been for Lily. Lily, who following her recovery needed special care and comfortable surroundings that Severus, an unemployed young Potions Master at the time, could not provide. Furthermore she was his now and from the moment she agreed to marry him he had vowed she would receive nothing but the best. Severus was of the opinion that he had done very well. After all he had simply nodded when Lily had demanded that her son be brought to her. Then he was fetched from Petunia's home and Severus was not in the least surprised to see her joy at being rid of the then two and a half year old boy. He was after all a Potter. And he was proved correct as the child was nothing but noise and mess.

Lily was fragile. She was easily confused, excited and had trouble focusing and remembering things at times. She could not raise a child. Severus would not raise that child. And due to Lily's disability there would be no more children. So, his grandfather's will was a blessing in disguise. Severus knew very well that the only thing his grandfather thought was worse than letting his half blood grandson inherit was leaving it to the remaining nearest of kin who were all either bastards or female.

These days Harry barely remembered his aunt and uncle and recollected nothing of his cousin though he knew they existed. His world consisted entirely of Prince Manor and Athlea. Once his tutor, Mr Browne, had made him read a bit of a book called Bleak House. Harry couldn't recall what it was about but ever since, that had been his secret name for Prince Manor.

Prince Manor was situated in the middle of a very large walled garden which in turn was separated from Athlea by forest. It was a large foreboding three story building, the oldest surviving parts of which were 16th century. Later, Victorian wings in neogothic style added gloom to the facade. Most of the interior was dark. The house had countless doors – some of which were hidden. Mahogany and dark green being reoccurring themes is was a beautiful but anything but cheerful place. The only exception was the Summer Room. Harry knew it had once been a playroom but these days it was his mother's room. It was his favorite place in the whole world. It was also one of the many rooms which he was forbidden from entering without permission. Not that his mum minded, no, but others did. This May morning Harry sat crouched on the grand staircase, hiding behind the balustrade as he looked through the open door into the Summer Room.

The room was round. The wall paper in there was light green with flowers in many colors. The furniture was made from light wood and the huge window overlooked the flower gardens. Harry wasn't allowed to play in the flower gardens. He couldn't remember ever seeing Snape in that garden either. He suspected it was only kept to provide the splendid view from the Summer Room. His mother was seated at her desk with her back to Harry. Her red hair was up in a bun and he could hear the scratching of her quill on parchment. The light coming from the windows framed her. He longed to go in there and hug her. But he knew he couldn't. Things had not always been this way. He had faint memories of the flat where they had all once lived. Him, mum and Snape. His mum had been sick then too but she was always there. Then they had moved to the bleak house. At first his mother had lived with his stepfather, moving between the first and ground floor via an old lift which Harry not only found scary but he was also forbidden from using by himself. Back then his mother had been getting better. Sometimes all three would walk into town so she could do some shopping and she would roll about the gardens in her chair with Harry, watch him play and draw with him. But it wasn't like that now. Mum had gotten worse some years ago and Snape had moved her to the Summer Room which had up until then been unused. Since then Harry had been forbidden from entering without another adult because he might 'upset' her. She had gotten better since, worse yet again and then better but the restrictions remained the same.

Harry could hear her humming softly and he smiled, wondering if it was worth it getting told off for going inside. But then he heard footsteps from the ground floor and silently crept back up the staircase. Getting seen doing anything but, or nothing of, what one had been told to do was never good. His fears were confirmed when Madam Aoife appeared at the foot of the stairs, carrying a tray with his mother's afternoon tea. Harry hid in the corridor on the second floor and heard Aoife speak as she neared the Summer Room.

”Mrs Snape, your tea is ready,” said the woman with cold politeness.

”Oh, thank you, Aoife, just put it on the side table. I am almost finished.”

”My Lady, you hardly ate lunch. You must...”

”Oh, you fuss over me!” laughed Lily, seemingly unaware of Aoife's indifference.

Harry hadn't always understood and asking too many questions in this house was never a good idea but he knew perfectly well that when Aoife called his mother a 'Lady' and his stepfather a 'Lord' is was by no means meant as a sign of respect or admiration. In fact they were not at all noble though Harry had learned the previous owner had been. Aoife seemed intent on pointing it out in this manner at every opportunity. At the young age of ten Harry already knew what hate was and he knew the only person he hated more than his stepfather was Aoife Prince, the housekeeper. He had also noticed that Aoife and his stepfather seemed to hate each other even more than they hated Harry. He had once asked Mr Browne why she was still around. He had picked a day when he had done particularly well. Mr Browne was not an unkind man but nor was keen on sharing that kind of information.

”She's your stepfather's great-aunt,” he had replied. ”She comes with the house as per Lord Prince's will.”

Harry hadn't understood at the time what exactly that meant but he knew better than to push his luck and so returned to his math. Out of the eight other people who worked or lived in the house he was only getting on with three. Residing in Prince Manor were the family, Madam Aoife, Lizette Sinclair – his mother's nurse and the two house elves, Brin and Orla. Mr Browne and Phil the Gardener both lived in Athlea. Harry knew Phil was the only one there who wasn't 'magic' but apparently he knew about it. His mother had called him something but Harry couldn't recall the word.

”Daydreaming?” sneered a voice above him and Harry was rudely brought back from his thoughts. He looked up to find the pallid, bony face of the elderly woman he despised. A smirk formed on her lips. Aoife had dark eyes. Almost as dark as Snape's and in the dim corridor she looked like a vulture circling about a fresh corpse. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. Harry winced and fought the urge to cry out as her fingers tightened around his upper arm.

”You don't get to lie about here!” she hissed as she hauled him down the corridor. Near the end she dragged him up a smaller flight of stairs and flung a door open and pushed Harry inside with such a force that he ended up on the floor. ”Get to work!” she snapped as she closed the door and left him alone in his room. It wasn't large. There was just enough room for his bed, his desk and his wardrobe. The walls were grey and there was only one small window which could not be opened. He didn't always live here. He used to have a different room where his mother often came to visit. He had been moved when she had been and now she never entered. His room was in the attic beneath the roof and she could not come here since the elevator didn't go higher than the second floor. Harry got up from the floor and sat down at his desk where his homework lay waiting. He clutched his arm and swore under his breath. No doubt it would bruise again. He already had a few. He hid them to the best of his ability because if his mother saw them she would worry and fuss and his stepfather would yell at him for being clumsy and upsetting his mother.

It was no use telling his stepfather that he didn't just fall because Snape rarely if ever believed a word he said. He dared not tell his mother for she seemed to trust Aoife and besides he was afraid she might get ill again. Harry couldn't do his homework, he was to queasy. Already a huge shadow hung over his life and now he was certain he had a scolding from his stepfather to look forward to as well. Unlike Aoife's words, Snape's words still hurt him though he didn't like to admit it. He had never liked Aoife nor had he tried to or been required to. Snape was different. When Harry was younger he had tried his best to be good around him. The man's shortness and indifference had been taken as a challenge by the small child who worked hard if not for his stepfather's affection then at least for a kind word now and then. It had been all for naught. Snape was indifferent to him in his mother's presence and antagonistic when she was absent. Harry remembered a time when he had called the man father. Back then he had been too young to understand the look on the man's face or why he stepped away whenever Harry tried to hug him. His mother had been overjoyed, however, and Harry learned when he was older how to use this against Snape. Once the realization hit that Snape didn't like him and had no desire to try, Harry grew angry. He threw fits, he disobeyed Snape at every turn, he refused to let anything go his way. The only exception had been in his mother's company where he had been as good as he could and repeatedly called Snape 'father'. It made his mother smile and it made Snape fume. But the dark man did not object in front of his wife. The punishment came later.

He looked at the clock. A few hours until Snape came home. A few years prior he had accepted a job as a teacher at a school and every day he flooed to work, leaving Harry in Mr Browne and Madam Aoife's care as Lily was considered too unwell to be able to handle him. When he came home from work he was tired and agitated and naturally that was usually when Aoife decided to inform him of Harry's misdeeds. Half the time she told the story wrong which made Harry look much worse and sometimes when he hadn't done a thing, she would make something up. Both Aoife and Snape had often reminded him that they couldn't wait until he was 'out', but ever since Snape had become a teacher his standpoint had changed to 'I cannot believe I am to suffer your presence daily regardless of what I do'.
Harry had always known he was to go away to school because both his mother and stepfather had spoken of it often. He used to be excited about the idea. There wouldn't be any Aoife, no S... Well, no Aoife anyway and he would be with other kids his own age. He used to attend the school in Athlea but that hadn't lasted long. Harry suspected Snape thought he enjoyed it too much and so now he spent his days with Mr Browne. Escaping Prince Manor had been all he could think of but he no longer felt that way. This summer he would turn eleven and have to leave for Hogwarts. It was now he realized that, yes, Aoife wouldn't be there but the truth was that neither would his mother. He already barely spent time with her! How could he survive seeing her only at holidays with the added horror of having his stepfather as a teacher on top? Ever since Mr Browne had remarked upon his approaching birthday, Harry had felt empty inside.

Later that day there was a rapping on his door. Harry knew it was Orla, telling him that dinner was ready. Orla was the only one besides Harry's mother who actually liked Harry. Mr Browne simply didn't dislike him. Harry got up from his bed, groaning. Seven thirty o'clock already. So Snape had to have arrived home by now. Aoife had had plenty of time to speak with him and Harry dreaded sitting across from him. He knew he'd say nothing while his mother was there but as soon as Lizette took her back upstairs all hell usually broke loose. He quickly put on a clean shirt and shuffled down the stairs and into the dining room on the ground floor. His mother was already seated at the rather large dining table, looking oddly out of place in her light blue summer dress against the dark emerald wallpaper. Snape was standing at the window with his back to Harry.

”Oh, hello dear! We're having potato soup, isn't that nice?” smiled his mother as Harry took his seat at the far end of the table. Snape silently took his place at the other end with Lily on his right. He didn't even look at Harry. That didn't bode well. Snape smiled briefly at his wife as the dinner appeared in front of them. Harry tried his best to keep his eyes fixed on the yellow soup in front of him.

”How was your day?” asked Lily before she blew on her soup.

”Challenging,” growled Snape. ”Two cauldron explosions.”

Lily giggled. ”Oh, Sev! Like we never exploded anything!”

”Not making textbook potions,” argued Snape. ”I doubt any of my students are bright enough to experiment as we did.”

”I finished all my letters,” smiled Lily. ”I thought you might read to me later. I've missed you all day.”

”Certainly,” replied Snape, glancing briefly at Harry who nearly choked on his spoon from the power of the glare. ”That reminds me, Lily, I have some news. The Headmaster believes I should devote more time to my students and that I'm relying too much on my prefects.”

”So?” asked Lily.

”He has asked that I spend more nights at the school this year. I'm in no way fond of the idea but you know I cannot change jobs at the moment. I wouldn't agree to it if I didn't know the boy would be away from home this year and the staff can devote all their time to you. I would no longer be able to join you here every night although I promise to make it at least thrice a week.”

”I see,” replied Lily sadly. ”I understand. We can't live on what's in the vault forever. It's okay, Sev, you really mustn't blame yourself. Besides, Harry will need you too and I feel much better about my boy going away when I know he still has you to look after him.”

The rest of the dinner was rather quiet. It was clear to Harry that neither his mother nor Snape liked this arrangement very much but neither of them asked what he felt. He didn't like it one bit. He knew his stepfather had taken huge liberties with coming home almost every day especially since he was Head of Slytherin and the students were also his responsibility at night and though he could see the Headmaster's logic he didn't want Snape there more than he needed to be. When at last dinner was over Lizette came and took Lily away and the table cleared. Harry remained in his chair as Snape got up and paced in front of the window. When he finally stopped Harry didn't dare look him in the eye.

”So...” he heard a familiar low voice say. ”You think you can lie about all day, disobey Aoife and disturb your mother?”

Harry kept his gaze on his own knees.

”Do I want to ask if your homework is done?”

Harry closed his eyes. Damn! He'd forgotten about that. In the next moment he was hoisted up by his collar until he was standing on the chair, face to face with his stepfather.

”When I ask you a question I expect an answer!” hissed Snape.

”I'm sorry, sir!” Harry replied in a small voice before Snape released him.

”I have had enough of your attitude! I feed you, clothe you and provide you with an education and all I get in return is your disrespect, you ungrateful little brat! Have you not caused enough trouble? Has your mother not suffered enough because of you? Must you push her entirely into the grave?”

Harry felt his eyes water. He couldn't stand it when Snape spoke about his mother or about how she got hurt.

”I do not envy Aoife in the slightest! Having to put up with you all day! In fact it is a miracle you haven't put her in a hospital bed yet!” Sneered Snape although it was clear he actually had no sympathy for the woman at all.

”She's a liar!” cried Harry as he could no longer pretend.

”Be quiet!” roared Snape.

”You never listen to me,” sniffed Harry.

”That would hardly be worth my time since everything coming out of that mouth of yours is either untrue or an insult! I should have left you with your aunt! I could have saved myself a few grey hairs and your mother a great deal of pain!”

”You know what! Go away! Go away to Hogwarts! Mum won't miss you! Nobody will miss you! She would be happy with me! She'll be happy you're gone!” cried Harry in despair but instantly regretted it as he saw the murderous look in the tall man's back eyes.

”I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I'm sorry!” he mumbled as he jumped off the chair and back up against the wall.

”You will be,” sneered his stepfather. He grabbed the boy by his upper arm, ignoring the cry that escaped the boy and dragged him back to the chair where he sat down and swiftly pulled the already crying boy over his knee.

”I'm sorry,” sniffed Harry but he knew perfectly well it wouldn't make any difference.