“Sorry, Harry, but I’ve been asked, as Head Boy,” he announced importantly, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses, “to bring you to the headmaster’s office.”
Harry swallowed heavily, glancing around the crowded corridor. He had a sinking feeling that this was about what Snape and him had discussed yesterday. Even as exhausted and out of it from healing potions that he had been after the match, he shouldn’t have been so damn emotional. He’d practically told Snape all about his uncle hitting him and then he’d gone and asked the potions master if Snape could still look after him. The whole conversation made him intensely embarrassed and afraid now that he thought it over. It was ridiculous anyway, he’d never be allowed to leave the Dursleys. No one had ever cared in the muggle world about him being hit or not getting fed, why should the wizarding world be any different?
He followed Percy’s long strides to Dumbledore’s office, dreading every moment that brought him closer to meeting the headmaster. Dumbledore would likely ask him hundreds of questions about the Dursleys. Snape probably had told him about Harry not eating right, or worse, maybe he told Dumbledore that he didn’t want anything to do with looking after a whiny worthless kid that he had always hated anyway. Snape was probably having Dumbledore do his dirty work and be the one to tell Harry that their appointments were over. And then Snape would go back to being horrible to him and giving him actual detentions. Harry kicked moodily at the stone wall of the corridor with the side of his foot, ignoring Percy’s reproving expression. It was his own fault for daring to want some sort of father figure in the stern potions master.
Finally, Harry stumbled to a stop, jarred out of his disturbing thoughts by nearly running into Percy who had drawn himself up imperiously in front of the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office. “Peppermint Toad,” Percy declared authoritatively. At once, the passage opened and Harry let Percy wave him pompously unto the circular staircase that led to Professor Dumbledore’s office.
Harry felt rather small and alone, standing by himself outside the wooden door of the headmaster’s office. With a deep breath, Harry knocked, feeling a slight twinge in his wrist when he did so. Madam Pomfrey had insisted he continue to wear the splint, and made some noise about having some other healer look at the injury, but Harry had convinced her to let him leave the hospital wing at least. His wrist barely hurt and he couldn’t understand why the medi-witch insisted on fussing over the whole thing just because it wouldn’t heal instantly. She was almost as bad as Snape about his Quidditch injuries, he thought, recalling the tense argument the day before.
The door suddenly swung open and Harry hesitantly stepped into the large round office. He paused a little past the threshold at the sight of Snape seated near the fireplace in a wing-backed armchair, his black robes contrasting with the purple, red, and gold tones of Dumbledore’s study. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his expression serious.
The presence of the two people he least wanted to disappoint watching him closely was unnerving. Harry tugged at the hem of his overlarge T-shirt, wishing Ron hadn’t brought him muggle clothes to change into. His rags from the Dursleys felt particularly awful compared to the splendor of magical artifacts and antiques that furnished Dumbledore’s office.
“Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly, his blue eyes studying, his fingers interlaced in front of him, “congratulations on the match, I understand it was quite a close game.”
Harry blinked, mustering a small smile, glancing toward Snape whose eyes had flickered disdainfully away at the mention of Quidditch, “Yeah, it was,” Harry replied, edging further into the room as Dumbledore gestured him to come forward.
“Severus informed me you were injured,” Dumbledore remarked and Harry shot another look at the potions master, wondering what else Snape had told. Snape met his gaze directly this time, his expression calm in that same steadying way it had been from that very first detention. Slowly, Harry felt himself relax a bit, he nodded at Dumbledore who leaned forward, strong lined hands falling flat against the desk.
“I must apologize Harry, it is not my intention to befuddle you about why you are here,” his blue eyes met Harry’s, so piercing that Harry had the distinct feeling Dumbledore was peering into his very soul. “It has come to my attention that your relatives do not treat you well. I confess, I believed them to be narrow-minded and parsimonious in their regard toward others, but I had hoped they would treat you with the respect and care you deserve.”
Harry shifted, unconsciously moving his arms tighter to his body. Deserve? How the hell did he know what he deserved? Anytime his uncle had hit him had been because he ‘deserved’ it. The neighbors in Little Whinging had seemed to agree, as had the teachers at his old primary school. No one had minded about him showing up with a black eye or nicking food out of bins then. Why was it a problem now? He chanced another glance at Snape and had to look away quickly for the man was watching him closely with narrowed eyes as if he knew exactly what Harry was thinking.
“I will do what I can to rectify this situation, Harry.” Dumbledore continued, “it may be difficult to circumvent certain members of the Ministry, but I do not foresee any insurmountable problems.” Fawkes let out a soft trill from where he was perched on the back of a battered ancient chair. All of them looked toward the phoenix momentarily and Dumbledore’s expression, while still retaining a matter-of-fact quality to it, was suddenly old and sad.
“My main concern Harry, is your safety,” Dumbledore declared and Harry was relieved that a briskness was still there in the headmaster’s voice, that once again Dumbledore would be able to fix the impossible, or at least offer some sort of resolution, “not only from the mistreatment you abhorrently suffered, but also from Voldemort and any of his followers.”
Snape tensed at the headmaster’s words, rubbing absently at his left forearm. Harry bit his lip, his stomach in knots. He didn’t want to talk about the Dursleys with Dumbledore. Maybe with Snape, he might be able to. But he didn’t want the headmaster knowing how terrible things had been at times.
“However, I believe defensive wards can be put into place to ensure your safety and Severus is well up to the task of protecting you.”
Harry’s green eyes widened behind his glasses, he inhaled tightly, staring from Snape to Dumbledore. The elderly wizard smiled slightly. “Professor Snape has offered you a home with him. He would like to become your guardian and provide for you, as your relatives should have.”
“I –“ Harry realized he was shaking and swallowed, unable to speak further.
The room felt suddenly very large and hollow, echoing with the frantic beat of his racing heart. Dumbledore was still speaking but his voice seemed far away, as if Harry were underwater. A hand suddenly grasped Harry’s upper arm. He jolted in instinctive fear but the grip was light, leading him to a chair by the flickering fireplace. Harry stared up at Snape, dazed still as he was gently deposited in the armchair.
“Why did you –“ Harry mumbled, still too shocked to be mortified at the realization that he’d nearly fainted. Snape summoned a glass of water and made him drink it, eyeing him closely, his black eyes narrowed with what was definitely concern. When he seemed convinced that Harry wasn’t going to collapse, Snape stepped back, appearing, for the first time, a bit awkward.
“You need a safe place to stay,” he murmured.
Harry shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the concept that Snape had offered to take him. He stared up at the tall thin man, Snape’s gaze still fixed on him.
“But,” Harry stammered weakly, “you can’t. I mean, you don’t want –“
“Do not presume to think that you are unwanted,” Snape stated, his tone suddenly fierce, “it is my wish to become your guardian, to provide you a home, and to care for your physical and emotional wellbeing.”
Harry could only stare at the man. He swallowed tightly, forcing himself to keep breathing as evenly as possible while all the while feeling as if he’d just been hit in the face again by a bludger. Snape wanted to become his guardian. Snape wanted him. With sudden, terrible embarrassment he realized that his face was wet and that he’d been crying without even knowing it. Immediately, he lowered his head and stared hard at his knees, trying to get himself back under control. Snape did not speak, but his hand came to rest atop Harry’s head as it had in the hospital wing, the sensation incredibly soothing and bizarrely making Harry want to cry more.
Dumbledore had remained thankfully quiet, so that after a few moments and a silent, if somewhat uncomfortable, offer of a handkerchief from Snape, Harry was able to raise his head. He knew he still looked a long way from alright, but he was suddenly too tired to care.
“You really want to look after me?” he asked softly, needing the absolute truth, “you’re not just doing this because you pity me or –“
“No,” Snape said instantly, “I am not rearranging my entire life, and yours, out of some wayward bout of sympathy.”
It was hard not to smile, just a little at the sardonic words from Snape. At least, it was reassuring to know that his professor wasn’t acting like this because he’d been Confounded or something. Harry looked over at Dumbledore who was regarding him thoughtfully, that sorrow was still there in his expression, but he smiled faintly as well. An exhausted joy seemed to hang over them all, everyone too worn or tentative to really grasp hold of it, but it was there and Harry knew then that no matter what, things were going to be okay.
He found himself folding and refolding the handkerchief for something to do, Snape’s hand had moved from his head to rest on his shoulder and it was a comforting weight that did not frighten him. Harry looked up at the man,
“I used to think you hated me,” he hesitated, “I mean, you always act like children are really insufferable to be around.”
Snape tilted his head, the firelight flickering over his features, adding color to his waxy skin and black eyes. “Most are,” he replied off-handedly before, remarkably, the corner of his mouth moved in a hint of the first genuine smile Harry had ever seen from him, “but there is one that isn’t ‘so bad’.”
Harry couldn’t contain his sudden grin at the man’s words, his laugh still shaky from his earlier tears.
“So what was it that you wanted to tell us?” Hermione asked curiously, glancing up from the enormous tome she had propped open against the arm of the battered sofa she sat on.
Harry looked between her and Ron, who was doodling in the margins of his Astronomy homework. He sat his own textbook aside, hands trembling. The nervousness he had felt facing Dumbledore didn’t seem half as bad as this. It had been only two days since he’d sat in the headmaster’s office and learned that Snape was trying to get guardianship of him. Since then, both wizards had been incredibly busy filing paperwork with the ministry, Harry had spent the last three sessions with Snape just filling out forms. Dumbledore had obviously leaned hard on someone in the ministry, or else guardianship changes were relatively unregulated because that morning, Snape had handed him the official guardian contract in his office. They’d both signed it with Dumbledore and a rather shocked McGonagall as witness and now it was only a matter of time before the whole school knew.
Harry wasn’t looking forward to the Slytherins finding out, but Snape had seemed remarkably unfazed about the matter, commentating to Harry that if anything, it would add some interesting facets to the rumors about Snape being part-vampire or using students for potions ingredients or other such nonsense. Harry figured it would resolve itself in due time but he would likely be in for a lot of staring and whispering for the next few weeks. It was hard to care too much about what others thought though when he knew he was finally going to leave the Dursleys and live with someone who cared about him. The only thing dampening his excitement was trying to work out how to tell Ron and Hermione. He’d held off until after dinner, but knew he couldn’t wait much longer. He had to tell them before someone else did.
“Um,” Harry began, “well, it’s…er…about Snape.”
“Snape?” Ron said, looking up with a scowl, “what about him?”
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said suddenly, setting her book aside, “is he being really terrible to you? I told you to tell Professor McGonagall about his detentions, I mean, it’s not fair if he’s –“
“What? No!” Harry objected, “look, this isn’t really about his detentions. Alright, so it is, sort of. But it’s not –“ he stopped, frustrated.
Ron and Hermione were looking at him with open concern now, Ron’s poised quill dripping ink on the work table he sat at. Harry glanced around the common room, making sure no one was eavesdropping. It was fairly empty and most everyone was crowded around Fred and George on the other side of the room who were playing some sort of game that involved knarl quills, empty butterbeer bottles and fire. Frowning, Harry rubbed the back of his neck, trying to come up with the right words.
“Snape – the detentions – they’ve been a bit…unexpected.” He muttered,
“Unexpected?” Hermione repeated, brows raised in confusion,
“Well, he’s had to have run out of really horrible tasks by now,” Ron pointed out reasonably, gesturing with his quill so that it left streaks of ink across the table, “Harry’s been doing these detentions for weeks. Guess he’s got you doing lines or something like that now?”
“Er – no,” Harry replied, poking at an already sizeable rip in the armchair he sat on.
“Well then – hang on, this doesn’t have anything to do with the match? Fred said Snape looked bloody furious in the hospital wing –“
“Yeah, he was angry about me getting injured,” Harry mumbled with a shrug, “but I don’t see why, everything’s fine.”
“You’re not fine!” Hermione insisted hotly, crossing her arms atop her book and regarding Harry with the sort of stern look McGonagall was more prone to wearing, “You were hit by multiple bludgers and you’re still wearing that brace on your wrist, not to mention that you haven’t been well all school year. Snape has a lot of nerve getting angry at you for missing one of his unjust detentions when you were obviously injured!”
“Hermione, that’s not –” Harry shook his head, a bit impressed at the sudden show of temper from his best friend, if not a little irritated that neither Ron or Hermione seemed to want to listen to him, “Snape didn’t yell at me for missing a detention, okay? He was upset because I got hurt.”
“What?” Ron demanded, Hermione and him wearing identical looks of bewilderment, “why would Snape care?”
“Because he does!” Harry snapped, suddenly tired of the whole issue, “Snape’s done more for me than anyone else since school started! He noticed I wasn’t eating and he started helping me there and now he’s taking me away from the Dursleys –“
“What do you mean –“
“Snape’s going to be my guardian,” Harry stated flatly, “he is my guardian. We signed the last form this morning.”
Both of his friends were staring at him in frozen horror. Ron’s quill was now leaking ink unto the rug. Hermione’s mouth was still slightly open.
“Come again?” Ron finally managed weakly.
Harry rubbed at his temples where a headache was forming, trying to remain calm despite the warring emotions inside him that were debating between yelling or running.
“That first detention with Snape back when school just started,” he said quietly, “he wanted to know why I wasn’t eating. I – we talked about…the Dursleys and stuff. He says I have an eating disorder and that’s why I have a hard time eating here,” Harry avoided Hermione’s eyes, staring at the rapidly larger pool of ink on the rug now, “he had me meet him twice a day so I could eat in his office. A lot of times I did homework there or we talked about things. He’s been decent in class to me and he really listens to what I have to say.
“The whole thing with the match – he was only mad because I got hurt, he says that I ‘recklessly endanger myself’. He gave Warrington and Montague three weeks worth of detention and took a whole load of points from Slytherin after all that fighting that went on in the Great Hall. Anyway, he, uh –” Harry paused, cleared his throat past the sudden tightness there and made himself continue, staring hard at the floor the entire time, “he found out that my uncle used to hit me sometimes and that my relatives didn’t feed me. Snape was really angry about that and told me he’d get Dumbledore to move me somewhere else and well, I asked if I could stay with him and he said yes and now he’s my guardian.”
“Harry…” Hermione began tentatively, “are you sure –“
“Yes.” Harry replied firmly, lifting his head and shooting both her and Ron a defiant look, “maybe you don’t get it yet, but Snape does care about me. He’s already helped me loads.”
“But Harry –“ Ron protested, his voice slightly strangled, “Harry, it’s Snape! He’s been rotten to you – to everyone – since the beginning and now –“
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner that he was helping me,” Harry interrupted, tired and fed up with the confused pitying look Hermione was giving him or Ron’s still shocked horror, “I didn’t want to talk about all that. It’s hard enough just accepting that my thoughts about food probably are messed up because of everything with my relatives. I just thought you should know before the whole school does.”
“He’s helping you eat more though,” Hermione said slowly, “I mean, you’re still underweight, but you look better than earlier this year.”
“Yeah,” Harry muttered, scuffing his shoe against the floor, “yeah, he’s been really great.”
Ron looked unconvinced and Hermione’s expression was altogether still too skeptical, but Harry figured that there wasn’t much more he could say. Hopefully, with time, they’d see the truth about Snape.
A cold wind blew all of late November, with snow flung ruthlessly down from the mountains to land on Hogwarts. Harry shivered as he and his classmates trudged across the grounds after a long Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. It was always interesting to see the game rather than be in it, but Harry suspected he would have enjoyed it a bit more if Wood hadn’t been using the game as a ‘teaching opportunity’ to bore the rest of the team into a stupor as he kept up a endless stream of training ideas for their next practice session.
“I can’t believe that Hufflepuff won!” Ron said for the second time since they’d started the march back to the castle doors, where hopefully Harry could warm his feet up. His trainers had long since fallen apart over the last few years and his toes had been numb most of the match. “I thought Diggory was going to lose the snitch for sure.”
“He’s not a bad seeker,” Harry pointed out, “but that last move was too uncontrolled, if he hadn’t rolled out of that feint fast enough –“
“Isn’t it enough to have seen the match without having to reiterate the entire thing play-by-play?” Hermione asked, her face pink with cold. Harry shook his head wordlessly at her lack of interest, sharing a look with Ron as they reached the castle and stepped inside the warm entrance hall.
“Speak for yourself, Hermione,” Ron remarked, shaking snow off his gloves, “I personally like your matches better, Harry. It’s always more fun when players barely miss getting pummeled to death –”
“Is that so?” a cold voice came behind them. They turned to find Snape standing there, arms crossed over his black teaching robes, his expression particularly forbidding.
Harry smiled slightly but both Ron and Hermione looked torn between awkward and terrified at the sight of their potions professor. Snape’s eyes moved from Ron’s face to Harry’s, narrowing as he took in the state of Harry’s snow-covered clothing.
“With me, Harry,” he ordered sternly, gesturing to the corridor leading to his dungeons. Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance at the familiarity, with Hermione trying to smile in what she clearly thought was a reassuring manner but it came out as more of a grimace.
Harry followed Snape down to the dungeons, even the cooler air there feeling warm compared to outside. He sighed quietly, wishing Ron and Hermione would stop acting as if Snape was going to murder him every time that Harry went to the man’s office. The whole school was still gossiping about Snape basically adopting Harry and at least three separate betting pools had formed over whether or not Harry would survive the year without Snape killing him.
The Slytherins seemed particularly disgruntled toward both Harry and Snape, but had refrained from saying or doing anything, obviously not sure who Snape might side with. Gryffindors though, they’d been relentlessly trying to get information out of Harry about the whole matter ever since the news broke. No one, besides Dumbledore, seemed to accept the information calmly, except a second-year Ravenclaw girl who had actually congratulated Harry on ‘his new father’ before wandering off with a vague smile into a crowd of other students.
“Sit,” Snape instructed as they entered his office and Harry found a chair, tensing automatically before relaxing as Snape reached out, brushing clumps of snow from Harry’s dark hair.
“Is there a reason you are not wearing a hat, or gloves, or a coat beneath your winter cloak?” Snape demanded, his expression harsh but his fingers very gentle as if still unsure if Harry would flinch at his touch.
“I don’t have any.” Harry responded quietly, stretching his feet out toward the fire playing in the low grate of Snape’s office before hastily pulling his legs back when it exposed just how damaged his trainers were.
Snape sighed, waving his wand in a complicated motion, sending warm air over Harry that instantly dried him. He went over to his desk, returning momentarily with a quill and parchment that he set in front of Harry.
“Write me a list of everything you own, clothing, textbooks, everything. Whatever you do not have or is in a state similar to that of those shoes, I will make sure is replaced.”
“But Christmas isn’t for a few weeks…” Harry argued, brow furrowed, “and you never said anything about us doing gifts or anything.”
Snape looked even more agitated than when he’d overheard Ron talking about Harry being hit in Quidditch matches, “this isn’t about gift-giving,” he snapped, “this is about you having the basic necessities that other students have. I would not have allowed you to watch a two hour match in freezing weather had I known that you were not properly dressed for winter.” He held up a hand when Harry opened his mouth, palm held more to the side in a motion that was less likely to cause Harry to flinch, “I am your guardian, Harry. I am required to provide for you and it is my desire to do so.”
Slowly, Harry closed his mouth, managing a nod. Snape was taking this all a little too seriously. It wasn’t as if his clothing was too small for him, and his shoes could probably still last another year, provided he cast a few more charms on them to prevent them from completely disintegrating. Still, he knew better than to argue when Snape got that determined look in his eyes. Somehow, over the last few months, Harry had grown to know what a lot of Snape’s relatively impassive expressions meant.
“Drink this,” Snape said suddenly, summoning and handing him a nutritive potion that Harry obediently swallowed, “we need to discuss Christmas.”
“What about it?” Harry asked, handing the empty vial back and quickly draining the glass of water Snape gave him to wash the taste of the potion away.
“You have always spent the holidays here. My place of residence outside of Hogwarts is not yet safely warded for your protection. As it is, a separate residence may be better, but that is a matter to be discussed at a later time. If you do not object, the safest measure would be for both of us to stay here.”
“Right,” Harry agreed, pulling his winter cloak off now that Snape had the fireplace flooding warmth into the man’s office.
Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry’s instant acquiesce and Harry offered a small smile, running a hand though his dark hair, “like you said, I’m always here anyway. I don’t really mind where I have to stay as long as it’s not the Dursleys.”
“I told you, you will never go back there,” Snape said with sudden fire, glaring at the mention of Harry’s relatives. He looked rather scary, but the knowledge that it was protectiveness over Harry that had caused Snape’s instant fury couldn’t help but make Harry feel as if a second drying charm had been cast over him. He looked down at the floor, a bit shy at how nice it was to finally have an adult looking out for him.
“As for your earlier statement regarding gifts,” Snape began, changing the subject deliberately, “I do not require anything, but I most certainly will be providing you with presents.” That was such a un-Snapeish thing to say that Harry could only shake his head, forgoing his protest at the inequality of Snape giving him gifts but he not being able to give the man anything, when Snape changed the subject yet again.
“I take it Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have not come to terms with the change in guardianship.”
“No,” Harry sighed, “no one really has. But I don’t care what anyone else thinks, except Ron and Hermione.”
Snape nodded thoughtfully, “it will be awhile before they adjust to the news, I’m sure.” He fixed Harry with a sudden stern look, “However, if anyone, regardless of who they are, mistreats you over this matter, I expect you to inform me immediately.”
“It’s not –“ Harry started but Snape interrupted him,
“I’m well aware of your penchant for not confiding in authority figures, Harry,” something about the potions master’s voice softened a bit, “you are not to blame for mistrusting adults, many have harmed you or threatened to do so. But I hope that you are now aware that I will not tolerate anyone hurting you,” he stepped forward, a hand settling on Harry’s shoulder, his gaze very serious as their eyes met, “including allowing you to hurt yourself.”
“I’ve – I’ve been eating,” Harry said quietly.
Snape nodded, “you have, but we need to have a number of discussions about your lack of self-preservation skills, as well as your childhood.” Harry exhaled roughly, avoiding the man’s eyes, looking up only when Snape moved back to his desk, his gaze intent yet still very gentle.
“We do not have to speak of anything right now,” he said quietly, “I told you there would be time to address things more fully.”
“Does this mean I’m still in ‘detention’?” Harry couldn’t help asking and was surprised to see Snape’s mouth curl ever so slightly in amusement.
“I imagine you’ll be having numerous discussions with me over the years, a few of which no doubt will seem like detention, but for now we can conclude that these current sessions are at an end.”
Harry nodded. He’d known that would be the case. After all, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t made progress. He still had to fight against his self-loathing for daring to eat food not stolen or damaged, but well, he’d done alright the last few weeks. He was getting better at eating, especially once he knew he wouldn’t have to go back to the Dursleys. Still, he had sort of liked the detentions with Snape and it was oddly upsetting to know that they were over.
As if knowing what he was thinking of, Snape spoke quietly, almost hesitantly, “there is no reason why you cannot come and see me when you wish, Harry. I am a teacher here and as such, I am afforded the same respect and formalities of other teachers. However, I am also your guardian. You will always have a home with me, here at Hogwarts, and wherever we end up residing after term ends.”
Green eyes met black, Harry standing uncertainty, and Snape stepping forward, watching him quietly. Harry moved closer, he wasn’t sure want to do, or to say. He felt suddenly helpless, unable to articulate the simplest words. In the end, he didn’t really have to. Surprisingly, Snape rested hands on Harry’s thin shoulders and then pulled him close in an awkward but heartfelt embrace. Harry clung to the man’s robes, trembling slightly. He could not remember ever being hugged before like this, though he supposed his parents must have when he was a small child.
“I –“ Harry began unsteadily, glad that Snape couldn’t see his face as he spoke, unsure if he could even allow himself to say what he really wanted aloud, “I could stay with you, in your quarters, during the holidays.”
“Yes,” Snape replied, stepping back, his hands still gripping Harry’s shoulders, his eyes not leaving Harry’s.
“Like family?” Harry whispered,
“Yes,” Snape said, the ghost of a smile once more briefly visible on his pale angular face, “like family.”