The Doe And Her Fawn by Lemon Curd

Severus soon realized that his genius plan had some flaws. For one, he wasn’t nearly as good as lying to himself as he had once been.

His mind just wouldn’t let him forget that he would take Potter to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore would surely take him back to the Weasleys, for who else was there?

Hermione Granger’s parents might not even want to take a boy who, to them, was no celebrity but just their daughter’s friend.
And even if they would agree to house him, even if they agreed to have the whole teaching staff of Hogwarts invade their home to put up the necessary protection spells, they wouldn’t know what hit them if Death Eaters paid them a ‘visit’.

No, that wasn’t an option.

Surely there were others – Augusta Longbottom wasn’t at all intimidated by the attack on her son and her daugher-in-law, she’d be delighted to raise the Boy-Who-Lived.

But Severus just couldn’t make himself believe that was what would happen. Not without any confirmation from Dumbledore.

He threw some floo powder into the fire of his room at the Leaky Cauldron. “Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office.”

Dumbledore was actually there – a rare occurence – but unwilling to listen.

“Now, Severus, I am sure Harry will happily return to the Burrow once we explain to him that Mr. Weasley treated him just like his own children and cares about him very much indeed.”

“Are you actually insane, or just very good at pretending to be?” Severus shot back tartly.

“You must understand, Severus, that Harry isn’t nearly as bitter as you yourself are.”

Bitter? This had nothing to do with bitter, it was a simple matter of brains. “If he does fall for the old ‘They beat you because they love you’ lie, he’s more damaged than I thought. Please. Can’t we at least agree on an alternative guardian with whom you’ll place him if he doesn’t want to go back?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I honestly cannot think of anyone, Severus. The Grangers would be the obvious choice, but it would be unkind to expose them to a risk they cannot possibly understand, or ward against.”

“What about, say, Augusta Longbottom?”

“It is hard enough to raise one child on one’s own, I couldn’t ask her to raise another. Especially since you will certainly admit that Harry is much more of a handful, as it were, than Neville.”

“Well, yes, but if she hasn’t changed, the old harpy is well capable of - ” Oh damn. That was exactly the problem. The woman was an old harpy, emphasis on old, and would likely agree that a good spanking would improve Potter’s behaviour.

Severus valued his holidays. They should not be wasted on having to search for Potter once again.

“Come on, there are hundreds of people who owe you. Can’t you think of a single family?”

Dumbledore sighed. “I might be able to, but I really don’t think it will be needed. Is it possible, Severus, that you are just procrastinating?”

“What? How dare you imply! I am –” But no, he wouldn’t reveal his plan. Not before it had worked. He knew that Dumbledore was impressed by his intelligence, and he wanted to keep it that way, not reveal half-baked plans that might be complete nonsense to him. “Well, thank you for nothing.”

If he could be sure about anything, it was that Dumbledore was under no illusions regarding his personality and wouldn’t be the least bit surprised – or insulted - at such a rude goodbye.

What now? He had to find a way to fool himself.

Since Dumbledore wasn’t of any help ... perhaps if he convinced himself he wouldn’t hand Potter over to him?

What would Potter want?

If Potter looked into the Mirror of Erised, what would he see?

Severus did not really like having to make use of his empathy – he tremendously enjoyed the luxury of not having to – but living with a very irritable father had taught him how to predict and plan around the feelings of people he hated.

Failing to empathise with Potter meant he would for sure fail to empathise with the Dark Lord – whom he hated a little bit more – and then he could just go kill himself upon the Dark Lords return.

He could do this. He had to.

After a hour of telling himself that he would send Potter to live with the Grangers, that everyone who would attack the boy was in Azkaban, that the Dark Lord would not return anytime soon, Severus apparated to the owl post office in Hogsmeade and sent an owl.

Or rather, tried to.

“Ah. The recipient has put up protective wards.” Wiggling his eyebrows, the employee added: “You are not, perchance, molesting a witch who doesn’t requite your affections?”

Helpless embarrassment at the insinuation – had he molested Lily back then? He’d only wanted to apologize – was quickly replaced by righteous anger. He knew that boy. This was no legitimate concern, just taunting.

“Shut up, Higgins. Count yourself lucky you aren’t my student anymore, or you’d lose Ravenclaw the house cup all on your own.”

Higgins grinned. “I do count myself very lucky indeed.” Then, switching back into his helpful employee persona: “Here’s your money back, sir.”

Severus flooed back to the Leaky Cauldron, went to his room and tried to convince himself of things he knew to be untrue once again.

After another hour of attempting to lie to himself, he realized that he was imagining James Potter. A boy who would use his invisibility to play unfunny pranks on people and would not waste a thought to the Grangers’ safety.

Perhaps that was what he was doing wrong.

He oughtn’t think of Potter. Just of a child, all alone and unheeded. A boy who had been starved by his relatives, and beaten by the family who had promised him a better home.

Severus breathed in and out very slowly. He could do this. A child, sleeping on the streets ...

The next attempt at sending an owl failed likewise, and after attuning himself to the fears and hopes of a child who had to spend the night in the streets, he was growing rather worried. Even assuming that no one who meant harm would find the boy, there was still the cold – the summer had gotten rather rainy - and the lack of food.

He had to succeed, and fast.

And think of some more plausible lie than sending the boy to live with the Grangers. Think, Severus, think.

This time, when he closed his eyes, he saw his own younger self, roaming the streets, hungry, cold and wet ... and the solution was obvious.

He could take the child into his home.

Dumbledore would not approve, not at all. So he would have to run. Have to hide.

Focusing on this thought, he summoned fantasies of camping in the forests of Albania. Teaching the boy to brew polyjuice potion at a campfire. The boy laughed, green eyes shining with mirth, and suddenly, Lily was there.

Now!

“Expecto Patronum!”

There it was. Lily’s patronus. His patronus, now. Could he risk using it to lure the boy here? No – not yet. He could not risk failure.

Severus scribbled a hasty note to the innkeeper – he had only told the man he was looking for a runaway student, and this request would seem quite strange, but it was the only thing that was remotely likely to work.

***

The night brought rain and storm, so violent that, when the sky turned from black to leaden gray, Harry was thoroughly drenched and very, very cold.

He should have brought his cloak – the warm winter cloak, that was. The invisibility cloak made him invisible, but that was pretty much it.

When he made his trip to the Leaky Cauldron, his mood brightened for a moment. Through the window he could see a half-eaten treacle tart beckoning him.

Harry snuck to the door, found it half open and inched through it.

Then he saw it. A muddy footprint he had left. If he walked all the way over to the treacle tart, he would be noticed for sure.

So he retreated.

After a couple of hours, the floor at Fortescue’s was muddy enough he could risk drinking out of the tap and using the toilet there, but the place still empty enough no one could bump into him if he was careful.

The Leaky Cauldron, on the other hand, with so many people preferring a hot meal to icecream, was full until late in the evening.

Harry was just about to start another raid when he had to sneeze.

He had gotten a cold. If he now walked into an almost empty inn and suddenly had to sneeze... no, he couldn’t risk it. He would just have to go without food for the day.

Tomorrow he’d have to risk it, he figured, to get something to drink, if nothing else. He had survived days without food at the Dursleys, this was no different.

Harry settled into his alley for a wet and cold night. The stack of old issues of the Daily Prophet was soaked, now, but still softer than the ground.

Another sneeze rattled his body. If this got worse ... perhaps he should return to ... but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t bear it.

Maybe it was better to just die, he thought darkly. Who would care, anyway?

Hermione and Ron, that’s who.

Mr. Weasley had seemed nice at first, too ...

But Hermione and Ron had risked their lives to help him with the Philosopher’s Stone. He mustn’t think so badly of them.

Ron had tried to get his father to leave Harry be, he faintly remembered.

Not that it had helped any.

He had thought he had a family. Parents, especially.

Of course it couldn’t be. It had felt too good to be true, and it was. Freaks like him didn’t get families.

As the sun sank, so did Harry’s mood. The rain was falling faster now, and more drops managed to get past the shelter of the house walls.

Darkness had well and truly fallen when Harry saw a light at the entrance of the alley.

It looked magical. Faint and shimmering and lovely, like a ghost.

And then it drew closer and Harry stared in awe. A doe. A ghostly, silvery doe with large, gentle eyes.

She bowed her head, and Harry touched her soft-looking ears. His hand went right through them, but he felt a bit warmer inside. More hopeful.

The doe lifted her head again, turned and walked away. No, she waited. Looked back. Did she want him to follow?

What if he couldn’t trust her? But she was so lovely. Nothing that lovely could be evil, surely?

He drew his invisibility cloak safely around himself and followed her. If she led him somewhere dangerous, like Knockturn Alley, he could always turn away, right?

But the doe did not lead him to Knockturn Alley, nor anywhere else where he didn’t want to go.

Just to the tables outside Fortescue’s. They had been chained together for the night, and the unceasing rain was dripping off them where the awning of the ice cream parlor didn’t protect them.

And there, under the awning, protected from the rain, sat a piece of apple pie on its cardboard plate, almost untouched, as if the person eating it had realized after one or to bites that they didn’t really like apple pie.

Harry snatched it, then looked to the doe.

She lowered her head as if in greeting, then faded and vanished.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He took the apple pie back to his hiding place and savoured it. It tasted so lovely, of cinnamon and apples, he couldn’t imagine how anyone could have abandoned it.

Or maybe it just felt like it because he was so very hungry?

After the apple pie he felt full, and even a bit warmer. Despite the rain, sleep came fast that night.

He woke before sunrise.

The doe had returned. “Thank you”, Harry said. “For the pie, I mean.”

She inclined her head as if nodding, then turned around, beckoning him to follow.

Perhaps she had found some more food? Harry considered asking her who she was, (because the question what she was would be horribly rude), but it didn’t seem like she could talk.

This time, she stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. The sign at the door said it was closed, but there was light inside, and on a table close to the door, there was a quarter of a treacle tart, surrounded by crumbs, as though someone had picked at it and not really liked it. Something Harry could hardly comprehend.

He was about to sneak in when he heard footsteps.

It was all he could do to jump out of the way before a group of people poured in from the Diagon Alley side of the brick wall portal.

They all wore rags – not that Harry could judge them for that – and a few of them hid their faces. The men were badly shaven or had full on beards, the women ... some of them had beards, too, like Vernon’s sister Marge, and those with long hair didn’t seem to comb it often or at all.

Did they come from Knockturn Alley?

When they had passed, the treacle tart was gone, and Harry realized that those people must be like him – well, older, obviously, but living on the streets.

Perhaps scavenging for food in Muggle London would be easier?

Muggles would never suspect someone being invisible, after all.

On the other hand, he knew what was where in Diagon Alley. Muggle London he had only seen briefly when Hagrid had taken him here.

The thought of going to Muggle London made him feel unsafe. Perhaps because the Dursleys might be there – not that it was likely, but they could.

No, he just wanted to stay in the magical world. Preferably hide in a little, dark hole. That would suit his mood best.

Harry was glad the doe had faded away just when the people came trampling through the backyard. She was his secret. He didn’t want others to know about her. They would ... he didn’t know what adult witches or wizards would do to such a strange, ghost-like being, but he was rather worried they might try to capture her, keep her in a cage, if they could. She was, after all, very beautiful.

Deciding that he needed to find more sources of food, he went to Knockturn Alley. During the day and while being invisible, it couldn’t be that dangerous, right?

He passed by Borgin&Burkes, walking deeper and deeper into Knockturn Alley.

There didn’t seem to be any places selling food.

Finally, he saw a food vendor. The smell of grilled meat emanated from the stall.

There was a sign that said “Soy-Boy – Just Like The Real Thing!”. And if one was in any doubt as to what that meant, there was a drawing of a smiling boy who cut himself up with a butcher’s knife.

Harry shuddered.

Even if it was really soy, he didn’t want to taste something that allegedly tasted like human flesh.

Deciding to stick with Diagon Alley, he turned and fled.

But where was Borgin&Burkes? Where was the shop that sold poisonous candles? He should have paid more attention to his surroundings.