Harry would never know that what had finally woken him, after sleeping through side-along apparition and being manhandled by his most hated teacher, had been the soft noise of someone apparating without him.
He also would never know that his subconscious would have decided to go back to sleep after recognizing Snape, had the man not spoken to him.
“Potter. Why are you not with your relatives?”
“I want to go back to Hogwarts”, Harry mumbled, still half asleep. He did not question Snape’s presence – after all, the man had been there in his dream, berating him, so why not in reality, too?
Snape stared at him, clearly not satisfied with the answer. To Harry’s surprise, he didn’t repeat the question, but instead left the room.
Before Harry’s feverish mind could come up with a theory on what the man was planning, Snape returned with a small bottle.
Something about the bottle was familiar, so Harry didn’t resist when Snape opened it and held it to his lips.
Pepperup Potion, he realized when a burning sensation spread through his body and his ears started to smoke.
“Again, Potter, what were you doing on the floor of a public library?”
“Sleeping.”
“Potter”, Snape said warningly.
“I was sleeping, sir.” Snape didn’t seem to like this answer any better. “It was warm and dry there.”
“Why are you not with your relatives?”
“Because ...” Harry hesitated. Telling Snape that the Dursleys wouldn’t let him go back to Hogwarts was stupid. After all, Snape, too, didn’t want Harry at Hogwarts.
So what could he say?
“I, uh, just didn’t want to ruin their Christmas.” Not that Snape usually cared about other people’s happiness. “You see, they, um, hate me just as much as you do. You would like them. So I decided to spend the holidays ... elsewhere. They thought they would only have to see me again in summer. I didn’t want to disappoint them.” There. Perhaps that would make Snape feel a bit of sympathy for the Dursleys and he’d just leave Harry be.
And take Harry back to the library. Where were they? It didn’t look like the dungeons. In fact, it looked like a perfectly ordinary living room inhabited by a person who was as untidy as Ron – there was a lot of dust – and as enthusiastic about books as Hermione, as every wall seemed to be covered in books.
“You aren’t so considerate of anyone’s feelings that you would endure sleeping on a library floor just to not disappoint them. The truth, Potter.”
Harry closed his eyes. “Okay, so I don’t particularly like them, either. The library is much nicer than Privet Drive.”
“Look at me while I am talking to you, Potter.”
He opened his eyes. What had he been thinking? Snape could do anything while he had his eyes closed, it was much too dangerous ... but he was so tired ...
“Answer me, Potter. Why did you not return to your relatives.”
“Because I hate them, okay? Is that reason enough?”
Snape’s gaze bored into his.
Harry could practically see the barred window flash before his eyes, then Ron and the twins with the car ...
“I see.” Snape sounded furious. Normally, Harry would have been frightened, but he was just too tired to care. “How do you feel now, Potter?”
“I ... still hate them?”
Snape frowned. “Not that, idiot. I gave you a Pepperup Potion. How do you feel after taking it?”
Oh, right. Snape had given him Pepperup Potion. Huh. Strange, Snape never was this nice, usually. But he had probably noticed Harry was too tired to talk. “Um. Better? Yes, I feel much better, thank you sir. Would you please take me back to the library, now?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Well, there was only so much niceness one could expect from Snape, Harry figured.
He was too shocked to react when he felt Snape’s bony fingers on his forehead.
“You say you feel better”, Snape said matter-of-factly and withdrew his hand. “Better, or well?”
“Just better. What is so ridiculous about taking me back to the library? It’s the holidays, I am allowed to be where I want.”
“No, you are allowed to be at home. You either return to your relatives, Potter, or you stay here.”
Later, Harry would tell himself that he just had intended to call Snape’s bluff, but he had not had the time to even think about it when he answered: “I’d rather stay here.”
“Fine. Go back to sleep.”
For once, Potter did exactly as he was told.
A pity that Severus didn’t have the time to properly enjoy that unprecedented occurence.
He considered writing to Dumbledore, then thought better of it. The manipulative old man had made Severus give his word to protect the Potter brat, and then done everything in his power to make it nearly impossible to protect Potter.
Such as giving him permission to have his own broom and play Quidditch in his first year. (It was technically Minerva’s fault, but the Headmaster could have easily overruled her.)
And, as it turned out, having Potter stay with people who imprisoned him, starved him and wouldn’t have let him return to Hogwarts.
There was something to be said for locking the brat in his room, certainly, but not feeding him and not allowing him to attend school ... no, that was simply inacceptable, and not just because one of the people responsible was horrid Petunia.
No, Dumbledore could wait. And find out for himself that Potter was missing. Why had no one taken the time to ascertain Potter actually returned to his relatives, even? Was he the only competent person here? It was infuriating.
Severus went to his bedroom, sat at the old desk that was left over from his childhood, and started writing a letter to Madam Pomfrey.
“One of my students ...” perfect, she’d assume it was one of his Slytherins. “... has been taken ill with what I first assumed to be influenza, but is only improved, not cured by Pepperup Potion ...”
He had to downplay Potter’s experiment with homelessness to simply spending too much time in the cold with insufficient clothing and made sure to mention the boy had spent time in London, where he could have come into contact with any kind of exotic germ from all over the world.
When he was finished, he collected a sample of Potter’s saliva, a process that strangely enough didn’t seem to wake the boy, and sent it along.
Upon his return, he found Potter sitting on the first step of the stairs. Severus was preparing a scathing remark when the sight of Potter’s pale face reminded him that the boy was unlikely to be planning a prank.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
“I need to ... go to the toilet”, Potter mumbled.
Ah. Of course. “I’ll use a hover charm to get you there.”
“No, please, I – I’ll be sick, if ...”
Hm. Nausea at the mention of magic? Was this normal for Potter, or might it be a symptom? “Fine, I’ll carry you, then.”
Potter didn’t look at all happy, but didn’t object, which was worrying in and of itself. Severus cast a shield charm that would protect him from infection in case the boy sneezed at him, and cautiously heaved Potter over his shoulder.
He would not carry a conscious Potter in his arms like a child. Not that he was sure he could do it for much longer than he had when apparating – being a wizard who didn’t enjoy Quidditch, he didn’t get a lot of exercise.
“You have five minutes, after that I’ll come in”, he announced as he lowered Potter to the floor. He wished he had cleaned the bathroom before – it wasn’t gross, as such, but he didn’t see the point of removing the lime deposits in the shower and sink regularly, after all, that was just lime, not dirt, and no one but him saw it anyway.
Or so he had thought.
Potter just nodded and went inside.
Severus heard the loo being flushed, he heard the sound of Potter washing his hands, and then ... nothing.
“Time’s up, Potter!”, he said, opened the door and saw Potter kneeling on the floor, resting his head on the side of the bathtub.
“You are done here?”, he asked, pretending he hadn’t stood outside the door and listened.
“Yes, sir. Sorry”, Potter mumbled weakly.
Severus didn’t reply, simply heaved the boy over his shoulder again and carried him back
“Where’s my cloak?” Potter asked when Severus lowered him onto the couch.
Of all the things to ask for ... of course, Severus had taken that cloak upstairs. He didn’t particularly fancy an invisible Potter brat in his house. “You won’t need your invisibility cloak here.” He scrutinized the boy. “Are you cold?”
“A bit.”
Severus sighed. He snatched his own cloak that he had thrown over an armchair and draped it over the boy who was already wearing his school uniform plus winter cloak.
There had been, he suddenly remembered, a bright green blanket on the couch in the Evans’ house. When Lily had been sick, she’d been there, a pillow in her back and a pot of herbal tea on the table next to her.
“Do you need something to drink?”, he inquired, much more impatiently than a good host would have.
“Please.”
What was going on with Potter? Surely, being ill shouldn’t change someone’s personality? Unless of course ... but those diseases were much too exotic.
No, that must be Lily’s genes in there, giving the boy the intelligence to see that he was as weak as a kitten and depended on Severus’ goodwill to keep him alive.
Severus made tea from meadowsweet blossoms the muggle way, so it wouldn’t interact with the Pepperup Potion, and added some sugar to make sure the boy would drink it.
Even with a cup of tea in his hands, the Potter boy didn’t look as well cared for as Lily used to. Severus wasn’t sure what it was – the ugly colour of the couch, the threadbare fabric covering it, the dusty windows in the background ... probably the windows.
Potter sniffed at the tea, took a sip, drank a bit more, and finally put it down on the couch table. “Thank you?”, he said, his voice trembling a bit as if he was ... surprised, yes, that was what it sounded like.
“Go to sleep.”
Had Petunia never made tea for the boy when he had been sick before? The thought infuriated Severus. Petunia Evans ought to know how to care for a child. She had grown up with Mrs. and Mr. Evans for parents, two people who not only would have done everything for their children, but also had been sickeningly sweet to each other ... well, not really that sickening, compared to the constant yelling Severus was used to at home.
Severus had only gotten small morsels of parental affection whenever his father was away and his mother wasn’t too deep in one of her melancholic moods, and most of his ideas on what parents ought to be like was based on glimpses into the Evans’ home life.
The fact that Potter seemed genuinely grateful for Severus’ sorry attempts of care didn’t say anything good about Petunia.
And that walrus-like man she apparently had married.
Severus settled into one of the armchairs with a cup of tea and a book. For a while, the only sound in the room was the turning of pages.
It was almost ... peaceful. Almost a bit like ... no, of course it was nothing like when he had visited Lily while she was ill, and she had smiled at him and when he had left in the evening, her parents had thanked him for keeping her company, as though it was some sacrifice to spend time with her.
Still ... it was a strange feeling, to have someone in the room who didn’t get on his nerves. Who would have thought that Potter was actually quite tolerable when asleep?
A noise at the window startled him out of his thoughts. Madam Pomfrey had already answered?
But no, the snowy owl didn’t carry a letter. Immediately after Severus had opened the window, it glided over to the sleeping boy and perched on the armrest of the couch.
Ah, yes. An ordinary owl hadn’t been good enough for famous Potter. No, it had to be a snowy owl.
No doubt he had whined until his relatives had bought ... wait. No. Petunia Evans had apparently managed to stay just as nasty as she’d been as child. So people weren’t doomed to become like their own parents. Rather comforting, Severus thought, considering what his father had been like.
Petunia had most definitely not bought the snowy owl. So then Potter must have wasted part of his inheritance on it. He could probably afford it, Severus figured. Or perhaps not? Dumbledore had mentioned generous donations to the Order made by James Potter, and with a few more years of having to buy all the books written by a narcissistic Defense teacher ...
Why did Severus even care? It was not like Potter was at any risk of poverty. If in dire financial straits, he could just sell his fame.
There was a knock at the window again. This time, it really was Madam Pomfrey’s answer.
Severus unfolded her letter and skimmed it for the name of the disease.
Yeti influenza. Leave it to Potter to acquire an exotic illness that usually only came to Britain when the stars were especially wrong and the weather especially cold.
He read the letter more thoroughly. Ah. Individuals who were in an especially melancholic mood could succumb to Yeti influenza even when the stars were neutral and the weather no worse than grey and rainy.
Madam Pomfrey recommended to have the patient stay in bed, give him Pepperup Potion once a day, lower the fever if necessary and make sure to do something to lift his mood. Which she didn’t think was difficult, seeing as it was Christmas and any child would be cheered up by that.
Severus was not so sure about that. Even if Potter were able to do more than sleep, it wasn’t like Severus had made any preparations for Christmas.
Cheering Charms were not an option, as apparently, Yeti influenza meant that any kind of magic except potions caused nausea to the patient.
The best thing, Severus concluded, would be to take Potter elsewhere.
Not, of course, to the floor of a library.
Severus gently tapped the boy’s shoulder. “Potter.”
The boy’s lids fluttered, then, slowly, his eyes focused. He had been wearing his glasses all this time, Severus realized.
“Potter, if you could choose, where would you like to spend Christmas? Except Hogwarts, that is.”
It seemed to take a while until Potter understood the question. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What about your friend, Weasley? Would you like to spend Christmas with him?” Even though no Weasley had ever been in Slytherin, Severus had met Mrs. Weasley a couple of times, mostly in the hospital wing when one of her sons was seriously injured. Judging from her frequent letters arriving at the Gryffindor table with that geriatric owl, Mrs. Weasley wasn’t going to run out of maternal affection anytime soon. She’d sure have plenty to spare for Potter.
“Ron hates me.”
“Oh?” Severus hadn’t been aware of that latest development. “Why?”
“Parselmouth”, Potter muttered.
Ah, yes. That explained it. Potter had said something to the snake and it had attacked Weasley. Severus was pretty sure the attack had more to do with the snake being angered by Lockhart’s incompetent attempt to get rid of it than with what Potter had said. “What did you say to the snake?”
“Told it to leave Ron alone.”
Which was the most logical thing, really. James Potter had been a despicable, disgusting ... Potter. But he hadn’t ever seriously injured one of those he called friends.
If the snake had bitten Severus, he would have been sure that the Potter brat had told it to. With Weasley, that was very unlikely.
“He doesn’t believe you?”
“No.”
“Very well. You can stay here if you don’t cause any trouble.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Potter’s only other friend was muggleborn, and Severus didn’t like the idea of leaving the boy with muggles. They weren’t able to apparate him to St. Mungo’s, should the need arise. They wouldn’t be any help if Death Eaters attacked ... though of course, Death Eaters were much less likely to find the Grangers than to come calling at Severus’ door.
The Malfoys considered it beneath them to visit him in Spinner’s End, of course, but you never knew.
If he kept Potter here over Christmas, he’d have to do something about decorations. And perhaps food. The boy might be happy to eat takeaway food but Severus hadn’t carefully constructed his image as authority figure only for a student to find out that his intimidating teacher ate takeaway food during the holidays as if he were some coddled twentysomething who hadn’t learnt to cook before moving out of his parents’ house.
Severus had, admittedly, not even permanently moved out of his parents’ house, but he could cook, as a matter of fact, he just didn’t really ... care.
So what if he died early because he didn’t eat enough vegetables? It was not like anyone was going to miss him. There was, of course, his promise to protect Potter, but Severus was confident that if the Dark Lord returned, he would find an opportunity to sacrifice his life for the boy’s years before cancer and heart attacks could become a risk.
Yet now ... now, Potter was in his house, and Severus couldn’t allow him to find out the truth. Potter was disrespectful enough as it was.
So, what to do?
The kind of meal that the likes of Slughorn served to impress others was clearly out of the question, too much effort.
As was the kind of meal Severus’ mother had usually served – something that consisted of whatever food was cheapest, or already in the fridge, or both. That would be even worse than takeaway.
Again he found his thoughts returning to Lily and her parents. Yes, that kind of meal. A main course, a salad and a simple dessert. That would do.
At least for himself.
Potter would have to eat chicken soup or some easily digestible porridge.
In any case, Severus would have to do some shopping.
And that meant he had to leave the house. Which meant he had to inform Dumbledore. Just in case he was hit by a car or something, someone ought to know where Potter was.
He went upstairs to write the letter, returned, and hesitated. Usually he would take his letters to an owl post office, but as the owl seemed to have decided she would stay here and shit on his floor ...
“Potter?”
“Hm?” Green eyes looked at him through ugly, cheap glasses.
“I need to inform Professor Dumbledore where you are. May I use your owl?”
The boy stared at him. It wasn’t an unreasonable request, was it? Not quite polite, perhaps, if one considered Potter a guest, but not unreasonable.
“Please don’t. He’ll send me back to the Dursleys.”
“Why are you so sure of that?” Severus knew that the presence of Lily’s flesh and blood was important for some protective charm Dumbledore had cast on the Dursley house, but Potter couldn’t possibly have been told about that ... could he?
Dumbledore guarded his secrets so jealously ...
“They are my relatives.And he knows how they are. It was in my Hogwarts letter.”
That didn’t really make sense, but Severus decided to drop the issue. “Very well. I expect your owl does everything you ask her to?
“Yeah ...”
“I will leave the letter to Dumbledore here on the table while I go out. If I do not return in a couple of hours, or if some emergency arises, send your owl to deliver the letter.”
“You’ll leave?”
Under different circumstances, Severus would never have left the boy in his house unsupervised.
Right now, however, the trouble Potter could get up to was rather limited. “You know where the bathroom is, now. I recommend you crawl there and take regular breaks rather than trying to walk. I’ll soon be back to pick you up from the floor.” He hesitated. “Oh, and don’t open the door to anyone. Dumbledore will walk in without knocking, anyone else ought not to be here. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
He apparated to the muggle town he always went to for takeaway food and started shopping.
When, a whole hour later, he was ready to return, he had spent his entire holiday budget of muggle money.
After apparating to a remote spot in the countryside in order to throw off pursuers, he apparated back home.
To his relief, Potter was exactly where he had left him.
Chapter 3