Harry Potter was highly unusual in many ways. For one, he didn’t have to live in an orphanage, despite his parents being dead. For another, he really wanted to go to school, but he had to focus on earning his keep with the Dursleys: Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and his cousin Dudley. And he also happened to be a chimney sweep’s apprentice.

It was nearly dawn and Harry and his fellow climbing boys -and girl- were sleeping black. The cloth and sacks Master Edwin used to capture fallen soot draped over them, bodies shaking nonetheless from the cold seeping through the dirty cellar floor.

Harry untangled himself from the heap of bodies first. Treading with care as not to wake anyone up, feet unsteady. He shivered. Wrapping his jacket around him for warmth, eyeing his friends with their rising and falling bodies with a glint in his eyes. Tempting. So very tempting. But Master Edwin would come soon. Shrill voice jolting them awake and among the hustle, Harry would miss the opportunity to wash up, be late and suffer Edwin’s wrath.

What would Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia say when Master Edwin complained to them? Hurtling Harry back home and declaring him useless? Uncle Vernon wouldn’t take his small physique as an excuse and no doubt throw him out. Screaming that no sissy boy deserved to be housed under his roof.

He shuddered again, not cold, and when he was ready enough the lofty steps of Edwin’s boots echoed behind the door. A momentary fumbling of keys and the wood hurled open, smashing against the wall with enough force to wake the others.

And if that wasn’t enough to stir the heaviest of sleepers (namely Oliver), the ragged shouting certainly was.

“Wake up, ‘ye useless clotpoles!” Erwin boomed, snatching the blanket from over the boys. Draping the fabric and sacks over his soot-stained jacket while the five others withdrew with sharp flinches. Sleep induced and tripping over their feet in the result, they scurried off to the morning routine none were too pleased to share.

For once, Harry -almost thirteen and not showing it- watched. Sight a blur of shapes and shadow. Running wild like the thoughts in his mind. Another day. Another sun. And Harry Potter has woken once more to the void in his chest eating away the heart he prided himself to have. Oldest he might be, to these children… a brother that they didn’t have and the hope they would better be without… but the light from life was starting to dim for him after all. Oliver… Little Joe and the only girl, Marie-Lue... All lined beside him, ash and dark and clothes that were never meant to be theirs.

Another clench of his heart and Harry faced forward.

Edwin, scowling in the face Edwin, took them in with a grunt. Eyes narrowed. Searching for a toe out of line, as the thought bolted in their minds , “That all of you?” he asked, adjusting his cap.

Harry nodded, curtly, and only because the rest did not. Clenching his jaw hard enough to rattle his teeth, Harry allowed the man his petty fun of spitting at their feet. The hands clasped behind his back jarring his skin, drawing angry gashes over the ones already lining them.

"A'ight. Off with you all, then," Edwin said, banging his cane against the metal rails. Making small Marie, only six, flinch and duck her head. Launching for Harry's hand when Edwin marched up the steps, head ducking to get past the door when his hat almost fell off.

Despite himself, despite what he told everyone in the business, Harry squeezed back. Hard flesh against Marie's soft, innocent skin snagged by two weeks of labour. Tears already forming, trails against red skin. The disappointment Harry had to learn to leave behind as not to stagger. As to win. As to earn his keep.

As to earn the love that he now doubted he deserved to have.

London, on this summer morning, wore fresh fog. Cold fumes, dirty and from the mines and factories. The ones the adults assumed as progress and what the children assumed as early death. Harry squeezed again, against better logic. Meeting Oliver's eye -the second oldest- and shaking his head. Oliver raised a brow and turned back around. And left. Left him all alone. Fending for the girl, whimpering and weak when he wasn't anything more.

When the cart, a feverish clutter of dark shapes appeared, Harry tugged, pulling the girl closer. Eyes lifting from under the cap to eye Edwin, now smoking Edwin, and leant down to her ear.

"Marie," he whispered, sharp as winter snow, "You have to stop crying."

Marie sniffled, shaking her head. She lifted an arm, wiped her eyes. Fast and fuming, though not scared, "I want to go home. To mummy and daddy."

Mummy and daddy. The words winked from the corners of nightmarish nights. Glinting in the stars that sang of them, rose for others. Harry risked another look. This time Oliver nodded in his stead and Harry sighed. When he stopped walking, Mary slammed against his back.

Her fingers lifted. Cradling the bridge of her nose, now tutted red and glanced up. Slow and trembling. The wind sweeping loose strands of black, once blond and no more the silk it used to be. Harry’s hair wasn’t what it used to be. The once rich black hair with red highlights dark and rough under the cap due to the soot.

Harry lifted a single finger to his lips, light brown and not from the soot, "We have to stop crying. Alright, Marie? Your-" he bit on his lips, blinking hard, "Your Mummy and Daddy aren't here... yet. So you must- you have to... you should be strong, yeah? You're a strong girl. Mummy and Daddy want little girls to be strong because everyone loves strong little girls," he whispered, standing up and tugging on her hand, walking faster to keep up.

Marie-Lue sniffed. Wiping the soiled tears from her eyes -brown, doe eyes- and looked up when they stood in line to get on the carriage, "Will Mummy and Daddy love me when I'm strong?"

Harry stared. Stared until Edwin was behind him. A hand smacking down on his neck, ripping off his cap and barking at his face. Smoke and spit coiled around Harry's nose. Taking most of the willpower Harry had to not scrunch.

He bent down for his cap. Thanking Marie-Lue by lifting her into the carriage for finding it, he jumped on. He took the seat at the very end for his tardiness and Marie-Lue cuddled to his side, rubbing her head against his chest. The others watched. Harry watched them back. Little Joe and Oliver... David and Rory and Harry number two (or as they called him Mums, since he never talked), all small and searching. All learnt of affection here, or the lack thereof. Not to look for it. Not to search for it. Keep the yearning inside you, where it won't come to harm you.

And still, yearn you would.

The carriage jolted. The children jolted with it. The driver's whips sliced the air, earning a shrill whine from the 'beast' that didn't look like it could pull anything but its own weight.

"Harry," Marie whispered, only six and so small, "Will they come back for me if I'm strong?"

A family walked in his mind. Happy and laughing. A woman wearing dark blue robes and a man wearing a suit, smart and something Harry saw behind the glass one freezing Christmas two years back. Getting a shaky look before the tailor chased him out, screaming about how Harry would scare off customers. He only found him because Harry had left his soot in the snow. Betraying him in the ally where he lied, frozen and beaten with blood in his teeth.

Bad Christmas. But he'd seen his parents there and begged to join them. In his mind, his mother black-haired and kind-eyed. His father red-haired and green-eyed and only because he once saw a heard of red-heads and their own father in town. Poor, not well off but happy all the same. Happy. And Harry would doubt Aunt Petunia in these instances. How poverty, while making those five children happy, made Harry Potter's parents leave him on his Aunt's doorstep one summer night.

One summer night almost twelve years ago, and even now Aunt Petunia refused to say anymore.

And Harry wouldn't either.

He cleared his throat. The girl, only a girl, looked up and returned Harry's smile, though it didn't resemble the grimace on Harry's face, "We'll pray for it."

"Every night?"

"Every night."

"Will you teach me?"

Harry paused and looked up. Oliver regarded him with narrow eyes and crossed brows. The look Harry had become better at ignoring over the years.

And ignore he did.

"I will. I promise. We'll pray... we'll pray for a family."

Marie nodded. Harder than necessary and held up a curled pinky finger, "And for food. Yummy food, like in the big town."

Harry opened his mouth. David, eight years old, talked instead, "And clothes."

Rory, ten and a half, "And a warm house!"

Mums, who communicated with hands alone, clasped his hands and faked sleep, winking at them when the rest fell into soft laughter.

Well, most of them anyway. Little Joe joined in, despite not having said anything but Oliver stood stern. Cocking his head when Edwin -bastard Edwin- twisted his neck with nasty threats of no dinner. Took Harry and Marie-Lue with a look that promised far more and turned back to the front with a grunt.

Harry heard the curse. But smiled at Marie. Only Marie. Taking her finger with his own and shook, a deal well made. An oath well earned, "I promise, Marie."

And Marie grinned with hope Harry had lost. She hugged with strong arms. Warm and still alive, and her breath fell soft and steady while Harry watched her closed eyes. Tufting a strand away from her face, Harry leaned back on the wood. Pulling his jacket tighter around himself, against the summer wind that sang of winter. Of sleep. Of today.

The today masked by tall, grey buildings that swam in hasty shapes. Tall and beautiful and alive. Parents and children and families that were warm and not some wind to jolt them out of a dream that wasn't real. Just them, and warm fires and someone's presence to look forward to. Despite the cold. Despite the fog. And no matter what London or England could be, a family it would stay.

He frowned.

And then Harry prayed.

*

London, for all it's worth, was less grime and more stares. And climbing down from the carriage in an unfamiliar neighbourhood was always foreign and strange. Edwin called them all identical. So did Harry, with the shapes and colours so familiar in his eyes that he needed someone to tell him which house was which when Edwin wasn't looking.

Taking one large sheet over his shoulder, Edwin turned to the street. Cupping a hand over his mouth and shouting with a voice no longer raspy, "Soot- Oh, Sweep!" over and over until there were at least two people peekeing through their blinds, their curtains closing just as quick when they caught sight of them.

Edwin clearly didn't mind being at the receiving end of the glares from the residents. Or he was good at hiding it. Or that these particular glares weren't as bad, seeing as most the buildings here belonged to tradesmen and shopkeepers, judging by the signs that lined over the brick architecture.

"A'ight," Edwin turned to the line of children. Dropping a pale sheet over each of their arms, he swept a look over each of them as he passed, the only black eye on his face seizing up Harry when he stopped in front of him, "You come with me."

And with a sharp jab to his chest, Harry followed. Not sparing a glance behind him, Harry squared shoulders. Throwing the worn sheet over his shoulder and stuttering to the sidewalk.

Harry's feet shuffled on the cobblestone. Cold, due to the holes in the soles and the socks that thinned to strings. Edwin didn't look behind him. Grumbling now and again to a passerby, complaining about their dress or shoes or the riches they most likely possessed and Harry was once again reminded of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They too took great pleasure in gossip and complaint, sneering at anyone who looked to be better off them in any detail. Gloating over the souls that were unfortunate enough to have the little they didn't. Though, Harry couldn't call their assets little. With their servant and three large bedrooms and the kitchen that never seemed to lack food, they certainly weren't poor. And taking in Harry at a young age and keeping him in the cupboard under the stairs and rarely feeding him could hardly diminish their wealth. Especially when Dudley's birthday gifts showed a visible accumulation over the years.

Harry, called back from his daydream by bumping against Edwin's back, looked up. Ducking his head at Edwin's scowl, he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. Nodding when Edwin barked at him to wait outside. His ears pricking at the sound of the bell, though his eyes did not falter from the cracked stone on the ground. Interesting stone it was. Grey, dark and not ugly like Edwin. Harry leaned against the glass, crunching the pebbles with his toes.

His breath swirled in a white mist over his mouth and nose. Unsteady. Breaking. And his fascination lasted the three minutes Edwin spent inside before he was dragged in. Arm burning even after Edwin let go.

The shop, in question, was warm. Not the uncomfortable warm that lasted two rare days of summer. Or the chimneys he climbed with their suffocating heat. No, this warmth was tender. This warmth smelled sharp of herbs and teas and flowers he didn't know. Of medicines terrible and strange that reminded him of... well, he wasn't sure.

But it smelled of home.

Either way, Harry made sure to keep his head down. Made sure that his eyes, green and not to everyone's liking hid behind his cap. Stay out of sight. If you can't, stay silent. Be the next best thing and keep still. Mummys and Daddys only like quiet, obedient kids, don't you know Potter? Not some scrawny dark-skinned boy with knobbly knees. Harry nodded, reluctant. But the voice in his head disappeared all the same. Leaving behind a chuckle and a slap on his neck.

Harry sputtered. And then met the eyes of the client.

Black, piercing, angry. Dressed all in black and a not someone Harry would like to meet on a midnight traverse. And though Harry's eyes dropped the black shirt, the man's did not. Continuing to listen to Edwin with his eyes not lingering.

"We settled on the price, then?"

"I suppose it's an adequate amount, in return for your, ah deliverance," the man said, smooth but snide, and Harry's head lifted in surprise. Breath jerking because the man was still looking and it wasn't what Harry would consider in his favour.

A moment of silence. Then, "This way, please. I had the chimney in the shop swept not a while ago. The same cannot be said for the one in my personal quarters and laboratory," and he led them around the brown oak counter to a door behind a shelf of jars and glass bottles. Opening the door that led a flight of stairs, shadow drawn and narrowed between two black walls.

Edwin cleared his throat, making the man turn around. His shoulder-length black hair falling curtain around his face,

"Eh, Mr Snape-"

"Professor Snape,"

Edwin clenched his fist, "Of course. Professor Snape. Do you want another worker for the second chimney, or would this lad be of use?"

For Professor Snape, the question must not have been an easy one. His brows knitted closer and the lean form hunched forward, long arms crossing over his chest.

And then the Professor did something that made Harry stagger down a step.

He kneeled to his height. Taking the arm that wasn't holding the brush and sheet. And with a touch that should not have been gentle, squeezed.

It was in no way familial. Nor parental and no matter how much the scent of the shop swirled the man, Harry told himself it wasn’t home.

He wasn’t home. But now, with his dark eyes soot-black and searching, Harry’s breath did hitch and his heart fell into an unsteady run. Fast, uneven and to his dismay, something the professor noticed. How he knew, Harry couldn’t say. But after that bony finger slithered to his wrist and pressed down, the professor knew.

The arched brow complemented his features. With those sharp and high cheekbones, and the lingering suspicion that the professor wasn’t just a professor bothered Harry. Not much, but enough to take another step back before he was cornered by Edwin. Snatching his wrist back, Harry rubbed the skin and faced away.

Professor Snape, quick to let go and quicker in gaining back his decorum, stood up. He clasped his hands behind him, and with a look positively bored, faced Edwin, “He will suffice, assuming that your...climbing boys clean more than a chimney per day.”

“Oh, yes. Mark me words, five and six if their luck. The economy as it is… Need some income, you know, not that you yourself-”

Professor Snape held out a hand. And Harry allowed himself to grin under his cap at the way Edwin’s face morphed into surprise and then rage.

“Yes yes. Very drastic. God bless the Queen. Now,” he then turned, resuming the rest of the climb, “If you’d follow me?”

They complied. But the sneer that pulled on Edwin’s lips couldn’t mean he was pleased. Harry could almost read the man’s mind, after spending four years with the man. Something between a scoff and a chuckle sounding from his lips when Edwin’s voice echoed in his mind. Complaining in a rigid voice, stomping over and over his mechanical brush while cursing at every professor that came to be.

He hid it, of course. Behind a cough and a grin bit back, just in time for Professor Snape to open the door (oak and dark) on the landing, giving way a large living area.

And it was nothing like Harry imagined.

A dark shadow followed Professor Snape. In the corner, in his heart. A shadow that sneered and scowled and growled like a beast and Harry assumed... well, it wasn't right to make assumptions. No. But with the warm chocolate walls, wooden tiles beneath multiple dark green carpets and furniture that was welcoming more than menacing, Harry could admit that his taste wasn't half bad. Sure, the space was small. With a chimney in the corner below layers of shelves and a long couch and single armchair, there wasn't much area left to the circular dining table and two chairs, as well as the kitchen area lining the opposite wall. All warm and colours of dull brown and green. Not wild, not snark but some comfort to his eyes nonetheless.

"You have a nice house," Harry said, soft, certain. Then immediately clamped a hand over his mouth when the man's head whirled around. Making dear Harry pinch the inside of his palm and avert his eyes.

A slap on the back of the head was Edwin's -cruel and disgusting Edwin's- response. Along with a hiss in the ear to behave while he apologised to the Professor, hands clasped together in apology, back bent.

Disgusting. And people thought the kid's kissed up to others.

Professor Snape waved a dismissed hand, one hand still behind his back, "I do not mind. Now, I'm a rather busy man. Hence I ask you to be quick about it, Mr Edwin."

"Yes yes. Of course," Edwin said, honeyed. Grabbing Harry around the cuff the next second and dragging him across the parlour to the well-furnished chimney. He kneeled down to his knees, bones groaning in protest. Grabbing hold of the metal long holder and removing it from the hearth. Then, he lifted up a hand and Harry passed him the white cloth. All the while the Professor sat in his armchair.

And watched.

Harry wasn't about to return the gesture. So while Professor Snape watched Edwin lay the cloth over the hearth, Harry watched the ornaments that lined over the mantelpiece. A few viles, dried flowers, a portrait of a young Professor Snape and a woman, and an antique table clock.

Edwin's voice rose him, and Harry was once more pushed forward. Stumbling and finding his support on the brick fireplace.

Professor Snape watched.

Professor Snape didn't say a word.

"Eh," Edwin cleared his throat, "Will you be here, Professor Snape?"

"Why yes. I find it impractical to leave children unsupervised, considerably so when dealing with... hazardous tasks."

"I's keeping 'em supervised, Professor."

Professor Snape's arched brow was nothing short of humiliating. Seizing Edwin in a mock question and doubt, "Whatever for?"

"...You're keeping him under lock and-"

Professor Snape held out a hand and Harry indulged himself in another grin at the pale-faced Edwin. Almost liking the man who was now crossing his slender legs, pants pulling high enough to share a glimpse of his black socks, "I shall endeavour to be abundantly clear. I am keeping the boy under supervision so I keep up my honour as a responsible man with proper moral. You, Mr Edwin, have a charge of children needing to be taken care of, to my precise knowledge, and no time to waste. The boy will do fine, and my chimney is in no rush."

"We always keep on the lookout, Professor Snape. We-"

"Are not in a shop your opinions are favoured, as I have made clear to every single sweeper to cross into my quarters. The boy alone, please. You may collect him in, hmm, on your way back from a neighbourhood that hasn't been cleaned just yesterday by another hoard of children."

These things happen, Harry told himself. Running a hand down the shelf, brows disappearing in his blob of hair when his finger came back dust-free. Some others were quicker. Sweeping the neighbourhood clean and making them search for another. Making the children grin while Edwin got scolded by the tenants of the houses. But never was it as fun as this.

"Whatever... whatever shall the boy do, when done with 'em both?"

Professor Snape rolled his eyes, "Ensnare me, Mr Edwin. Actually, no. Rather not. But I imagine that in an apothecary, there is enough work to humour a child. I am a busy man and having some additional aid would be much appreciated. Of course," he added, looking right into Edwin's eyes, a smirk twisting his lips, "You'll receive the payment necessary."

In a twist of fate called 'money', Edwin's crooked back straightened and Harry didn't even have the time to be offended at the word 'senile' before a nasty crack came from his spine, making Harry wince and Professor Snape's mouth twitch. Black eyes glaring at Edwin's hand, which was shaking the Professor's vigorously.

“That’s a deal if I’ve ever seen one,” Edwin said with a toothless grin and only Harry noticed the Professor wiping his hand on a handkerchief after he stood up and led them both to the door. But Edwin turned around just before disappearing. Back arched and on his toes to peek above the Professor's shoulder, a finger jabbing the air rather sharply.

“An’ don’ forget to buff it, boy!”

A muscle twitched near Harry’s eye. And when the door closed, masking the last of their ceasing steps, Harry rolled his eyes. Most adults in his life treated him in the same sense as the Dursleys and Edwin. Stupid, ignorant, arrogant, nuisance, burden… And a couple more which were less mundane. But stating the obvious to his face always got Harry’s blood pumping the worst of ways and anger was never slow to follow.

So when a cough from behind him interrupted him from striping from his pants, anger and surprise found themselves equally alive.

Professor Snape, already by the door, had his arms crossed. Scowl still in his face, though less at ease snapped, “What are you doing?” eyeing Harry's hands.

Harry frowned, “Buffing it, sir?”

“What?”

“It’s to go in nude, Professor,” Harry explained, patiently, like he supposed the Professor did at school. But when the scowl deepened, he grinned. Likely not, “It’s easier to clean that way. Less likely to get stuck.”

Professor Snape hummed while Harry got rid of the remainder of his clothes. Now a nasty pile beside the hearth, Harry greeted the man with a mock salute before entering the hearth, heart already thumping wild. This was fine. He’d done this before. For years, since the day Uncle Vernon finally kicked him out of the house and Annabeth helped him pack his bag, tears in both their eyes, he’d done this before. No need to throw a tantrum now at the sight of the dark, narrow chute that could mean a possible death with a single wrong movement.

No need at all.

So Harry breathed. Readied himself by pulling up by the walls and climbed. Using his arms and legs, he hoisted himself up. His brush ridding the flue line of the black soot. Keeping his head down as to breath as little as the poisonous material into his lunges, body moving much like a caterpillar up the line.

Little help that did, Harry sneered. Over the years he’d spent, climbing chimney after chimney, always panic and little fun, the soot would get to him sooner or later. Suffocating him in an alleyway where nobody cared.