Harry looks up quickly as the door to the infirmary slams open and shut. Rubbing his eyes, he reaches around for his glasses and finds it on the nearby nightstand. Pushing the glasses up onto his nose, he looks around, waiting for whoever entered to either come closer to him or walk to another area of the medical wing. Straining his ears to hear the stranger, he listens as two pairs of steps walk closer and closer to his curtain before it stops right outside of it.

“Mr. Potter,” says Professor Snape, “I will be entering soon. Are you decent?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry responds, sitting up in his bed to look presentable, combing through his hair with his fingers to try and push it down into something that his Uncle wouldn’t be angry at seeing. 

The curtain to his room swishes open, Professor Snape striding in alongside the Headmaster. For a moment, Harry wonders how they can get their robes to move like it does, if it’s a spell they have to apply on their clothes every morning or if it’s like the subconscious magic that he’d read about in Magical Theory.

“Good afternoon, Professor. Headmaster,” Harry says politely, holding his pillow on his lap, feeling terribly underdressed for the occasion in his hospital slacks and shirt standing in front of two men in elaborate possibly-magical robes.

The Headmaster gives Harry a kind smile, the kind that a grandfather might give to a child, full of warmth and patience. It makes something in Harry ache for what he lacks, something he will never have. “Good afternoon, Harry. How are you feeling?”

Harry pauses at the question, unsure what the man would like to hear. If he is as kind and caring as the others say, he would like to know that Harry is doing fine. Caring people tend to like those answers, after all, because it lets their conscience stay intact. But at the same time, Hermione told him that the Headmaster is the leader of the resistance in the war, so perhaps he doesn’t want to know if Harry is hurting or not, but rather, if Harry is being strong and brave and ruthless.

A warrior, like some books make him out to be. 

He doesn’t answer quickly enough though, and the Headmaster and his Professor share a look with one another.

“I’m fine, sir,” he settles on, “I can handle a lot worse.”

Dumbledore gives Harry a look that he cannot decipher. “Yes, my boy, I’m sure that you can,” he says without anger or approval. Before Harry can decide if he’s comfortable with that response or not, Dumbledore continues, “I’ve seen the results of your screening exam. Now, I’m an old man and my memory isn’t what it used to be, so I was wondering if you could tell me if your wounds were from your Aunt or your Uncle?” 

Harry stares at Dumbledore for a few seconds, trying to find the script that they’re using but he keeps coming up empty for what the man might be wanting to hear. Unable to find the right answer, he sighs. “My Uncle. My Aunt- she cared about me.”

“She never physically laid a finger on you, correct?” Harry nods. “Would you say that she loved you?”

Unfortunately for everyone, Harry wants to respond, but he doesn’t. “I believe she did.”

Dumbledore considers that answer for a few more seconds, then says, “She told me that it was her idea to put you in the cupboard.”

“It was her idea,” Harry defends quickly, “but she didn’t want it to be a permanent thing. Not at first, anyways. It was to keep me safe, though. It was just a way to ensure that I was out of the way for Uncle, because if I was out of sight and out of the way, then I wasn’t being…”

“Beaten, yes, that does corroborate what she told me. I see.” Dumbledore waves his hand and a tray of goods appear before them. He picks out a brownie for himself, placing it onto the stool to ensure that it’s in easy reach for all of them. “Pick something, Mr Potter. You as well, Severus.”

Severus Snape, Harry files that away for later, glad to finally know the man’s name. He’d felt so anxious at the Welcoming Feast that he hadn’t been able to listen to the introductions of the staff. It was only Draco’s company that finally allowed him to calm down enough to eat.

He hesitantly picks out a small donut, watching as Severus grabs a small pastry for himself, though he seems just as hesitant and awkward with his as Harry. It’s mildly comforting to not be the only one struggling to not make a mess or mistake. 

“Am I being expelled?” Harry asks after they spend too much time in silence. 

The Professor looks over at Harry, dark eyes staring right into Harry’s soul. 

“I said to you that you were not being sent home previously. I assumed you could come to the conclusion you would not be expelled either on your own,” Snape responds with a glare at the pastry in his hand, “but... to assuage your worries, I will make it crystal clear for you, Mr Potter. No, you will not be expelled from Hogwarts, given that you’ve done nothing deserving of an expulsion. You will also not be sent back to the Dursley’s, now or at any future date. You will remain a student here at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future.” 

Professor Snape shares another look with the Headmaster before the Headmaster says, “We were actually going to discuss your placement with you.”

“But I’m a Slytherin?” Harry says, meaning to state it but it comes out as a question. For a heartstopping moment, he considers having to switch Houses when he’s already found a small group of people who don’t hate him. 

Hermione is smart, and she’s nice to him, and even though she does talk his ear off sometimes and get on his case about the possibility of inviting ants with his food hoarding, she taught him a statis charm to keep his food from going bad.

Draco, too, is nice to him, and has been friendly ever since they bumped into each other while getting fitted for robes. 

“Hogwarts, too?” asked the blond boy still getting his robes fitted to his frame, looking at Harry through the mirror. “I’m going to be a first year.”

Harry nods. “Me too.”   

“I’m Draco Lucius Malfoy. And yourself?”

And Harry, in spite of the curling shame in his stomach at standing next to someone so polished while wearing his cousin’s cast-offs with a blackeye as an accessory, responds, “Harry James Potter.”

For a moment, Draco pauses, eyes wandering to the scar that Harry’s always tried to hide his entire life. If Harry could move his hands without interfering with the magical measuring tape, he would have pushed his hair down to cover it up better, but he can’t, so he watches as the boy catches sight of it, barely reacting.

After a second full of anxiety on Harry’s part, Draco says, “My father is waiting for me nearby. If it’s alright with you, would you like to have some lunch with us after we’re done here? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, and I’m honestly starving.”

After that day, Draco and he had exchanged letters through Hedwig. Uncle Vernon hadn’t been brave enough to stop the letters, simply throwing him into the smaller room and considering him all but gone. 

And when they finally shared a room, Draco and he had spent a lot of time together, studying or playing chess or just sitting at one table together with the other Slytherins that Draco’s also friends with. 

And even though he hasn’t exactly been out-going, the other Slytherins have been friendly to him, which is more than he’s ever received from his peers before. He doesn’t want to lose that. He doesn’t want to go on for another 7 years in a House that doesn’t even notice he exists or just wants to be friends because he’s meant to save their world or whatever.

He wants friends. Allies are useful, sure, but keeping an alliance is fickle business. And the Slytherins are as close to having friends as he’s ever had.

“I don’t w- Do I have to switch Houses, sir?” Harry corrects himself, catching himself before he begins to complain or go on with an I want statement.

The Headmaster shakes his head but doesn’t chide Harry for his insolence. “Not your House placement, Harry. I meant where you would be placed- who your guardian will be and where you’ll be living, that is.”

For a moment, the men stare at Harry as he processes the information. He feels something cold in his stomach unraveling and tightening all at once. Suddenly, an understanding of the situation hits him, and it feels as though he’s been dunked under ice water, his hands shaking. 

He’d been so focused on the possibility of being expelled that he hadn’t even thought about what would happen to his Aunt now that he’d gone on and yapped about his life story.

It had felt good, at the time, to tell his story. For once, people were looking at him, they were listening and he wasn’t afraid of what would happen if his Uncle found out.

For once in his freakish life, adults seemed to care even though the very idea of it was laughable- him, a freak, being listened to by adults as if he had something important to say? But he was so desperate not to be sent home and for someone to care. He just wanted someone to finally know so that he would be able to tell himself that what had happened was real and wasn't just some terrible nightmare or him overreacting- it was real.

And it was. It was real. And Harry doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. 

“Are you going to have my Aunt arrested for abuse?” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Dumbledore looks at him over his glasses. “No, Harry. I went to the Dursley household to speak with your Aunt, who did confirm your testimony. She was also abused, and, from the information you’ve given us and the information that she gave- you and her were on good terms. She wasn’t an abuser of yours, is that correct?”

Shakily, Harry nods. 

“If that’s the case, then there’s no reason to worry for her. Your Aunt will be fine.”

“Is my uncle…?” Harry trails off, unsure of how to continue.

Severus is the one to help him ask the question without finishing the sentence. “The Headmaster is the one who’ll be handling the case to ensure that you have the utmost privacy from the press and that your information will not reach any of the Dark Lord’s followers. Because of that, this won’t be reaching the law enforcement, nor will he be imprisoned.”

“And my aunt?”

“Safe. She left with your cousin shortly after the Headmaster spoke with them, though she did tell me to give you her regards. Once she secures a more permanent living situation, she says that she would love to meet with you again.”

Harry looks down at his hands, trying to bite down on the burning feeling in his chest. Of course they would leave him behind. 

It makes sense, of course, that they’d leave now that they didn’t need to worry about Vernon going mental and hurting anyone.

But...after he spent so long being Vernon’s punching bag so that Aunt Petunia wouldn’t be, and they just left him when he wasn’t even there to protest. He couldn’t have even demanded to go with them, because he wasn’t there when they discussed it. He wasn’t there when she made that decision to leave.

Guess Uncle Vernon was right, then. Nobody wants freaks like him, after all. 

“So… She’s gone? That’s it?” he asks, wanting to be angry but only landing in denial and a desperate hope that this is all a bad dream. “She left me?”

The Headmaster hums, setting down his third brownie. “Harry, you must understand that your Aunt did not want to leave you behind, but she couldn’t be allowed to keep you. The only reason that she managed to escape now is because your Uncle can no longer threaten her into submission, using you and your cousin as bargaining chips to keep your Aunt in line.”

After Harry falls into silence for too long, Snape says, “Why do you think she’s only escaping now, Potter?”

“She decided to escape now...” Harry whispers, frowning as he thinks more on it. “Because Uncle Vernon had the key to my cupboard, so leaving would have meant leaving me in his care.”

“And what if she tried to unlock that cupboard door, maybe broke it down using whatever tools were at her disposal?”

“If she ran off with me anyway… Uncle would have called the police. He used to threaten her saying that he’d call in his law buddies and say that it was her who hurt me, because she really hated my mum. So if she ran off with me as bruised as I was, she would’ve… gotten in trouble.”

“Indeed,” Snape responds, “But if you were brought to court- what then? Surely, she could tell them that it was he who abused you? You’d be able to corroborate that story, wouldn’t you?”

Harry thinks on it for a few seconds before he sighs and the anger slowly drips from his fingers. “Uncle Vernon convinced our neighbors and my teachers that I’m off in the head. I don’t think many would’ve believed me.” 

A few times, Uncle Vernon had even convinced his teachers. Maybe there are some files that still list him as mad, or disturbed. Or whatever the name for him was in their files, names too long and hard to pronounce to remember. Some files with terrible lies on them, painting a picture that wouldn’t help them escape. Another piece of the puzzle of the shackles that kept them bound to the man who built himself to be a tyrant to his own family.

“So she’d have lost me, at the very least, and quite likely Dudley too, because he’d rather stay with Uncle and would agree with whatever story she tells.”

Though Harry hates the lumbering oaf, he can acknowledge that Dudley’s had his mind twisted into a mess by Uncle Vernon. Dudley’s practically Vernon Jr, but with more issues, more anger, and a lot more fear in his eyes whenever he sees his father turn to him. 

“Don’t treat me like I’m Harry!” Dudley had shouted once, aiming for a brave and angry tone, but the quiver of his voice said enough.

And Harry- Harry has always been his Aunt’s and nobody else’s.

While his cousin would sit with his father in front of the telly, getting bigger and stronger and angrier, Harry sat at his Aunt’s feet as she taught him about how to make himself scarce, how to even out the playing field by fighting smart and not hard. 

She taught him how to be courteous and how to weave words into pretty little non-lies and negotiate and persuade and succeed.

He’s always been a scrawny kid, but he wasn’t dumb, at least. He read his weight in books and even the Sorting Hat said he could make it in Ravenclaw with his drive to learn. But his Aunt didn’t teach him to study hard and to always be observant to become a scholar- she taught him to aim for the top, to climb with bloodstained fingers until all of his competition looked like specks in the distance.

It was ambition that got him through 11 years. Ambition to become someone. To prove Vernon wrong. 

To make his Aunt proud.

“So?” Severus says impatiently, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. 

“So it’d be the word of a jobless housewife and a mental boy, versus the director of a company and a student on a scholarship for athletics. It was too risky to try with how likely it was we would lose the case.”

Severus nods sharply. “Do you see?” he asks and Harry does. He does understand. But it still hurts.

“Where’s she going?” Harry asks through the ache in his chest.

“She’s going to be staying with one of her friends until she can find a job and support herself and her son.”

Harry nods, staring down at his lap so that they don’t see how weak he’s being. He’s never been a crybaby, but finding out that your only family is gone is surely an event where he’s definitely allowed to be one. “Which orphanage am I going to, then?” he asks, glad that his voice only shakes a little.

Severus clears his throat. Harry looks up at him past the tears in his eyes. “As your Head of House, I stand as the second parent of all my students. Whenever there is a case where the legal guardians or parents of a child are unavailable, they fall under my care. So, you will legally become my ward.”

If Aunt Petunia cannot take him back… At least this way, he remains a student.

Harry tries to push down the hope that burns alive in his chest like a phoenix coming to life. He can’t afford to be hasty in his hope, because he knows it often leads to disappointment quicker than it can burn into something fruitful. But this is a man who Draco trusts with his life, who Hermoine says is a genius in his field. 

If there is anyone who will be able to help Harry to survive and to do what he needs to do and make a life for himself and prove that he’s someone worth his parents’ sacrifice- it has to be Professor Severus Snape.

Harry blinks, realizing that Professor Snape is still speaking. “... understand that I might not be your first choice, but we will need to be civil and mature for this arrangement to work to both of our expectations. Do you have any questions?”

“Was it... your choice to take me in, Professor? Or was it just… protocol?” he asks, tilting his head. He already knows his decision, but this will give him a bit of insight into what he’s in for. 

An enemy can almost be an ally if you know how to push them in the right direction to do what you want them to.

Professor Snape gives him a look that’s almost understanding before he nods. “It was my decision to accept you as my ward. If I’d refused to accept the responsibility, you would have been placed elsewhere. Do you have any objections to this, Harry?”

Harry. 

Not Potter.

“I have no objections,” he says with a small smile, trying to remain casual and not like he’s desperate for a parent or anything.

Professor Snape gives him a small smile, one that Harry’s only ever seen him use with Draco. It makes his chest fill with so much warmth that he thinks it may shatter him, but instead of shattering, his grin grows wider. 

“You will be given an extra room in Professor Snape’s quarters, along with the room you already have, in case you have a need for it. In the case of breaks from school, Christmas, and summer vacation, you will also be staying with Professor Snape, whether that be at Hogwarts with him or at his own private home. As you are under his care, he can also sign for you in medical treatment, permission slips, and fill whatever duties a parent normally would.”

Harry nods at that, not really caring about the fine print of his ward-ship. 

“Harry, might I ask you a personal question?” Dumbledore asks quietly, his eyes becoming serious. Harry nods. “If you were to decide on your Uncle’s punishment- and there were no limits to what you could do, you had the ability to alter reality itself and would face no consequences- what would you want for him?”

The question stuns Harry, but it’s no more convoluted than the would-you-rathers he’s heard before, so he thinks. 

He doesn’t want the man dead, because killing someone is illegal. And even after everything he’s done to Harry, Harry doesn’t want to kill him. And he’s still Harry’s uncle, so even wishing that he was dead feels wrong. 

The same goes with torture, even though he could think of a few of those. It’s not something that Harry could dole out to anyone, even his Uncle Vernon. Maybe not even Voldemort.

But if Harry could decide… 

“I would want him to humiliate himself,” Harry says quietly, unsure if this is a test of some sort or if they’re going to punish him for having such wicked thoughts. “Maybe at work or something.”

His Uncle always degraded him, insulting him constantly, reminding him how low and worthless he is, even when he tries his best. Maybe if his uncle could feel that sharp burn of humiliation on something that means a lot to him and feel the sense of knowing that no matter how much you try, you’re a fool for whatever you do, maybe he can learn to become more empathetic. Maybe if he messes up at work and people start whispering about him, he can begin to understand how Harry feels whenever his uncle begins telling horrible lies about him.

The Headmaster nods at that, eyes twinkling, while his own Head of House assesses him like he’s a particularly interesting potion. It’s both unnerving and comforting, because he’s never been truly seen in such a way before and nobody’s cared enough to look so closely as Professor Snape does to him whenever he moves funny or opens his mouth.

“Well, I will give you two boys some space. I’ll begin the paperwork,” Dumbledore says, giving Harry a kind smile before he stands up and walks away, closing the curtain behind him. 

For a moment, neither Snape nor Harry speak, just regarding one another. Then Harry blurts out the first question that enters his head. “What if I fail potions?”

His professor stays silent for a moment, his jaw clenching as though trying to keep himself from yelling or laughing. 

It doesn’t bode well with Harry that he doesn’t know which.

“Well, Potter, if you fail Potions, then that means you’d need remedial classes in the subject, just as with any other class, though I do insist that you don’t make it your goal to fail in my class or any other,” the man says, “I will not be going easy on you in my class simply because you’re my charge. If anything, I expect even more from you than your peers.”

The answer makes an embarrassing amount of sense. 

“Now, it’s my turn to ask a question.” Snape moves the tray of goodies closer to Harry. “I’ve heard that you hoard food in your room. Can you tell me why that is?”

Harry shifts before he finds the words. So far, he hadn’t been punished for telling the truth. For once in his life, he’d had a teacher listen to him and Vernon hadn’t immediately swooped in and ‘taken care of’ the situation. 

“Having food in my room… means that I won’t run out of food, just in case.”

Snape places his hand under his chin, scrutinizing Harry. “In your room in my quarters, would it make you feel safer to have access to food that nobody can take away from you? A small container that you can hide wherever you want?”

For a moment Harry wants to say yes, hope shining in his eyes, but then it deflates just as quickly when he realizes that this may very well just be a test. Being greedy and needing a lot isn’t something any adult would want to deal with. 

Harry clamps down on the disappointment and shakes his head. “It’s okay. I don’t need it. I eat enough already during meals.” 

Small and humble, not asking for too much. It’s what will make him pleasant and good and desirable as a child. 

Snape hums deep in his throat, looking at the tray. “I know there is more than enough food in the Great Hall to sate your hunger. I was asking if you want it. It’ll be no problem to have installed, after all, as it’ll be provided by the school itself as part of the compensation that is given for your care.”

Harry hesitates again before nodding. If it’s his money, then maybe he can actually benefit from it even a little bit before it’s taken from him. 

“Is there anything about you- a medical condition or something else- that I should know?” 

For a moment, Harry wants to open his mouth and tell his Professor about the way his magic sometimes “explodes”, and it feels terrifying and amazing all at once, like there’s a casanova and a storm in his veins but he isn’t sure if his body can contain that kind of energy without bursting.

He wants to talk about the aching and insatiable hunger and the way that everything tilts and he’s burning for a few moments or a few hours or more, before he wakes up, bedraggled, stained in dirt and blood and morning dew, clothes torn into shreds that even his Uncle has to frown at.

Harry doesn’t understand what happens during those moments, but his Uncle beats the casanova right out of him until he’s sure that nothing except for blood has ever flowed through his veins.

He wants to share it, but… Madam Pompfrey’s already told him that accidental magic is normal, so telling his Head of House that seems rather redundant, like telling someone who teaches science that the sun is a star. 

So instead he shakes his head. “No, sir, I don’t think so.”

“In that case, perhaps it should be best if you rest some more. I’ll fetch you after you’ve been cleared by Madam Pompfrey and we will have dinner together in my quarters. Maybe you can have a night in my quarters to acquaint yourself with it before classes begin. Do you have any disagreements with that?”

Harry gives the man a small smile. “That sounds great, sir. I look forward to it.”

Next Chapter:

“Several people worked together to ensure you have a comfortable and safe bedroom,” Severus says gently, “Even Hagrid tried to give you some kind of creature’s egg, but after some bawling, he finally conceded into giving you that painting of a dragon and a stuffed kneazle.” Severus jerked his head at the table. “Albus… left you a gift, which you can find in your closet if you’re perceptive enough. One that James Potter would have wanted you to have, according to him. He also kindly added numerous wards to the room to keep you as safe as possible.”