A snowplough trailed along the otherwise empty, frozen roads of Little Whinging on a Tuesday afternoon, the heavy flurry seemingly deterring any of the traffic that would normally frequent the roads on any other day. Sheets of snow covered every house along the street and every bare tree was graced with a layer of ice, mirroring the layer of the ice that covered the field, preventing even an inkling of green from shining through the vast, undisturbed white. A lone man in pitch-black lay witness to the plow as it crossed paths with him as he trudged through the layers of white cold. 

Clad in all black muggle clothing, Severus Snape made his way down to the path towards the primary school feeling more annoyed than he usually did, if that was even possible with the bitter man. He had apparated as close to the school as he could have in consideration for the possible eyes that could have been peeking through the shutters of the picturesque houses that lined the quaint-looking neighbourhood. Even then, the twenty-minute trek from Wisteria Walk was less than ideal for virtually anyone.

His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his long, wool coat and his face was tucked into the collar of said coat to fight back against the biting winds of the early December day. The only bliss he had in his current predicament was the impermeability charm he had cast on his body, ensuring that any snow that may have stuck to his form would immediately melt from his body heat and slide off as if it were rain sliding off a window, leaving him dry in spite of the cold.

When Dumbledore came into his office that morning, face conveying that he had an agenda, Severus knew that he would be privy to an unpleasant day. There was a call from Arabella Figg, the headmaster had told him, claiming that Harriet Potter’s school had called for her to be collected and that the Dursleys were unavailable. This was the start of his mission to her kneazle-infested house and into the Muggle world that he despised so greatly. To think he was forced to floo all this way simply to walk a child back from school, barely an hour after it started was more than a little infuriating to him.

He stepped into the linoleum floors of the school, out of place in the small but bright building. As he walked along the walls, which were covered in crudely made crafts from young hands, his face soured further as he laid eyes on the small office at the end of the hall. Entering, he was met with a stout, severe-looking woman who watched him with caution. 

“Harriet Potter, where is she?” Severus demanded standoffishly at the doughty woman behind the desk, who continued to gape at him and his demeanour. When she finally seemed to snap out of her disposition, her face morphed into one of suspicion.

“What is your relation to her?” her dark blue eyeshadow crinkled as she regarded him with narrowed eyes and tried to discern his possible relation to the seven-year-old, “I don’t suppose you are who Petunia Dursley noted would come to collect her today.”

“Cokeworth.”

Her eyes lit up in recognition at the code word that the Dursley matriarch must have left at the front desk for the man who would come pick up the student. The frown on her face deepened and it did not seem as if her apprehensiveness of the man was alleviated in any way. But seemingly feeling as if she had done her due diligence and done with her inquiry, her voice turned perky as she rattled off explanations regarding the child in question. 

“The child had fallen into a ditch before the bell, lord knows what she could have been doing to have that happen. Not only did she come to class late and soaking wet,” she paused to jot down something into a massive binder laid out on her desk, her poorly painted nails leaving a green streak beside whatever nonsense she had recorded before she continued, “but when her teacher, Mrs. Martin tried her best to reprimand her, she didn’t seem to respond to any of it. She asked to go home, and we had no business keeping her here-”

“I did not ask for gossip, I asked for her location.”

Letting out an offended noise, she responded, “she went to the restroom to try and dry up. Her uniform was a sloshing mess,” she glanced towards the door behind him, “here she comes now.”

Severus turned to follow her gaze, eyes landing on a small form walking towards the office.

 She was dressed in her aforementioned uniform, but it seemed ill-fitting as if it were not even bought for her in the first place. Tuney’s only child was a boy, a reportedly overweight one if Figg’s account was anything to go by but not one with the penchant for female clothing, as far as he knew. However, the skirt seemed to be just that, made for someone twice her size if its bagginess was anything to go by. As she shifted around an incoming student, Severus caught sight of the waist of the skirt, which seemed to have been held up by a cord of rope which scrunched up the skirt so it would stay up. Her equally large blazer peaked out from underneath a dull-coloured sweater which itself seemed to be standing on its last legs. 

Her face was expectedly a near-identical copy of his former bully, save for the absent glasses, and he could feel his resentment growing just looking at her. Though, she sported heavy, purple bags under her eyes and she seemed to purposefully be avoiding eye contact with anyone, especially the adults that passed her as they eyed her damp figure but not made any move to approach her. 

His eyes wandered down to her shoes, which contrasted her leggings that he noted were torn at the knees, likely from her recent tumble into the aforementioned ditch if the redness of her knees was any indication. The shoes themselves were scuffed beyond recognition, more grey than black with all the marks that covered them. His breath got caught in his throat as he finally landed on her scar, which occasionally peeked out from behind her curtain of shaggy curls. 

She looked pathetic, every aspect of her looking desolate and nothing like what he would assume the saviour of the Wizarding World to look like. Severus felt a twinge of annoyance looking at her and he sighed as he reminded himself that he still had to talk to her, so he could not exhaust all his negative emotions already. She seemed oblivious to the stares projected her way, eyes focussed solely on her hands for whatever reason. However, as she got closer, he realized just what she was looking at.

Her chapped hands were in a state. The tips of them were still blue from frostbite, despite evidently being inside for a period of time, and they were covered in lacerations so severe that they were purple with swelling. While no longer bleeding, it was clear that they were at one point though that trip to the restroom seemed to be for more than just drying herself off. They were cleaned to the best of their ability, yet still distorted with little cuts and bruises that looked as painful as they were fresh.

“I see your school makes it a habit to practice corporal punishment,” he remarked dryly to the receptionist- Charlotte Smith her desk plaque read- trying to contain his anger at the familiar practice.

A bead of foundation was collecting sluggishly at the woman’s hairline as a groaning portable heater in the corner of the room continued to blast warm air towards her relentlessly. She tittered off, “Not usually, but she apparently doesn’t respond to words. We have tried everything but poor thing may be lame I’m afraid: skipping class, destroying school property. She hasn’t done a shred of her homework since the beginning of the year, I don’t even think she can read yet.”

“‘Lame’,” Severus repeated. Before the chatty lady could elaborate, the girl made it into earshot and finally seemed to look up, eyes immediately landing on the imposing Potions Master, familiar green eyes meeting his own dark ones. Severus could feel any possible resentment he was feeling immediately dissipate as they stared at each other for a moment wordlessly.

It had been six years since he last got to see those eyes. Six years since those green eyes looked up at him lifelessly as he became only just too late to save their owner. 

She broke the silence. 

“H-hi,” she started lamely. When Severus did not respond, she continued, “Are you here to pick me up? Where’s Aunt Petunia? Or Mrs. Figg?”

Snapping out of his memory-induced trance, Severus’ eyes hardened once again when her face as a whole came back into focus. 

“I will be escorting you home today, Ms. Potter. Your aunt was predisposed. Arabella is ill-prepared to venture into the snow simply because you do not wish to be at school,” he started coldly, his unintentional nostalgia dissipating as he watched her squeeze her less injured hand in nervousness, “If you could collect your school things, we can leave.”

Harriet seemed to not notice his disdain of her, or remained pointedly undeterred by it, “I don’t have anything,” she responded dismissively. Severus heard the older woman let out a sympathetic noise at that, causing Harriet to tense but not respond as she continued, “I’m ready to go.”

Severus’ eyes widened when he regarded her sweater once again. It was threadbare at best, falling apart at worst. Either way, it was nowhere near appropriate for the below-zero atmosphere outside, nor was she otherwise prepared to brave the weather or the snow that rested outside the brick walls. She bit her lip as he looked her over, aware of his disapproval of her. He was about to protest before he paused. 

It wasn’t his business if she decided to go into the snow dressed as she was, his only job was to get her home and who was he to make that job more complicated than it had to be? If she did not take the responsibility of coming to school in the appropriate attire or with the appropriate supplies, far be it for him to parent her for it. Biting back his opposition, he turned to the receptionist, “Very well, need I sign anything before we go?”

The receptionist handed him the binder and pointed to the green stain she had made with her nail. 

“Just sign here and she is free to lollygag as she pleases,” she turned to the girl in false pity, “I hope Mrs. Martin was able to teach you a lesson today, dear. Don’t think that we enjoy this as much as you seem to think we do,” as if she were the one to inflict those injuries on her hand in the first place and was now apologizing for harassing her. 

“Yes Mrs. Smith. Thank you,” Harriet nodded obediently though her face remained skillfully blank as Severus signed her off. She tucked her hands into the paws of her sweater as she turned and walked out of the office without a goodbye to the woman, waiting outside as the man signed for her release. 

“With any luck, perhaps her aunt and uncle will eventually be able to undo any lunacy she inherited from those lousy parents of hers” the receptionist rattled off. Severus tensed at the implication about his former friend but remained otherwise unreactive - only because it would be inappropriate to hex her into the next century at a primary school. Without saying goodbye either, Severus handed back her binder and exited the small office, already prepared to never return if he had anything to say about it.

He found her waiting patiently at the entrance of the school, leaning against the wall and keeping her head down and not meeting any of the glances sent her way by passing students or teachers. Even under her sweater paws which were tucked in front of her, her hands trembled, and she seemed as if she were moments from fainting at any given moment.

When Severus entered the vestibule, the entire area seemingly emptied itself. His tall, imposing demeanour seemed to daunt anyone from trying to approach the duo. Harriet seemed to notice this, evidently relaxing as scared children and intimated adults left them alone in the small entryway. She smiled a small smile of relief to herself before letting her green eyes travel up to his face in apprehension. 

Severus sucked in a breath as he looked at her. All he needed to do was get her home yet…

“Let me see your hands,” he instructed, feeling the need to look them over for his own peace of mind; the idea that he needed peace of mind from her injuries being a frustrating thought. Harriet remained hesitant yet, following a shrug of her shoulders, pulled back her sweater, wincing at the biting chill of the foyer. He glanced down taking in the state of her bluish hands. As he did, her observation remained on the icicles that lined the bricks outside the large glass windows with lidded eyes, seemingly half-asleep already.

Up close, the injuries were much redder and rawer than he had initially given them credit for. Bending down slightly, he took gentle hold of her sweater to push it up to see more of the same injury lining her skinny forearms, though now paired with a plethora of bruises, both new and old judging by the colour of it. Her attention seemed to have homed in on the expression on his face because when he lifted his head to look at her, her face had shifted into surprise at whatever his face expressed. 

Looking back down, he deemed the injuries superficial enough to be treated when they get back to her house, “You will survive. Let us go, Potter. The sooner you get to your home, the sooner I can leave you to your idiocy,” he informed her impatiently, mindfully pulling her sweater back down, pointedly keeping himself from asking of the origin of her injuries. They could have very well been from her tumble, yet he stifled the part of his mind that contested that conclusion. He stood upright and started to leave until he heard her speak up.

“Wait!” Severus turned back to give her a scathing look, prompting her to shy away but she continued regardless, “I-I don’t know your name.”

“Is it important?” he demanded impatiently. Harriet began to chew her lip again, fiddling with the end of s strand of hair with two fingers that peeked out from the sleeves of her sweater.

“You knew my name,” she whispered, “I… wanted to know yours. I can’t go home with a stranger.”

“You may call me Professor Snape.”

She perked up at his admittance, “You’re a professor? What do you teach?”

She seemed more spritely than she was moments ago but Severus was in no mood to talk to her when he did not need to. Ignoring her question, he started towards the door again, only vaguely aware of her following. He stepped outside and realized it was snowing again with disdain, though he noticed the gasp from the child as she walked onto the salted concrete more so than the chill that seemed to occupy his body from the sudden shift in the temperature.

“It- it got colder,” she did not seem keen in the slightest to trek home in the current weather and while Severus did not blame her, he also did not sympathize with her. 

Severus could not hold back his smarminess at her remark, “It would be for someone who chose to dress as you did.”

“I didn’t choose it,” she muttered. For the first time, he could hear her voice held an air of… bitterness, though Severus did not follow up. Part of him felt self-loathing for assuming that she would actually choose to be out in the below-freezing temperature without even a scarf. Not addressing the issue any further, Severus turned and prompted the start to their trek back to the Privet Drive home, as snow fell around them.

The first half of their venture was entirely silent, save for the crunching of their feet in the light layer on snow that was overtaking the newly cleaned sidewalk. He kept his steps brisk, intentionally at first, though eventually a mindless pace, only to be somewhat matched by the noise of softer, quicker paces from a bit behind him. He could only imagine what it looked like with him bundled to brave the cold while she stumbled along in her thin sweater and overly large skirt among the snowy paths. 

“Why did Aunt Petunia ask you to come get me? Do you know her? Was there no one else?” she must have realized how that must have sounded because she was quick to amend as she said, “I don’t mind that you came! I’m glad in fact. I just don’t know who you are unless we’ve met before and I forgot. If I did then- ah!”

Severus turned in time to notice her on the ground. He didn’t have a chance to help her up before she was already scrambling to her feet, mindful of the patch of ice that sent her tumbling in the first place. Her hair covered her face as she wiped the snow that clung to her clothes as a result of the fall, muttering apologies under her breathe.

“Are you alright?” he asked impatiently. Eyeing as one of her hands turned a violent shade of blue as she rushed to brush off the snow and tuck it safely into the confines of her useless sweater. She was shivering now and breathing heavily.

“I’m fine,” though the inflection in her voice made it clear that she was close to tears. As she pushed her hair back, wiping her nose briefly on the shoulder of her sweater before walking forward, much slower than last time. She looked exhausted yet she did not complain and seemed to be holding herself back from becoming a sobbing mess in his presence, something he was both grateful for and inexplicably annoyed by. The Potions Master stifled any emotions he could have projected and turned to continue the walk back though he allowed her the courtesy of slowing down ever so slightly so that she could somewhat keep up with her new pace.

As they reached the main road, Severus could not help but watch as her condition continued to deteriorate in front of him with unease. Her lips were a proper blue now and she was trembling, but she kept walking on with her sweater-tucked hands pushed into the cavities of her arms to retain some semblance of warmth. Contrasting his dryness, her layers of hair were covered in flecks of snow, matching those that graced her eyelashes and the shoulders of her sweater as well. Severus’ eyes widened as she narrowly avoided a large patch of ice vaguely hidden underneath the accumulating layer of snow on the sidewalk, only to lose her balance to be on the verge of falling again. 

Severus didn’t know what instinct took over him, but he started moving towards her just as she began to collapse, knobby knees crossing as she fell towards the ground. He immediately caught her before she could land. His hands landed under her arms and hers lands on top of his and he noted regretfully as her uncovered hands were now a violent shade of red, making her injuries look entirely purple.

She was breathing heavily, laboriously as she tried to temper her panic. She was shaking harder than ever at this point, in combination of both the cold and her own anxiety at his proximity.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why…” she immediately tried her best to stand on her own and hold in her tears at the same time. Before he could rationalize himself out of it, he pulled her closer before her legs gave out from below her, wrapping an arm around her knees as he did before he stood back to his full form with her in his grip. She dropped her hands on his shoulders lightly, pushing herself away as her eyes widened.

“You don’t have to. I’m sorry,” she babbled urgently, looking desperate to be left down despite the likelihood that she wouldn’t be able to even stand, let alone move. Her voice was pitched high, and she looked uncomfortable as though she had never been carried before.

“Quiet,” he snapped, agitated. She immediately pressed her lips together, quietly letting him take her home as he was required to.

The snow fell around them more urgently and initially. Harriet had made a pointed effort to lean away from Severus as much as she could without actively toppling over. She remained stiff in his hold, and the older man could feel himself biting back from cursing at her for making this so much more difficult for the two of them than it had to be. She looked as if she was unsure of what she had to do with herself, none the wiser on the etiquette on how to be held as he was to how to hold her. 

Severus did not enjoy how small she was. He had not met too many kids her age, but he knew enough to know she could not have been healthy. For instance, in comparison to his goddaughter, Harriet was severely underweight. Severus would not be surprised if her subtle shivers were perpetual and not just reserved for the cold winter morning or the injuries she was sporting.  

As they passed Figg’s house on Wisteria Walk, he slowly felt her inching closer into him, until eventually she had swayed in enough that the pull of resting her head on his shoulder became too tempting to resist. He tried to ignore her tentative placement in the crook of his neck; the way her cold cheek siphoned his warmth even though she seemed all too determined to avoid trying anything literally moments ago. He glanced down at her, finding her eyes shut. 

He finally saw the blue sign which innocuously announced their destination, the third house from the left looking equally as unassuming as every house on the rest of the street, perhaps every house in the rest of the city. 

He regarded the house, unimpressed. 

“Aunt Petunia let me pick out the bows,” Harriet mentioned without turning around to motion at the string of excessively glittery red bows that lined the front door. He heeded them little mind and silently opened the door with one hand, balancing the girl in the other arm.