He is smaller than he’d expected, with thinning wrists, and bony shoulders that protruded from his flannel shirt. It’s something that makes his stomach turn when he realises the direction that his thoughts are going down, and it’s with every continued second of staring the boy down from the other side of the pub that drives him to finally step in.
The Potter boy was conversing with Quirinus, using wild hand gestures that made the man’s flinches more frequent. The other party was staring at the child as if he was a dragon on the loose and was threatening him in sign language.
“—friends with him? Potions sound interesting… oh, but Defense sounds useful, too, sir! I can’t wait to get my wand, what’s your wand, sir?”
He’s delivering a breathless and effortless spiel by the time he reaches the two, and he makes a move to plant his hand on one of the boy’s shoulders, but recoils when the child turns around abruptly and directs an immediate handshake without preamble.
“Hello!”
Viridian green stares up at him, positively glowing, a smile of pearly white teeth glinting in the corners. Severus hesitates, brow furrowing. Quirinus is wringing his hands together behind the boy, stepping back and into a table by accident. The idiot stumbles before righting himself with a hand grasping onto a nearby chair, and Potter makes himself useful by completely ignoring the man in favour of taking Severus’ hand into his own, shaking fervently.
“You must be Professor Snape,” there’s enthusiasm in his voice, a shaky tremble accompanying it. “Headmaster Dumbledore has told me a lot about you! Well, not really. He just said that you teach Potions, but still! It’s nice to finally meet one of my professors in person rather than by parchment.”
Severus cringes at least two times throughout that vomit of words. The forced physical contact wasn’t appreciated, but he didn’t comment on it other than hiding his hands deeper into the folds of his robes. The fact that Potter was able to discern his identity was a little peculiar, if a bit eerie.
“And how are you so certain that I am who you think I am?” Severus asks.
The boy points towards his robes, just where his hands are hiding inside them, before raising a hand to his face and tapping the side of his nose. “You smell like honey and orange blossoms. And some of your fingers were a little stained.” There’s a moment where he seems to be thinking of anything else to add, and Severus desperately wants to stop him because he’s already said enough to make him alarmed. “Oh, and your hair is a little greasy as well. I dunno.”
He runs a hand down his face and breathes out a sigh. The action is more stressful than relieving.
Potter’s looking at him funny; something of a shaky smile of childish excitement, to one of anxious hesitation. There’s an insistent twitch that’s pulsing under his eye, and a tremble to his shoulders and— oh, Merlin, the horror, was he going to cry?
“You’re observant,” he asserts quickly. While improvised lectures weren’t only a pain to the student withstanding them, but to him as well, it was an effective way of distracting the boy in front of him, if only to escape the possibility of creating a scene with tears involved. “An important asset that is required for your future studies in Hogwarts; ensure that you utilize it wisely.”
He doesn’t know where that hogwash came from, but it accomplished its purpose in diverting the sheen of tears that had been glazing over Potter’s eyes. He’s grateful, if a little nonplussed by the reaction.
The boy hums an affirmative and offers a single nod, words unspoken. And while that may be a little odd, seeing as he’d been a regular chatty cathy prior seconds ago, Severus can’t be certain of it.
Quirinus has apparently made a bolt through the back, no doubt having slipped away during his impromptu — albeit short — monologue, the coward.
“Come along.” Severus says, motioning for the boy to follow by his side. Potter’s quick on his feet like a frog to the pond, rushing to the spot next to him with a different grin on his face. He looks up at him, the baseball cap he’s wearing tilting askew. It’s an unnerving sight, and it makes him pause when he feels something uncomfortable welling up in his chest, gritting his teeth as he pushes through the crowd and to the back.
(He full-heartedly pretends not to notice the way the boy turns around to face the barkeeper — Tom — and waves him goodbye.)
Potter’s reaction to the bricks of the wall parting into an orchestrated archway is an odd one, that’s for sure. At least he thinks so; he’s never been one for personally taking first-years to get their shopping lists done.
While there was anticipation and joy, in came what appeared like recognition and horror. It ended with him having to hold the boy’s shoulders down just to ground him, lest he loses himself into a panic-induced faint and leave Severus with an unresponsive body to carry back to his relatives. And while he’d rather not do the blasted shopping trip at all, he wasn’t too much of a heartless bastard to allow one of his future students — yes, this tiny thing of a child right here — have a near heart attack for his own benefit.
He takes him through the practice of breathing, not paying mind to the tiny hands that clench at his arms desperately. It crosses his mind that there’s most likely grime that’s beginning to stick to the ends of his robes, but it’s gone when he hears the boy’s breaths slowly down and into a more regulated pattern that’s good enough to put him at ease.
There’s a moment where Snape takes a second to stare dumbly at the child who’s hand was resting on his chest, just where his heart was located behind skin and bones.
And then there’s a wheezing laugh that’s spluttered out from Potter’s mouth. He seems surprised by the sound himself, which only makes him laugh harder until he finally coughs violently enough to almost make him gag. He’s quick to shake it off with another one of his grins, and Severus—
Severus is at a loss for words.
Because this child, this fool, this idiot—
“I haven’t done that in years!”
This goddamn Gryffindor has the nerve- the gall- the audacity to look back at him and— he’s grabbed his hand, captured it, really, and he’s dragging him into the streets of Diagon Alley like some overly energised child — which he is — high on sugar.
He staggers on the way, the differing flagstones beneath his feet uneven and unaccounted for.
“What— What are you doing?” To his credit, he manages to pull the child to a full stop by yanking him back, bringing him in closer to hold his shoulders again and glare at him in the eyes, no matter the way he winces at their familiar colour. “You are aware that you have just undergone a panic attack, are you not?”
There’s something in Potter’s eyes that seems to flash at that, but it’s gone within the moment. Severus files that away for later ruminations.
“I know,” he says matter-of-factly, like he’s just declared that the sky is blue.
Severus waits.
The boy bounces on the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth, eyes drifting away to the stores and their products and merchandise with a renewed eagerness.
“...that’s it?”
Emerald eyes shoot back to his own, beguiling and guiltless. It makes his hold on the boy loosen for a second before he shakes him once, an indignant yelp and two hands holding onto his arms being the reaction he receives.
“That’s it?! Not only do you seem to have such an arrogant disregard for the overall well-being of yourself, but the fact that you’ve just gone through a panic attack isn’t in the least bit daunting for you, no less worrying?”
Potter throws his hands up in front of himself in a defensive stance, “I didn’t say that! I didn’t mean it like that!” It’s said almost petulantly, and it only draws Severus in to eye him down with an iron gaze of stubborn will to prompt the boy to elaborate. It works.
“I just…” he sighs then, as though Severus is the one being problematic. “Can we just go shopping? I promise I won’t do anything like that again.”
Severus takes a moment to breathe, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly before running a hand down his face. It’s still early in the morning, and with the bustling crowd that’s just over the boy’s shoulder, he already feels as though he’s been thoroughly drained of energy.
“That isn’t what I was getting at, Potter.”
“Who cares?” The tone irks him, and he’s just about to open his mouth to say something about it when the boy speaks over him again. “I’m not going to faint if that’s what you’re worried about.”
And that is what he’s worried about, and it’s a difficult enough thing to admit to himself.
Later on, when the boy’s walking alongside him, peering curiously through the windows of the stores they passed with a keen eye, he’s ambivalent about his initial views of the boy close to him. Part of him isn’t sure whether it’s because there’s one side of him that’s consistently comparing the boy to his father, or with the other side interjecting with the damning forest eyes that remind him too much — too much, it’s too much — of the boy’s mother.
He wonders, distantly, what little room that left for the boy’s own independence. It’s close-minded, he knows— has always known.
There are questions; inane ones that remind him an awful lot of Albus’ own elderly babblings whenever he went on a particular tangent about anything. He gives out curt and short answers; single-worded answers if he could manage. The boy spews one question out and then onto another, soaking the information in like a sponge.
He’d be prideful if he was a decent teacher, but he isn’t, so he’s left feeling just annoyed and irritated with the constant onslaught of questions that’s rained down on him, simply ignoring Potter when he couldn’t be bothered to provide him with an answer.
The boy didn’t seem to mind, if anything, Severus had a feeling that the boy knew exactly what it was that he was doing to him, the menace.
And then he said something that made him pause.
“Did you know that sunflower seeds have the ability to strengthen the Boils Potion?”
It’s an out-of-the-blue question that’s enough to throw him off slightly. While it’s all just a simple question, it holds a certain type of knowledge that the boy isn’t even supposed to know. It’s only until students reach their third year (depending on whether or not they decide on keeping Potions as their elective) that he introduces the concepts of fortifying their potions— sunflower seeds being the most commonly used enhancement.
The boy takes his silence as another round of him just ignoring him out of spite and begins to gallop away towards the front doors of Gringotts, unheeding to the warning sign by the doors.
Severus runs.
honey and orange blossoms.