The Elixir of Amaranth by Ttime42

Snape was on his comfortable sofa, reading by the light of a softly glowing white sphere hovering over his shoulder. A fire crackled in the hearth. It was a chilly June night and rain splattered the window. The occasional flash of lightning highlighted the cozy sitting room in silver and white. A clatter sounded against the window before it flew open.

Snape snapped his head up.

A sodden white owl blew into the warm room with a few wet leaves and a gush of water. Snape dropped his book on the cushion and stood as the window closed and latched. The owl hopped to her feet and shook her round head dry. There was only one person he knew with a snow white owl.
“He sent you out in this mess?” Snape murmured. Hedwig flapped over to the perch beside the fire, fluffing her wings. Water sprayed everywhere and the fire hissed. She hooted, tired, and held her leg out. Surprisingly, the thin paper was only a little bit damp around the edges. Her thick feathers must have kept it dry.

Snape unfolded the muggle notebook paper and cast lumos to see better in the dim room.

Professor,

I’m unwell. I have a bit of a cough. Could you send some potions?

-Harry

Snape flipped the page over. Nothing.

When he gave Harry his contact information at the end of the last school year, only two weeks ago, he wasn’t sure if the boy would use it. Snape knew Harry’s relatives were…undesirable and he’d wanted to give Harry a way to communicate with the magical world if the kid wanted it. He didn’t expect much, certainly not more than a handful of conversations by mail. He reread the short message. Knowing Harry and how well the boy dealt with discomfort and pain, the “I’m unwell” was likely more akin to “I’m on my deathbed” and the “bit of a cough” likely a lung infection. He’d prefer more information. Was he vomiting? Did he have a sore throat? Was he coughing anything up? There was no mention of fever or a rash or chills or aches or anything. It could be a mild cold or it could be something worse.

He debated about sending a healing potion and calling the case closed.
But.

He peered out the window. The wind had picked up and the rain lashed the glass. Owls didn’t fly well in wet weather and Hedwig wasn’t in a fit state to go all the way back to bloody Surrey tonight. He wasn’t going to send his own owl out in this either.

He conjured the required potion from his personal stores and the vial appeared in his hand. He rubbed his thumb over the glass, thinking, then called his house elf.

“Teeley!”

Pop!

“Yes, Master Snape?”

The little elf clasped her hands and looked up at him with moon-bright eyes. There was a jaunty blue bow in her wispy hair.

“Teeley, do you know the boy Harry Potter?”

“Yes, sir! Harry Potter is being famous among the house elves, sir!”

He nodded. “Could you bring this to him?” He handed her the vial.

“Of course, sir.” She took it reverently.

“Make sure you go directly to the boy. He lives with…unpleasant muggles so it is imperative you’re not seen.”

She nodded.

“Also report back on how ill he is. He says he’s under the weather. You know what to look for.”

“Certainly, sir! Teeley will be seen by no muggles!”

“Thank you.”

Teeley vanished and Snape sat on his sofa, watching the rain while the white owl slumbered.

Teeley appeared silently in the corner of Harry’s small bedroom. The room was poorly lit and a teenage boy laid twisted in the bed sheet, breathing deeply in a restless sleep. Teeley hopped up onto the bed and touched Harry’s knee.

“Mister Harry,” she said in her high voice.

Harry tossed his head back and forth on the pillow.

“Mister Harry, please, I’s have your potion!”

The word ‘potion’ seemed to wake him up and he blinked a few times before fumbling for his glasses. “Dobby?” He croaked.

“No, sir! Teeley!”

Harry stared at her.

“I haves a gift from Master Snape.”

Hearing Snape’s name roused Harry further. He sat up. The movement made him cough violently. He hacked into his fist, a deep barking cough that made Teeley gasp.

“You is very ill,” she said.

“Boy!” Vernon’s voice thundered down the hall. “Shut yer gob—can’t hear the telly!”

Teeley popped open the healing potion. She had no time to lose. The ‘bad muggles’ could enter at any moment. Harry pressed on his sternum, his face screwed up in pain. He’d been coughing so much his ribs were sore and there was a sharp smoldering sensation deep in his chest that he was starting to get worried about. “Snape...” he murmured.

Teeley thrust the potion at him and Harry took it, gulping it. The small effort wearied him and he laid back down, resting fitfully. Teeley put her small hands on his damp chest, feeling his breath rattle. She laid a floppy ear on him and listened to the deep wheeze. She touched his face. Hot. His hands were cold and clammy.

Harry grimaced and tried to get comfortable in the lumpy bed.

“Rest well, Mister Harry.” Teeley vanished.

She popped back into the sitting room.

“Is he ill?” Snape asked.

“Oh sir, he be very weak. His cough is deep and his lungs is struggling. His core is burning bright and I’s thinks he has a fever. Mister Harry needs help he does. He needs more than healing potion.”

Snape surged to his feet. “The muggles?” He barked.

Many elves quailed under Snape’s snarls but Teeley, his elf for more than a decade, was used to him and made of stern stuff. “I weren’t seen!” She said proudly. “I’s heard a voice—an angry man telling Mister Harry to shuts up. Teeley gave Mister Harry the healing potion, sir. He was asking for you.”

“Asking?”

“He said your name, sir.”

That was all Snape needed. Gritting his teeth, he summoned a few more potions and apparated all the way to Privet Drive.

Snape appeared on the pavement and closed his eyes as a wave of nausea passed through his gut. He hadn’t apparated that far in a long time. He glanced around the quiet neighborhood, made even quieter by the soft falling rain. Which house was it? Three? No, four. The homes all looked identical. Neat and trim and clipped to within an inch of their lives. Snape appreciated tidiness and order but this was a bit much. He strode up the narrow walkway and slammed his fist into number four’s door three times.

“What the blazes?” A short, portly man with a massive mustache answered.

“You must be the uncle,” Snape said by way of greeting, lip curling. He glanced over the man from head to foot and saw nothing of worth. He grunted in his throat and pushed past the man, not caring that he was getting water on the floor. In a sitting room to the side he could see a boy on an ugly floral sofa, watching telly with a large bowl of ice cream in front of him. Not Harry. Snape stormed up the staircase.

“Who’s at the door, mummy?” The boy asked absently. His eyes stayed locked on the screen.

Snape stuck his head into a doorway at the top of the steps. “Harry?” No, it was a loo. He moved on. Another door, open. He looked in and saw a messy bedroom occupied by a massive bed, two televisions and a pile of games and snacks on the floor. No Harry.

“Who is that?” A woman’s voice.

“I don’t bloody know!” The uncle was following Snape, sputtering. “Oy, you can’t just come in here—I’m going to call the police!”

“Do it,” Snape challenged, dark eyes flashing. “It’s been a while since I hexed someone.”

Petunia gasped. “Vernon, he’s…!?”

“One of Harry’s kind,” Snape growled, injecting as much venom as he could into the words. He moved on and twisted the knob on another bedroom. It didn’t budge. He looked down at the knob. Locked. A bolt and a padlock were fastened to the door, ensuring that should one lock fail, two others were ready to go. Snape gave both Petunia and Vernon a disgusted look. It appeared he had found Harry’s room.

“There had better not be a sick boy behind this door,” he told them in a soft, dangerous voice. “Or you will be very, very sorry.”

They both had the sense to look uneasy.

He removed his wand, causing the muggles to gasp and step back. Vernon got in front of Petunia.

Snape smirked. As much as he wanted to hex them into oblivion, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Alohomora,” he whispered. He touched the wand to the three locks and they glowed softly before each popping open.

“Enough of this!” Vernon shouted. “I’ll not have you doing such unnatural acts in my home.”

Snape ignored him and pushed the door open. The room was dim. A desk lamp on the floor illuminated the sparse space in sickly pale light and sharp dark shadows. Harry was on the small bed, sweaty and tangled in the single sheet on the bare mattress. The boy coughed, a deep wracking bark that sounded inhuman. He fell back to the flat pillow, his chest heaving with fast breaths.

Snape froze, shocked by the sight in front of him. Harry was thin and was swimming in the large grey Tshirt he wore that went down past his lean hips. The room was hot and stuffy. There were bars covering the window, nothing on the walls, and a rickety desk and wardrobe in one corner. This was what Harry came back to every summer? A jail cell?

“Harry,” Snape leaned over him. He didn’t move. “Potter?” Snape put a hand on the boy’s chest. He was so thin. He could see the lad’s collar bones. His face was flushed and his skin burning hot.

“Little attention whore,” Vernon sneered from the doorway, seeming to have forgotten about his fear of Snape once he laid eyes on his ill nephew. “He’ll snap out of it when he’s hungry enough.”

Petunia sniffed in a way that managed to sound arrogant, agreeing with her husband.

“You disgusting, bloody fools!” Snape growled at them. “Can’t you idiots see how ill he is?! Surely you’re not so thick?” He pulled another healing potion out of his pocket and popped the cork. He sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress. “Harry,” his voice was soft again, “open your eyes?”

Harry stirred. “Sn…Snape?”

“Indeed. Open your mouth.”

Harry stared up at him, his eyes glassy with a fever, and Snape slid his arm behind the boy, lifting him into a semi-sitting position. Vertebrae pressed into Snape’s forearm. Snape put the vial to Harry’s lips. “Drink,” he commanded. Harry managed to get most of it down. A bit of the red liquid ran out the side of his mouth and streaked down his neck. Snape tilted the violet fever reducer towards his lips and Harry blanched at the taste.

“Drink it all,” Snape said, his voice soothing. Harry choked and spat up some of it onto Snape’s sleeve but got most of it down. “Good lad.” Snape slid his other arm under Harry’s knees and lifted the boy out of bed. He weighed as much as a dried leaf. Harry groaned and huddled into the warm body, teeth chattering. Snape clenched his jaw. Harry had lost so much weight. Did these idiot muggles feed him at all? He turned, his cloak flaring around his booted feet, and glared at Harry’s gaping relatives.

“Harry is no longer your concern.” He had much more to say, indeed his voice trembled with fury. He imagined the whole house going up in flames, preferably with Petunia and her kin trapped inside, but he could daydream later. Harry was ill and needed attention.
Snape adjusted his grip on Harry, holding him tight, and apparated away from Privet Drive.

***

He apparated directly into one of Crowcaster House’s large guest bedrooms. Teeley had made herself useful in his absence and the fire burned bright, taking the chill out of the rarely used room. The large bed was turned down invitingly and Snape laid Harry in the sheets. He said the incantation for the medical assessment and the soft blue network of webbing appeared over Harry’s body, gathering data.
“Teeley,” he called.

The little elf appeared.

“Get some towels, tissues, and a glass of water.”

“Yes, Master Snape.” She vanished.

Snape held up his hand and closed his eyes and visualized his neat potions storage space upstairs. With an elegant twist of his hand he wordlessly conjured two potion vials directly from his stores. The heavy glass vials clinked in his palm. One potion was for coughing specifically and the other was a general lung tonic cure-all. The boy had already taken a fever reducer and healing potion. Without an exam of some kind Snape had no idea what else he’d need. Teeley appeared and stacked towels on the bedside table along with a large glass of water and a generous supply of tissues.
“Thank you,” Snape told the elf, who was wringing her hands and shifting from foot to foot as she watched Harry. Snape picked up a damp towel and wiped the remnants of the healing potion and fever reducer from Harry’s mouth and neck.

Harry opened his eyes. “Snape?”

“Yes.”

“Why’re you here?”

“You’re ill, Harry.” Snape used a dry towel to blot the sweat from Harry’s neck and face.

“Did’j y’get my letter?”

“Yes. I’ve given you some potions. I need to give you more. Are you—”

That horrible barking cough erupted from Harry and Snape slid his arm behind the boy to lift him up to sit and lean forward. He put his hand on Harry’s chest to brace him and thumped his other hand next to his spine. Harry clutched Snape’s arm and coughed violently, whimpering in between gasps.

“What hurts?” Snape asked. He gave Harry a tissue to spit into.

“Throat. Chest.” Harry’s voice was raspy and Snape leaned over to grab the water glass.

“Drink,” he said. He put the glass to Harry’s lips and the boy drank obediently.

“I’m going to give you a lung tonic and a cough potion.” he said, pulling the vials from his pocket. He ripped the stopper of the first one out with his teeth and tipped it towards Harry’s mouth. He drank it without spilling.

“Good boy. The other now.”

Harry drank it down.

Snape put the water glass on the side table and the empty vials in his pocket. After a moment’s hesitation he lifted the back of Harry’s shirt and did a quick visual exam of the skin. Heads of house were given special training to notice physical signs of abuse and with Harry having been at his rancid relatives for a fortnight already he could only suspect the worst. Harry was bony, probably malnourished, but he wasn’t bruised or cut or anything. He lifted the shirt further and looked at Harry’s chest and belly and prominent ribs. No bruises. Nothing unusual. He pulled the shirt into place and eased him down to the fluffy pillows. Already the tonic was working and Harry looked a bit better. He wasn’t quite so flushed. “Rest,” Snape told him. “That’s the best thing for you now.”

Harry hummed and closed his eyes. Snape gently took his glasses off and put them on the bedside table. Teeley had been waiting patiently in Harry’s room, on hand in case Snape needed anything, and they both glanced at the assessment web. Harry’s temperature was thirty-eight degrees. Snape was glad he got the fever reducer into the boy. His blood sugar was low, he was malnourished and he was deficient in a few vitamins. He otherwise seemed to be in decent health despite Petunia’s best efforts. Snape made sure the water glass was topped up and he left the room with the elf, leaving the door ajar. His own bedroom was across the hall and if Harry started coughing or needed anything in the night, Snape would hear.
Out in the corridor, he said, “you’ve done splendid work, Teeley. I’m pleased.”
She bobbed her head. “Thank you, Master Snape.”

“Could you please go back to the boy’s room at his relative’s house and gather his trunk, owl cage, broom, and any spare clothing?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Off she popped.

***

Harry’s roiling stomach woke him up. He gulped and sat up in bed and looked around. There was a fireplace in this room. Why was there a fireplace in the room? His room never had a fireplace before. His hand moved over the dark green comforter. This wasn’t his. A large dog was in the bed with him. For a moment he thought it might be Sirius as this dog was the same size as his animagus godfather, but it wasn’t. This dog was grey and black and white. It lifted its head and whined softly. More confused than ever, Harry looked out the windows. His windows had bars on them. These didn’t. The dog jumped off the bed and trotted out into the corridor. Harry heard it’s clawed paws scratch at a door. A hovering blue medical assessment web floated over his bed and he stared at it, trying to think. Was he in hospital? He’d been ill at the Durselys. Maybe it got so bad that they brought him to a muggle hospital. Did muggle hospitals have dogs and fireplaces and floating assessment webs? His stomach churned. He picked up the glass of water next to the bed and drank. That only seemed to encourage his stomach. He looked around, desperate. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know where the loo was. There was no bucket or anything nearby—

His stomach decided his brain was done thinking and he vomited bile and water all over the braided rug on the floor beside the bed. He coughed a few times and put his hands on his stomach, regarding the mess with a mix of disgust and humiliation. There was a stack of towels next to his bed and he grabbed one and wiped his mouth. A light in the corridor and then a figure moved silently into his bedroom. The figure turned the room’s light on low.
Harry fumbled for his glasses. “Snape?!” He rasped, baffled. He wouldn’t have been more surprised if Voldemort himself walked in wearing Petunia’s frilly pink apron.

Snape glanced at the sick on the floor.

“Sorry…” Harry muttered. He coughed.

“No matter.” Snape waved his hand and the mess vanished.

“Where am I? Is this Hogwarts?” He knew it wasn’t the moment he said it. He cleared his throat.

“You’re in a bedroom at Crowcaster House.” Snape said.

“Crowcaster House.” Harry coughed. Why did that name sound so familiar. “What is that?”

Snape raised a brow. “My home.”

“Oh, right.” He’d seen it before written in the letter Snape gave him at the end of last year that contained his address. Harry wasn’t sure what to feel about waking up in Snape’s house in the middle of the night and then vomiting on his rug.

“What are your symptoms?” Snape asked. “Other than nausea?”

“Stomach feels better.” He coughed. “I’m—” he coughed again. He couldn’t get more words out as a coughing fit consumed him. An arm clad in a dark blue dressing gown sleeve appeared in front of his chest. A firm hand on his back tilted him forward and Harry braced himself on Snape’s arm as he thumped in exactly the spot needed to loosen whatever was clogging his chest. Harry hacked and spat into a tissue. He took a deep, ragged breath.

Snape checked the assessment web. His fever had dropped a bit. “It’s too early to give you more potions.” Snape said. “Is your stomach better?”

“For now.”

Snape transfigured a tissue into a bucket. “Can you get back to sleep?”

“I think so.” Harry laid back in the bed. He shivered and pulled the comforter up to his chin. “I have questions.”

“I imagine you do. I will answer them tomorrow.” Snape stood and moved for the door. “Sleep well, Harry.”

“Mm, night….” Harry muttered as Snape left.
He had so very many questions.

Harry didn’t get to ask those questions the next day, as he took a turn for the worse in the night. Snape was awoken a couple hours later by Harry coughing fitfully. He laid still, listening, counting the seconds in between coughs. He heard Harry gasping for breath and then another round of heavy coughing, ending with a gagging sound.

Snape got up, threw his dressing gown on, and went into the room.

Harry was curled on his side, coughing heavily into his fist. There was a bit of blood on his hand and on the sheets. The white of one of Harry’s eyes was streaked red. He probably burst a capillary coughing. The pain in his chest, a vague smolder at the Dursleys, was now an inferno of searing heat. He breathed raggedly, rubbing his sternum and trying not to cry.

“C’mon. Up.” Snape pulled him gently into a seated position and tilted him forward again, bracing him with his forearm as before. Harry grabbed his arm and hacked into a wad of tissues. He thumped Harry’s back until he hacked up more crud and the coughing fit passed. Snape had left a few vials of cough tonic on the dresser and he summoned one, popping it open and tilting the potion down Harry’s throat.

Snape stood there rubbing that spot on Harry’s back and supporting his weight with his arm. “Just give that a moment to work and then I can fix the pain in your chest. It’s probably your core,” Snape said. Harry was clinging to his arm taking deep, shuddering breaths as Snape rubbed up and down the spot he’d been pounding (Snape was soothing him, rubbing his back? What?) “This could be some form of bronchitis,” Snape said.

“I did have a cold,” Harry said. “Got worse. Could,” he sniffed and looked up at Snape, “could this be from the antidote?”

“That’s unlikely. Some people are allergic to the angelica ingredient but if you were you would have shown signs of a reaction much earlier than now. You could have picked up something at King’s Cross or some latent bug on the train. Maybe you caught it from one of your relatives. Regardless, the potions will help.” He moved his fingers up Harry’s back to his neck and laid his hand flat between Harry’s shoulder blades. He was offering comfort but also feeling Harry’s breaths. They seemed more even and less rattly than before. “Where is the pain in your chest?” Snape asked, though he had a guess.

“Here.” Harry pressed his fist into his sternum and grimaced. “It burns!”

“Yes. That’s your magical core burning to try and control the fever. Your magical energy is low. Take your shirt off. I have a salve.”

Harry pulled his big Tshirt over his head and Snape conjured a wooden pot of cream from his stores upstairs.

Harry laid down and Snape popped the cream open. “I’m going to apply this to your chest.”

Harry nodded and Snape scooped a couple of fingers of cream and smoothed it across the skin at the bottom of Harry’s prominent ribcage. The cream tingled on Harry’s warm skin and then a cooling sensation sank into his flesh, reaching into his body to breathe icy air over his burning chest.
Harry sagged into the mattress with a long exhale.

“Better?” Snape said.

“Yeah, a lot better.” Harry said.

“Excellent,” Snape said, capping the pot. He picked up Harry’s shirt and frowned. It was massive. The pair of white boxer shorts he wore sported a waistband worn through and frayed holes all over the legs. They reminded him of the clothes he’d worn as a child. His family had been so impoverished that new clothing was rare. He’d often been made to do with his mother’s and father’s old things, transfigured to fit him better and repaired with a muggle needle and thread. Petunia and her beast of a husband were obviously not poor. Did Harry not have good clothes?

Teeley had brought back a bundle of clothes for Harry a few hours ago that Snape had immediately dismissed. They were rags. A few Tshirts threadbare or riddled with patches. Stains that wouldn’t come out. Ragged hems and edges. The jeans and underpants were in an even sorrier state. He couldn’t in good conscience put Harry in those clothes. Fortunately, Snape owned muggle clothes. Harry could make do with some borrowed things until Snape figured out the next steps.

He’d sent his patronus to Dumbledore to inform him of Harry’s location. He’d armed the doe with a scathing message that suggested Dumbledore didn’t know what the hell he was doing and only a fool would leave a vulnerable child with muggles such as Petunia and Vernon Dursley, blood wards or not. He’d told Dumbledore too that he was going to keep the boy in his home until proper, sensible arrangements could be made.

It wouldn’t be difficult to convince Harry to stay put in Crowcaster House for now. He was so weak and tired that Snape was certain Harry would gladly stay in bed and be waited on hand and foot. Snape laughed to himself. He’d always thought James Potter’s son was a spoiled little celebrity, used to having servants indulging his every whim. Snape never would have thought he’d be so wrong and that he’d be the one who stepped up, unasked, to do the waiting on and indulging.

He summoned a clean pair of dark green sweatpants and a white Tshirt.

“Harry,” he shook out the Tshirt and approached the bed. “You need to change your clothes.”

Harry nodded and Snape pulled the clean shirt over Harry’s head and helped him feed his arms through the sleeves. Harry hugged the fresh soft knit fabric to his thin body.
“Stand a minute.” Snape said, helping him to his feet. “I have sleep trousers for you. Hold my shoulders.”

Snape crouched and instructed Harry to lift his feet into the trouser legs. Harry’s clammy hand balanced on his shoulders as Snape tugged the fabric up and pulled the drawstring to tighten around the hip bones. They were too long as Snape was much taller than Harry but they were better than what he’d had on.

Harry’s teeth chattered and Snape helped him sit on the bed again.

Snape knew more about medicine than the average wizard. Part of the requirements for the Potions Mastery included an eight-month stint at St. Mungo’s so he knew a little more beyond the basics. For years he’d been brewing and administering potions to ailing students and staff. He’d brewed a thousand cold relief potions, fever reducers, headache tonics, calming draughts and the like, but he was no healer. He knew the magical and muggle ways to take vitals and give an injection, find blood pressure and insert an IV. He could not however, look inside a body. He lacked the skill and tools to do so. All he could do was treat what he could see and rely on his body of experience and medicinal knowledge to diagnose an issue.
He looked at the clock above the fireplace. It was too early to give the boy any more potions. He lifted the covers and Harry huddled against his pillow. “Go back to sleep. I’ll check on you later.”

He didn’t have to tend Harry again in the night. Early in the morning, a thump against the wall woke Snape up. Blinking awake, he got back out of bed, slipped into his deep blue dressing gown, and headed for Potter.

The boy was leaning against the wall, out of breath and rubbing his chest again. He seemed totally winded. He looked up at Snape. “Loo.”
Snape took Harry’s elbow and guided him to the bathroom. “I’ll be just outside when you’re done.”

Harry nodded. He was too tired and ill to be mortified by what was happening. He did what he needed to do without collapsing and washed his hands.
“How often do you get this ill?” Snape asked, holding him steady as they went back to the room.

“Never,” Harry said. “Why’m I so exhausted?”

“It’s your core,” Snape said. “It’s working extra hard to eliminate your cough and it’s using your energy to do that. Good sleep is the best thing for you now.”

Snape was going to deposit him back in the bed but thought better of it.

“Sit here a moment.” He let Harry slump into the armchair. Snape waved his wand. The damp bed linens stripped themselves from the mattress. He waved his wand again and a fresh set peeled themselves in place. Harry stared at him. His brain was working in fits and starts. If he’d been completely cogent he would think this utterly surreal: Snape, the scary dungeon-dwelling Potions Master, playing nursemaid to him in his own home. The bed was remade in seconds and the old linens vanished to the laundry. Harry got up on his own and crawled into the bed. Snape grabbed the fever reducer and half dose of sleep draught. Harry had only coughed a few times, not like that horrible barking cough of the night before. Snape held the back of Harry’s head in one hand and tipped the first vial to his mouth. Harry gulped it down.
He hummed in approval. “One more.”

Harry downed the second one and burrowed into the blankets. Snape dropped the vials into his dressing gown pocket and went back to bed. They both slept late into the day. Snape had never been a morning person so he was perfectly content with sleeping in a few extra hours before rising and getting ready for the day. He glanced into Harry’s room and saw the mess of dark hair poking out from under the blanket. Asleep. He listened. Breathing sounded better.

He went downstairs and ate breakfast, glad to be sitting quietly with the newspaper. He lingered at the table with his tea. He debated about waking Harry to make him eat but reasoned that when he got hungry enough he’d wake up and Snape would deal with it then.

Harry slept.

And slept.

And slept.

The sun was beginning to cast long afternoon shadows when Snape, comfortable in the sitting room with a book, heard movement on the second floor. He marked his page and went upstairs, reaching the landing as Harry exited the bathroom.

“Feel better?”

Harry nodded and whispered, “yes, sir.”

“Hungry?”

Harry hummed and shrugged. Snape bit back his annoyance at the lack of a proper answer. Patience. The boy was ill.

“I want you to try eating. Toast?”

“Okay,” Harry whispered hoarsely. That triggered a coughing fit and he leaned on the wall, gasping for breath.

“Come on.” Snape guided him up and brought him back to the bed. Harry coughed again and once more Snape slid his arm in front of Harry’s chest as a brace and thumped his back. Harry coughed deeply and then hacked into a tissue.

“Gross,” he muttered. Snape released him and Harry fell back in the bed, staring at the hovering assessment web Snape had cast the first night. The interlocking net-like pattern of it was dense with data. “What time is it?”

“Nearly five.”

“At night?!”

Snape smirked. “You’ve been asleep for almost fourteen hours.”

“Shit.” Harry rubbed his forehead.

Snape summoned Teeley.

“Yes, sir!” She popped into the room.

“Please make up a plate of dry toast for Mister Potter.”

“Certainly, sir!” She vanished.

“When did your relatives last feed you?” Snape asked.

“I don’t even remember. They shoved some cold eggs under my door…don’t remember when.”

Snape grit his teeth. No wonder Harry was skin and bone. Those bastards starved him!

A plate containing four triangles of toast appeared alongside a glass of water. Harry dragged himself up and leaned against the cushioned headboard. He nibbled the toast and sipped the water. When he didn’t cough or vomit he started taking bigger bites. He was barely aware of Snape vanishing the used pile of tissues and casting a freshening charm in the room. Harry put the empty plate and glass aside and and laid back down.
“How’s your chest?” Snape asked. “Burning?”

“Still there but better.” The small action of eating seemed to take it out of him as no sooner had Harry answered was he snuggling back into the pillows. Snape waved his hand and refilled the water. He also applied another measure of salve to Harry’s chest.
Harry rolled over when he was done. “Thanks, Pr’fes’r….” his voice was low and moments later he was asleep.

Once again Harry slept.

And slept.

And slept.

He woke up late the following morning. He looked around. He was feeling loads better. His mind finally felt clear and the persistent burning in his chest had cooled. He grabbed the water on his bedside table and drank the whole thing, then sat on the edge of the bed and took in his surroundings properly for the first time. The room was simple but nice. The bed was huge. Four big windows let in plenty of light on this sunny day. The fireplace, lined in river stone, was dark and cold. There was an armchair and a small round table, a dresser, and a wardrobe. Harry saw his trunk at the foot of the bed. He dug into his mind, trying to remember the series of events that had ended with him in Snape’s home. He remembered laying in his bed. Oh. He’d written Snape. He’d been ill, his relatives hadn’t cared, and he wrote Snape. He’d expected, at best, an owl delivery of a healing potion or fever reducer but now he was in Snape’s house.

He had questions.

He looked down at his chest. Oh so that hadn’t been an absurd fever dream. Snape had actually changed his clothing for him like he was an infant. Awesome. Brilliant. Really wicked. This wasn’t his shirt. Also, these sweatpants? Not his.

He had a lot of questions.

His wand! Harry dropped to his knees with a loud thump and dug through the mess of his trunk. He’d never cleaned it out from last year and he tossed used parchment, broken quills and sweets wrappers over his shoulder. Where was his wand? He found last year’s potions workbook and threw that aside. It slid across the floor and came to a stop at Snape’s feet, standing in the doorway.

Harry glanced up at him and did a double take. He was in dark trousers and a dark blue buttoned shirt, looking at Harry in an intense way, like he was sizing him up. Harry had never seen him in muggle clothes. He had never been able to ever imagine Snape in anything other than the black robes he always wore. Even now the sight before him was clashing with the image of Snape he had built into his head over the last near-six years. Snape looked marginally less imposing in the muggle clothes but only just. A large mean-looking dog was sitting, watching Harry with a tilted head.
“Feeling better?” Snape raised a brow.

“Yeah, loads.” Harry turned back to his trunk and cleared his raspy throat. “I can’t find my wand!”

“I put it aside for safekeeping.” Snape opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled it out, offering it to Harry handle-first. He took it with a sigh of relief. The familiar soft sense of magic slipped up his arm and he sat on the floor, examining the length of holly.
“Nice to see you taking care of this,” Snape picked up the ragged potions workbook and flipped through the blank pages. He snorted. “Did you even use this last year?”

“Sometimes,” Harry said, defensive. He looked at the oversized clothes in his trunk. One item was a yellow Tshirt for a football team he didn’t care about. The other item was a pair of truly wretched jeans, faded from repeated washings, three sizes too big, raggedy at the cuffs and worn threadbare at the knees. He frowned at them and for some reason, felt incredibly sad looking at them. Harry didn’t like wearing these clothes. They were ugly and it was annoying to have to hike up his trousers all summer long but he dealt with it. Now though, removed from the muggle world and put firmly back in the magical world where he belonged—in Snape’s house, Snape’s house!, no less—the huge ugly clothes screamed neglect. He didn’t want to wear these in front of his Professor. If this bedroom was anything to judge by, Snape’s house was probably big and nice and the man himself was always dressed impeccably. Harry was embarrassed to even be holding these rags.
“Take a shower,” Snape said, “you’ll feel much better. Come downstairs after.”

Harry nodded and rose. Snape showed him to the bathroom down the corridor with its gleaming silver fixtures and a white tub, toilet and sink. Harry showered quickly and used only the smallest amount of soap and shampoo, not wanting to take too much advantage of Snape’s hospitality. He cleaned his teeth with the spare toothbrush set out for him and put on the fluffy ivory dressing gown hanging on the back of the door that Snape told him to use. He looked at himself in the mirror, charmed to stay fog-free. A gaunt face stared back at him. His cheekbones stood out and his lips were chapped. Despite all his sleep his eyes had a weary, heavy look about them. He looked awful. Ah well. Snape had seen him in some low moments loads of times last year.

He went back to his room to put on clean clothes from his trunk and found a neatly made bed with a stack of clothing resting on it. The sweatpants he’d been wearing were there, laundered and smelling faintly of the fresh, bright scent he’d noticed sometimes on Snape’s clothes last year. He dug underpants out of his trunk and pulled the sweats back on. He unfolded the black Tshirt, making a face at the green and silver Slytherin crest stamped on the chest.

“Very funny, Snape,” Harry said. He pulled the shirt over his head and left the room. He glanced up and down the wide hallway.
“Snape?” He called. He coughed.

A house elf in a snow white toga appeared before him and bowed. The letters “CH” were stamped onto the fabric in swirly green script. A massive green and pink bow adorned her scant hair. “Please come with me, Mister Harry. Master Snape is waiting for you at the breakfast table.”

Harry lit up at the sound of breakfast and followed the elf down some stairs, across a landing and down more steps. He passed a parlor and what was probably the front door. Several doors they passed were closed and he finally came to a small, homey kitchen area. Snape was at the table reading the paper.

He folded the paper and set it aside before he ran an assessing eye over Harry. Content with whatever he saw, he gestured to the chair opposite him.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, sitting across from the man.

Snape stared at him. “You’re welcome.”

A plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit appeared in front of Harry and he grabbed his fork in anticipation. He glanced up at Snape. He was sipping his mug of coffee. Harry fidgeted, waiting.

“I ate already,” Snape said.

“Okay,” Harry said. He cleared his throat. It was still dry and raspy.

Snape stared at him for a few more seconds. Harry was fiddling with his fork and glancing about the kitchen and the adjacent sitting room.
“Problem?”

“No, sir.”

“How come you’re not eating?”

Because I’m waiting for permission to start?

“Oh. Um, okay.” Harry took a normal-sized bite, then immediately began shoveling it into his mouth.

“Slow down!” Snape said sternly. Harry froze, the fork halfway to his mouth.

“Your system’s not used to it,” Snape explained. “Smaller bites, please. Do you want tea? Or juice of some kind?”

“Pumpkin juice?”

Snape waved his hand and a glass of the faint orange juice appeared. Harry took a long gulp.

“Okay,” Harry set the cup down. He had about a million questions. They all jostled in his head for first position until he managed to get out a broad, “what happened?”

Snape took a deep breath and relayed how Harry had written to him asking for potions, how Teeley had told him how sick Harry really was. “Teeley was worried. I trusted her judgment so I went there myself.”

Seeing that Harry was nearing the end of his meal, Snape summoned a few items off the kitchen counter: A white mug, a knife, three small bunches of dried herbs, some kind of wet, wrinkly, bubbly pod in a bowl of what looked like blood, a wooden cutting board, and a glass jar of honey. Snape cleared the board of everything save the herbs and started chopping them as one bundle.
Harry watched the bits of dead leaf flake across the pale board. “You came to my uncle’s house?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“Something about calling the police.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

Snape finished chopping and pushed the herbs together into a little pile. He picked up a spoon and scooped the lot of it into a tiny mesh bag. Harry wondered what the hell he was doing.

“He said nothing useful,” Snape said. “I found you, feverish, coughing, very ill. I picked you up, literally, and brought you and your things here. What do you remember?”

“Um,” Harry watched him point his wand at the empty mug and mutter a word. It filled with steaming hot water. Snape dipped the mesh bag into the mug and left it there with the burlap drawstrings dangling on the table.

“Darkness. Coughing. A dog?” He glanced down at the large creature at Snape’s feet. He paused, “you giving me potions.” Harry shrugged. “I was either sleeping or coughing or I was drinking potions. I don’t remember much detail. How long have I been here?”
“This is your third day.”

“Whoa, okay.” Harry nodded. He’d finished his food and was sipping the water that had refilled his glass once the pumpkin juice was gone.
Snape scooped the red pod thing out of the bowl and put it on the board. He pierced it and Harry frowned. It looked gross. The thing bubbled and Snape quickly held it over the steaming mug. A brown, viscous goo dripped into the mug with a soft plat sound. When the pod was empty, Snape put it back in the bowl. The dollop of honey he added to the concoction seemed oddly normal after the pod juice. He removed the mesh bag, dropped it in the bowl with the used pod, and levitated the mug across the table to sit in front of Harry.
“Drink that.” He nodded at the mug. “Before it gets cold.”

Bewildered, Harry picked it up and sipped. It was sweet and tasted like fennel and something heady and dense he couldn’t quite place. He felt a tingle deep in his chest, not unlike the faint sweep of magic he got up his arm when he picked up his wand. The hot liquid coated his throat and seemed to soothe his wheezy chest.

“I,” Snape began, “would like you to stay here a little while.”

“Sir?”

“At least until you’re better,” Snape finished.

“Alright,” Harry said, unsure why Snape wanted him underfoot. Why not just kick him back to his aunt? “What, er, what is this?” He tapped the mug.

“That’s a cough tea I combined with extra ingredients to give your magical core a boost,” Snape said. “It’s more effective when brewed fresh.”

Harry nodded and finished it. Snape waved his hand and a vial of orange potion appeared next to Harry’s mug. “Drink this next.”

“What is this now?”

“A vitamix potion. You’re malnourished. I want you to drink both of these for the next few days, the vitamix especially.”

Harry knocked it back. It tasted like oranges.

“Sir….” He absently recorked the empty vial. “Why?”

“Why?” Snape repeated.

“Why do you want me to stay? You could just send me back. I don’t want you to go out of your way...”

“You need to recover, Harry. Your core is weak and your cough isn’t yet gone. You’ll improve a great deal faster with these teas. I don’t think Petunia is going to bend over backwards to brew you something like that,” he nodded at Harry’s empty mug.

Snape had also heard back from Dumbledore. Fawkes, plumage a brilliant gold and scarlet, had been on the perch in his study this morning, preening. A rolled scroll tied with a purple ribbon was on Snape’s desk. Dumbledore said he would be by within the week and to keep Harry in his home. He also advised Snape not to tell anyone the boy’s location. Snape had rolled his eyes at that. Of course he wouldn’t tell anyone. Now, Harry had agreed to recuperate here where Snape could watch him and make sure he got healthy and more importantly, stayed out of trouble.

“Are you still hungry?”

“No.”

“Going forward you don’t need my permission to eat. When we’re at the table together, you may eat.”

Harry nodded. “Er, sir?” He ran his fingers over the Slytherin crest on his shirt. “Can you make this a Gryffindor shirt?”

“And what is wrong with Slytherin?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Slytherin, ‘cept Malfoy, but it’s…it’s awfully green.”

Snape pointed his wand at Harry’s chest and Harry wasn’t sure if Snape was about to blast him or vanish the shirt or what. Snape said an incantation. The serpent transformed into the Gryffindor lion and the decorative crest shifted to match Gryffindor’s but the Slytherin green and silver remained. The red and gold tones of Gryffindor house were nowhere to be seen.

“Hey,” Harry frowned down at the lion. “That’s not right.”

“I think it suits you.”

“The colors are wrong!”

“Drat,” Snape said dryly. “I must have said the wrong spell. Dear me.”

Harry let out a small sigh, looking up when Snape rose to his feet. Harry did too. The dog hopped up and looked at Snape. Its tails wagged.
“Two tails?” Harry said, watching the long tails swivel back and forth.

“He’s a mutt. Part crup, wolfhound, and shepherd.” Snape explained. “He helps me forage for certain hard-to-find ingredients. Hugo is also an excellent guard dog.” He laid his hand on the dog’s head and the dog licked at his wrist.

Harry nodded. Hugo was enormous and scary looking but his fur was soft. Memories of the large dog laying in bed with him trickled into his brain.

“Come on, I’ll show you around the house,” Snape said. The plates and all the tea detritus vanished. “We’ll continue to take our meals here in the kitchen.” He gestured to the cozy space. He pointed out a door on the side of the room. “That goes down to the scullery. Through here,” he brought Harry down a short flight of steps to an area containing sofas and armchairs. “My sitting room.” He brought Harry around the house, showing him the parlor near the front door and the huge floo-connected fireplace it contained. They ducked into a dining room that held a long table big enough to seat ten.

They went upstairs. “Guest rooms are that way,” he pointed to the left. “Our rooms are down this way, as you know.” Snape lead him to the right down the now-familiar corridor. He gestured to the bathroom Harry had used. “This will be your bathroom and only yours. I have one attached to the master suite, just there.” He gestured to a door at the end of the hall across from Harry’s. “So I have no need of it.”
“Okay,” Harry said, biting back a grin. He’d never had his own bathroom before!

They went further down the hallway. The door to the study was open. Snape brought him to just inside the doorway. “This is my study.”
Harry glanced around. There was a big desk in the center of the room. There was a soft sofa next to a window, a tiny fireplace, and loads of black wood bookshelves packed with tomes. Many of them looked dark and ancient. A prickly violet plant trembled by a windowsill.

“You must never come in here without my express permission, Harry.”

Harry nodded, glancing around.

“Understood? Answer me,” Snape prompted.

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

They left the study. Snape closed the door behind and pointed to a thick wooden door studded with iron rivets at the end of the hall. It looked strong enough to stop a herd of galloping centaurs. “That leads up to the third floor. That is another space you must never enter without my express permission.”

“Why?”

“There are dangerous things up there. Come.”

They went back downstairs and out the back door that was off the sitting room, stepping onto a bricked patio in the warm June day. See that ridge of pine trees?” He pointed to the distant row of green trees.

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s the edge of my property. There’s some walking paths.” He gestured broadly at a nearer copse of trees. “I also keep gardens.”

Harry looked down a shallow hill and saw a load of flowers and plants in rows outside a small greenhouse.

“Brilliant. For ingredients?”

“Precisely. You may walk the paths but there is one more place you must never go. See that pond?” Snape pointed to the body of water nestled under some oak and birch trees.

“Yeah.”

“There is a small island there. You must never go near that island.”

“Oookay, why?”

“It’s very dangerous,” Snape said simply. “My property is ancient. A vampire once resided on this land and there are…unpleasant things about the grounds.”

“A vampire!?”

“Yes. My property is also surrounded by a couple century’s worth of protective enchantments and shields. They extend up quite a bit, much taller than the pitch at Hogwarts. Flying should not be an issue but I want you careful out there regardless.”

“I can fly?” He blurted.

Snape raised a brow. “When you’re feeling better. I certainly have the space for it and I didn’t purchase that broom to be admired like a museum piece.”

“My broom!” He gasped. Where was his broom? Where was— “Hedwig!?” Harry put his hands on his head as a sick feeling of utter dread rose in his chest. “Oh fuck, oh sh—Hedwig…” He dropped into a crouch, his heart hammering and the edges of his vision shimmering. The Dursleys hated Hedwig. If she’d been left behind Dudley would have, oh Merlin Dudley would have killed her for sure. Panic shot through Harry’s chest. His arms weakened. His heart slammed in his ears and all he could hear was a high-pitched whine. “No, no—”

Snape’s hand gripped his forearm. His voice broke through Harry’s wild thoughts. “Harry, listen to me. Listen! Breathe! Listen to my voice and breathe. Inhale…exhale…good, inhale…okay. Good. Your broom is in the kitchen and your owl is asleep in this tree. Look.”

Snape stood up and Harry did too, shaky. His breaths were fast and shallow.

“Good boy, keep breathing.” Snape guided him under the tree. “Right there. See?” He pointed up and sure enough, Harry saw the snowy owl through the oak leaves, unblemished and unharmed, with her head tucked under her wing. His head swam in relief and he nodded. Hedwig seemed to notice that her master was looking at her and she woke up, blinked, and hooted softly. She flapped down to him and Harry crooked his forearm to make a perch.

“I shrunk her cage and put it your wardrobe.” Snape’s hand was on his shoulder, anchoring him. Harry stared at the owl through teary eyes and stroked her soft breast.

She’s okay, she’s okay. They didn’t get her. She’s fine. She’s not dead…

Snape was watching him. Harry’s lower lip trembled and Hedwig nipped him affectionately before going back to her branch. His brow glowed with perspiration and he had the peaky look of someone about to pass out. Snape carefully released Harry’s arm as his breathing got back to normal and his color returned. “I didn’t want her in the room while you were ill,” Snape explained. “Birds, even magical ones, can cause respiratory problems in some people and I didn’t want anything interfering with your recovery. She’s plenty safe here. Like I said, my grounds are extensive and warded and she has acres of hunting at her disposal.”

Harry nodded, relieved. He took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled slowly. Snape held up his hand. A thin vial appeared in it. “A low dose of a calming draught,” Snape explained. “It’ll take the edge off.”

Harry nodded and downed the vial’s contents in one shaky gulp.

“All of your belongings are here,” Snape assured him, vanishing the empty vial to the sink in his potions lab. “I had Teeley go check that bedroom at your aunt’s house. She was thorough and she brought everything of yours.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Thanks. Thanks, you know, for everything, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” he paused. “I think you should rest.”

“No. I’m fine, that was just a panic attack. A little one. I’ve had them before. I was due.” He looked back up at his sleeping owl and smiled like what he had just said was a joke.

“How often do you have these?” Snape asked after a moment.

“Not that often.”

“How often is ‘not that often?’”

“Er, usually when I get back to Privet Drive.”

“That’s it?”

“Uh, sometimes at school right before term ends. It’s happened too when I get back to Hogwarts after the summer. Sometimes at Christmas.”
It had happened once on the train from Hogwarts to King’s Cross for the summer. He’d done his best to hide it but Hermione gave him a funny look before he’d excused himself to the loo to let it pass. He was gone so long that Ron noticed and Harry made a joke about the leaving feast not agreeing with him.

Snape was still. That was pretty often to have panic attacks.

“Did it happen this summer when you went back to Privet Drive?”

“No,” Harry said with a smile. “I wasn’t nervous or weird about it at all.” His gaze lingered on Snape’s for a few seconds longer. Harry didn’t admit that it was Snape’s letter that had quelled the annual looming panic attack. The man had provided him a potential escape which was something he’d never had before when facing a full summer with his awful relatives.

“Okay,” Snape said. “If you have another one, or feel one coming on, tell me. I can give you something for it.”

“Thank you, sir. Er, you said Dumbledore was coming?”

“Yes. I’m not sure when. He may suggest moving you to the hospital to finish recovering. He’ll likely want you back to your aunt’s once your health is back up. He may not even want you here now.”

“No,” Harry said quietly. He didn’t want Dumbledore to stick him in the hospital, or worse—send him back to Privet Drive. He wanted to stay, well, maybe not here—it was Snape’s house after all and honestly Harry had no idea where he stood with the man—but somewhere! Anywhere but Privet Drive.

As if reading his mind, Snape asked, “do you want to go back to your aunt? I didn’t…” he trailed off, a touch uncomfortable with his rash actions. He was usually more in control of himself. He had to be to survive. Spontaneous, rash spies didn’t last long. Grabbing Harry and dragging him here had been impulsive and dangerous.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “No way. I hate it there. I always have.”

Snape nodded. “I don’t want you back there either, however, that decision is not up to me. I imagine Albus will be here in the next days.” He glanced over Harry’s haggard expression and tired eyes.

“Why don’t you rest on the sofa in the sitting room? I have a muggle television in there.” They went back inside. “I’ve a muggle phone too, for that matter.” Snape nodded at the dusty rotary phone on the corner of the counter. The long curly cord was piled beside it.

“Can I call Hermione?” He asked. “Maybe?” He needed her number first.

“Yes.”

Harry perked up at that. He wondered if Ron’s dad still had the phone working. Talking to his friends would be brilliant. Maybe, Harry thought, just maybe he would be okay.