A Knock at the Door
Asking it to quiet down worked with no avail, so he reluctantly bounced the toddler for a while, awkwardly rubbing small circles on his back.
He had no clue whether or not it was working or if it was the right thing to do, but he had seen Narcissa comforting Draco in a similar way whenever he’d throw his little tantrums.
Except Severus wasn’t sure if ‘tantrum’ was the right word to describe what Harry was going through. He wasn’t sobbing because he couldn’t have his favourite toy; no, he was crying because a blood-supremacist lunatic killed his family and almost killed him just two days ago, and now he was stuck in a scary house with a strange man holding him.
He wished that he could just explain to Harry what was going on, but unfortunately, the Potter spawn’s brain wasn’t developed enough to even determine what a bloody circle is, let alone the concepts of prophecies and genocides.
Why couldn’t that witch reveal her prophecy later on, when Harry was old enough to count and tie his shoes? That certainly would’ve been helpful for Severus and this whole fiasco.
After an hour of the toddler screaming at the top of his lungs and a bout of accidental magic, which resulted in Severus getting hit in the back of the head by a flying book, Severus decided that he’d have to try another means of soothing the boy, lest a nosy neighbour call the police on him.
He brought Harry to his potions room, which was built behind a secret door in his sitting room. Severus looked through his shelves trying to find the potion that he’d needed. He nearly cried in relief when he found the calming draught.
Placing Harry on the lone chair in the potions room, Severus grabbed an empty vial, pouring a small dose of the draught and diluting it with water. He then tried to hand it to Harry, who stubbornly pushed his hand away, still screaming.
Severus let out a frustrated huff. “You have to drink this; it’ll make you feel better,” he tried, but the toddler was stubborn, just like his prat of a father.
He pinched the boy’s nose, pouring the liquid down his throat. Luckily, Harry swallowed most of it, only a little spilling out of the corner of his mouth. Severus grabbed a spare rag from his desk and used it to clean him up.
Harry quickly stopped screaming after that. His face, which was originally twisted and an ugly shade of red, was now smoothed out, his cheeks and eyes a less severe shade of crimson. Tears still silently poured from his eyes, and his lips still wobbled, but he looked calmer.
“See? Was that so bad?” Severus remarked.
He turned away from the boy for a second when he remembered that he still had a potion brewing. Pulling out an empty bottle, he poured some of the mixture into the glass; there would be no use of the potion for now anyway.
Once he corked the bottle, he took out his wand, casting a spell to make the rest of the potion disappear. He then made sure to put the small amount of it on the highest shelf behind the rest of his supply.
The last thing Severus wanted was for Harry to drink it, the solution being tailored to be irreversible. He didn’t feel like explaining to Dumbledore how the saviour managed to drink a non-curable draught of living death.
Which quickly reminded him he needed to ‘baby-proof’ the entire house. It was not suitable for small humans who liked to shove random things into their mouths. Severus had many dangerous items lying about, sharp knives, poisonous potion ingredients, and poisons themselves.
At that he glanced back at Harry, making sure he wasn’t putting himself in danger. The boy sat on the chair, looking just as he had before but rubbing at his head. A frown graced Severus’s features when he noticed that he was rubbing right where the scar was at. He made his way over to the Potter spawn, pushing his hand away and pulling back the toddler’s bangs to inspect the damage.
The scar looked much more grisly up close; it was still fresh, a deep streak of crimson dancing across the smooth, pale skin of the toddler’s forehead. The skin around the scar was a light pink, giving the injury an almost sort of glow that one would see in actual lightning.
It was clearly bothering him; that Severus could ascertain fairly easily. He looked down at the toddler who was staring at him with wide eyes. “Does it hurt?” Severus asked; he already knew it did, but he wanted to get confirmation.
The boy nodded, acknowledging Severus’s words for the first time.
He raised a brow. “So you can understand me; you’ve just chosen to deliberately ignore me, haven’t you?”
The boy nodded again.
Severus scowled. The toddler was lucky that he promised to protect him. Though that didn’t stop him from mumbling complaints under his breath as he searched his shelves once more.
He pushed past a couple vials. He didn’t need any essence of dittany as the wound was merely surface level. Had Dumbledore shown the boy to a healer before he got here? If so, the mediwizard did a piss-poor job of taking care of him, as he was clearly still in pain.
He grabbed the star grass salve. He was lucky to have come across star grass. The potion ingredient was quite pricey, imported from South Africa. Severus had only obtained some from Mulciber, who was meaning to bring him scurvy-grass for an invigoration draught.
That’s how he collected most of his ingredients. With high praise from Lucius, Severus became the Death Eater’s primary brewer. Many a Death Eater provided Severus with far too many ingredients, or oftentimes, like in Mulciber’s case, ingredients that weren’t even relevant to the potion they requested. Whenever Severus pointed this out, they would wave him away dismissively, telling him that he could do whatever he felt fit with the extra.
Though Severus knew better, it wasn’t kindness from his fellow Death Eaters but more so the general apathy one feels for material goods when they reach a certain level of wealth, a level of wealth that Severus would never achieve in five lifetimes.
While he had accumulated quite a bit, he knew that it would only last for so long, and with so many of his customers either locked away in Azkaban or dead, he didn’t think he would be receiving much free ingredients.
He let out a breath in frustration. He was going to need to acquire a job.
How was he going to find employment while being labelled a war criminal? He wasn’t too sure, but he’d find something, something that allowed him to work from home so he could look after the child.
There was no use in stressing over it right now, as he still had a fairly decent collection of ingredients on hand. Though with how troubled the Potter spawn was, it seemed he’d go through it much more quickly than he originally anticipated.
He dipped his fingers in the cold salve, pressing the green substance onto the marred skin of the toddler. The boy squirmed at first, but his face quickly untensed as the salve began to work.
“This is usually the part where you say thank you,” Severus mumbled at the mannerless toddler.
Instead, Harry thought the best way to show gratitude was to grab Severus’s robes and blow his nose in them. He quickly ripped them away, disgusted at how much snot such a small human could possess.
The small troglodyte apparently found his revulsion humorous as he began to giggle.
Severus sent him a hard glare, which quickly made his jovial expression turn slightly fearful. He let out a sigh, deciding not to verbally curse out a toddler and instead grabbed his wand and quickly cleaned up the mess.
He didn’t have the time or energy to correct his behaviour; he still needed to make the entire house safe for the thankless boy.
Starting with the very room they were standing in.
He put up all the poisonous ingredients on the highest shelves and proceeded to put multiple charms on the bookshelves. One that prevented Harry from accessing them in general, and one that stuck the shelves to the walls, making sure that in a bout of accidental magic the boy wasn’t able to topple them over and on top of himself.
He refused to admit how paranoid he sounded.
Once he finished with the study, he moved onto the rest of the house, putting Harry on the couch where he could see him as he performed the same sticking charm on the shelves in the sitting room as well. He also, for the first time in many years, removed the thick layers of dust that gathered on every surface.
Whilst he was cleaning, a messenger owl came with Harry’s belongings. With only two rooms in his house, Severus had no choice but to put the boy in his parents' old bedroom.
Their bedroom was the most disregarded. Severus hadn’t been inside there in nearly five years.
When he opened the door, he nearly choked on the cloud of neglect that poured out from the room. Every surface was covered in grime, down to the bed, which was moth-eaten and greyed with age.
He quickly suppressed any feelings that tried to surface and swiftly cleaned the room to make it suitable for the toddler. He shrank his parents' furniture, throwing it in the fireplace, letting the objects burn along with his resentment.
Unshrinking Harry’s things, he found out the toddler had more belongings than even Severus himself. They were mostly frivolous, like toys, such as a small broomstick.
The thing couldn’t even walk; why did it need a bloody broom already?
Surely that was the work of his dunderheaded father.
There was also a crib and wardrobe filled with the boy’s clothing. Again, he was astonished to see how many outfits someone who wasn’t even two years old could own. It was quite unnecessary as he was sure to both destroy and grow out of them fairly quickly.
In one box was a few children's books and a thick photo album; his chest tightened when he realised what exactly he was holding and shoved the album in the toddler’s wardrobe. He didn’t want to look at the contents, to see her more alive in the photos than she was in real life.
It was still too fresh.
The day dragged into night. Severus attempted to feed Harry porridge, an old container of oats being the only thing in his pantry and fridge.
He wasn’t expecting to live to the next day, let alone be looking after another human. The last thing on his priority list was to stock the kitchen. He only had three quid. He’d have to stretch it for as long as he could.
Merlin, he was already failing Lily.
Severus wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feed Harry himself or if the toddler was capable of doing it on his own. He banked on the latter, handing it the bowl and spoon.
He quickly realised his error once Harry flung the porridge around with the utensil and eventually threw the spoon to the ground as well.
Harry then decided that Severus wasn’t cleaning fast enough. He scooped the porridge out with his hand and shoved the whole appendage into his mouth.
Were all children like this, or was there something seriously wrong with this one?
He tried to correct him multiple times with no avail, so he just let him continue; he was eating, and that was all that mattered at that moment. At least that was what he told himself to avoid snapping at it.
Severus wasn’t going to raise his voice at the child no matter how devilish Harry may seem. He knew that Lily wouldn’t like that very much.
Though Harry was making that promise very hard.
He looked just like him.
Once the calming draught wore off, he began to cry again. Severus put up a silencing charm this time, not wanting to give the toddler too many potions in one day. He quickly regretted that decision as the boy cried for almost ten hours straight, only stopping once he eventually passed out from exhaustion.
As soon as he woke up, he started crying again, refusing to sleep or eat.
It drove Severus mad with both concern and annoyance.
He decided to keep giving the child calming draughts, though limiting it to one dose a day. If he didn’t give the toddler any potions, he was nervous that he’d cry himself to death.
During one of the times that Harry was under the influence of a draught, he took the toddler with him to get some groceries. Even though he put a glamour on the child, he was still on edge, nervous that a stray Death Eater was going to pop up and attack the boy. It didn't help that he was receiving such strange looks from everyone inside the shop.
He was able to grab a bag of potatoes, a loaf of bread, a head of cabbage, and some carrots. They didn’t have the luxury of a protein, but luckily he had some herbs on hand so he could make a vegetable stew.
He left the shop with roughly a quid and seventy pence. While that was enough to perhaps buy a dozen eggs, Severus hadn’t felt comfortable with the idea of not having two coins to rub against each other.
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The week felt like one big blur to Severus. He didn’t sleep or eat; he only had enough food for Harry, and even then it wasn’t much with how often the toddler ruined his meals during his tantrums.
Severus survived on nutrition potions and invigoration draughts, only brewing them in the few hours that the toddler slept.
On Sunday he received a patronus from Dumbledore telling him that he was too busy to check in and would do so some time next week.
Severus didn’t think he could last till next week.
He was going mad, close to snapping at the thing. He’d have to leave the room sometimes when it became too much, fearing that he’d break his promise to Lily.
He’d be so consumed with frustration, with rage, until the toddler looked up at him with teary eyes, with her eyes, and he felt like scum for his horrible thoughts.
The next day, Severus heard a knock at the door after he managed to put Harry down for a nap. His chest had lightened; Dumbledore had finally come.
Then he opened the door and was met by none other than Lucius Malfoy.