The Discovery
Severus Snape walked down the empty corridor in an unused part of the dungeon. The Start of Term Feast had been over for hours, as was the first House Meeting of the year. He never liked the first day of term, or the first week, or the whole term for that matter. He abhorred teaching, abhorred having the responsibility of hundreds of dunderheads that tried to blow themselves up several times a week.
Spying had been hard on his nerves, but teaching potions to teenagers was worse, by far. Being the only teacher, without even an Apprentice to help him stop any potentially lethal catastrophes … But no, there was no chance of that, according to Albus. No one would want to apprentice to the Death Eater Dungeon Bat. No matter that he was the youngest Potion Master in centuries. No matter that he managed to develop several potions on what little free time he had, potions that had gotten more than just a little acclaim the world over, just not here. Not in Britain, because before anything else, here he was a Death Eater. First, last and forever.
If he hadn’t come straight out of a war with battle honed reflexes, there would have been a lot less children leaving Hogwarts alive each year. He absolutely abhorred it. One Apprentice, one eager soul that would want to learn from him and who would look out for the dunderheads in classes with him would have made a world of difference. Just one N.E.W.T student who would like some extra credit and maybe a leg up on their own Potions grade, but no. No. No. No. There would be no help, for him or for his students that suffered under his abysmal tutelage.
Severus rounded a corner. The corridor in front of him was dark with only four glowing orbs pushing the darkness away. Here it was silent, here no one would explode anything, or do any fatal mistakes, or mess up someone else’s potions. He despised teaching and he knew it showed. It showed in the classroom, it showed in the grades the students got, it showed in the bloody fact that he was one of the last Potion Masters in Britain the last twenty years. There had been only three new Potion Masters since he got his own Mastery, when before that there had been at least three each year. But there had also been at least three maimed or dead students every year, under Slughorn’s rule in the dungeons and the Potions lab. All of the three new Potion Masters had been outstanding in his classes, all three he had been able to give extra help on the sly in their N.E.W.T years because it was so obvious that they would work for it. He always tried harder with the N.E.W.T classes, because they already knew the basics and he could relax just a bit while they brewed. Also, their classes were a lot smaller. That helped. Less children to look after, less children who could be hurt when something went wrong with a potion. But still, if he had to choose, even knowing that a lack of Potion Masters would be detrimental for their society, he would choose live children above good Potion grades, every time.
That still didn’t make him a passable teacher, or human being. Not at all. He ruined dreams and crushed spirits in his classes. He tried to keep it to those who could take it, but that wasn’t always possible. He still had to be a spy, he still had to keep his cover first in his mind, always, he still had to be ready for war. And it was coming. He had always known that, even from the very night of Lily’s death and the Dark Lords fall, because he was still Marked. The Death Eaters and the Dark Mark at the World Cup and the stinging pain that raced through his faded Dark Mark some nights were signs that the time to go back to spying got ever closer. That the war was just around the corner …
He stopped abruptly. There had been a sound. Here of all places. No one ever traversed these corridors, no one but him. He had never seen, smelled, felt or heard any hint of anyone else here. Just a few feet away there was a secret alcove where he occasionally just sat in the dark, far from everyone and everything, to think, to meditate, to get away. He stood and listened, hardly breathing. No one should be this deep in the dungeon, certainly not this late at night. It was well past curfew.
There was the sound again. A snuffle …? No, a muffled sob, or maybe a moan. Someone in pain. But again, why here, of all places?
Silently he went closer to the source of the sound. Someone had found his alcove. He didn’t know how or why, but it was undoubtedly there the sound stemmed from. He released his wand and cast a silencing bubble over the whole corridor, as well as a containment shield to stop the culprit, or culprits, from getting away. Deep down he knew that this was no Sixth Years on a clandestine rendezvous, but even as he opened the alcove and lit his wand to see what was going on inside, he had hoped for something more innocent than what he feared.
On the floor, on a pile of rags with his winter cloak over him, sat Potter up against the wall. The sight made him freeze. Potter was beaten black and blue and he was still bloody, for fucks sake. He had seen the boy at the Feast and he hadn’t been bloody then. He looked closer. But then, Potter hadn’t looked like a skeleton with skin at the Feast either. The boy had managed a glamour, a glamour good enough to fool even Albus, Mad-Eye Moody and himself. (If Moody cared, it was always hard to know with that man. The same went for Albus, when he thought about it. Albus had a strange aversion to acknowledging abuse, even if he had sworn on his very magic to protect all those in his care. As he still had magic, he obviously believed that he was doing a good enough job. Which, honestly, astounded Severus, as he himself had been one of the more severe abuse cases in the past two decades, according to Poppy. And Albus hadn’t helped him at all. Despite being given plenty of opportunities.) Most likely Potter had made the glamour to protect himself. Severus couldn’t guess if he wanted to protect himself against nosy students and friends, or well-meaning but blind Professors. Because that was obviously what they were, in the very best-case scenario. Well-meaning, and completely and utterly blind.
He was amongst those on the top of that list. Not well-meaning, never that, but utterly blind. Because he knew how to look out for signs of abuse. Not just because of his own history, but because Slytherin was the House that got the most abuse cases. He knew the signs. He knew them so well. And he hadn’t seen them, at all, not this time. And this was abuse, no doubt about it. A case far, far worse than his own, even if his Mind-Healer had made it very clear that he should never put cases up against each other. Pain was pain. Abuse was abuse. That someone had been abused worse didn’t make his own abuse and pain any less.
Potter was not only malnourished, but starved. He was not only beaten; he was beaten to a bloody pulp. His face was blotchy in marks of blue, purple, green and yellow, with some ugly gashes of red where someone might have used a knife. His right hand had at least two broken fingers, and most likely something broken in the hand itself, going off how he was holding that hand. But the left hand … the left hand, Severus didn’t know how much they would be able to save. The broken and bloody mess that it was. Even then, he suspected that the real problem, barring any ruptured or failed organs, would be his left leg. The smell in the small space was a putrid stench he knew too well from days old battlefields. The stench of rot, of gangrene, and it was the left leg that the stench came from. Under the smell of rot there was another scent, much cleaner and nicer, almost familiar, almost … enticing. Severus frowned and pushed the idea away. That was quite ridiculous.
It was a wonder that Potter had been able to attend the Feast. It was a miracle that he had been able to get on the train. That he had survived to come back to Hogwarts at all.
All his observations had taken less than half a minute.
“Professor?” Potter croaked out and tried to shuffle closer to the wall, just to wince and freeze. Damage to his back too, then.
“Potter.” Severus knelt in the door into the alcove. Careful, careful now, he could not permit the boy to make any sudden moves and harm himself further. “Harry. I need to take you to Madame Pomfrey, and most likely St. Mungo’s.”
“No.” He tried to shake his head, but stiffened and gasped. “No!” It was a plea. Dried tears stained his cheeks and now new tears ran down his face.
“Why do you fear to receive help?”
“Everyone will know then, they will know how weak I am. They will know, and no one will care anyway. Nothing ever changes.”
“What then … You will just remain here awaiting your death by gangrene?” The thought made harshness bleed into his voice when it really, really shouldn’t.
Green eyes met his. Hopeless and nearly empty and he knew what Potter would say even before he said it.
“Why not?” Blood dripped down his chin from his split lip. “It would be over then. And I wouldn’t be anyone’s burden anymore.”
“Is that your desire, truly?” Severus whispered.
“Nothing ever changes.”
Severus relaxed infinitesimally. That was a lot better than it could have been. Potter felt hopeless, yes, with good cause, but not actually suicidal. He simply had given up hoping for something better, and then the next best thing, in his eyes, would be for it all to stop. Severus recognised the mindset, unfortunately.
“It will change now, Harry.”
Potter looked at him with empty eyes for long moments. “Why?”
“Because I myself will abduct you and keep you protected next summer, instead of allowing you to go back to your family, whomever they may be. I assume they are the culprits?”
Alright … That was very much not what he had intended to say, but at least it seemed like it had been the right thing to say, because Potter gave a very small nod of assent.
“Why, though? You hate me.”
“Yes, and no, not truly. It’s complicated. Just know that it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me and matters out of your control. Out of the control of either of us, to be honest.”
Again, that little nod.
They sat and just watched each other. The words he had just spoken, the assurance he had given, without meaning to, baffled him. The scent he could barely notice under the stench of rot teased him at the back of his mind. Something was going on. Something he yet didn’t see the whole picture of.
It looked like Potter felt some of the same, for he openly observed Severus with that guarded look in his eyes. Waiting for something to happen, something bad. Waiting for Severus to laugh and taunt him, for Severus to betray him, for Severus to tell him he was a fool to think that anyone, much less Severus, would ever help him. At the same time there was something more trusting in those green eyes too, like a small part of him really trusted Severus to help him now, despite it all.
Severus would rather burn the world down than betray that trust.
“Harry, I ask that you permit me to cast some spells on you. One to assist you to rest on the air, one to transport you, hovering on air, securely to my quarters where I will get Madame Pomfrey, and one to monitor your vitals. I will get Madame Pomfrey to magically swear not to inform anyone about you and your state, and I will do the same with the Healer from St. Mungo if you require one.” And you will, child, you will require a fully trained Healer. “You deserve your privacy.”
“She has never helped me before,” the boy pointed out. “Even if I have been in her care plenty of times.”
And wasn’t that a mystery in itself, Severus pondered. She had caught his abuse the first year, because she did a medical history scan when he came into her care after a prank that had almost killed him, by pushing him down the stairs. He didn’t know how she hadn’t caught on to Potter’s situation.
“That is peculiar,” he admitted while raising his wand and looking questioningly at Potter, who nodded carefully and in short order was floating securely with his vitals showing over his body. It wasn’t good, not good at all. “I will question her when I next get the opportunity.”
He banished the rags (clothes?) Potter had laid on, and his winter cloak to the rooms where the elves cleaned the clothes of all of Hogwarts inhabitants. The book satchel that had stood up against the wall he slung over one shoulder. Apparently, the boy had planned on not going up to Gryffindor Tower, not that Severus could blame him in his condition. If he didn’t feel he could ask for help, just going down one flight of stairs instead of up seven flights of them, would be a sensible choice. It would most likely have resulted in Severus finding his rotting corpse in a few days, but still, it was as sensible a choice as he could have made.
He hurried through the corridors to his quarters. An elf would have used less time, but as Harry wasn’t even slightly stable, such travel might just kill him completely, and the boy was already on death’s door. A thought that made Severus distraught for reasons he couldn’t name. For once it had nothing to do with Lily, her death or his Vow to protect her son.
They arrived at his quarters and Severus transfigured his couch into a hospital bed, complete with fresh, white linens. He turned down the bedding and laid Potter on the sheets, then he summoned an elf to bring him hospital pyjamas from Poppy’s stores. The same elf got an order to get Poppy to his quarters, but by the door. He needed that Secrecy Oath before she got to see the situation.
Then he removed Potter’s clothes with magic, bar his spectacularly ragged underpants, used the mildest of cleaning charms he knew to remove the layer of blood and grime on his body, at least where there were no open wounds, and then dressed him in the pyjama, while trying very hard to keep his temper.
The child was literally skin and bones and he was covered in bruises and wounds, from fists, belts and whips, at the very least. There was almost no skin that wasn’t marked in some way, including belt marks and other scars that was many years old.
Poppy pounded on his door, most likely furious that he had summoned her like that, without any explanation and without waiting for her by the door.
“Relax, it’s only Madame Pomfrey,” he told Potter when the boy stiffened and tried to sit up in the bed, when he had taken everything else, including his nakedness, with aplomb, or maybe it was defeat he saw in the child’s eyes.
He stepped out into the corridor without letting Poppy see the boy in the room, then he cast several privacy charms to make certain no one would overhear them.
“It’s severe,” he began, and Poppy paled, her anger vanishing. “Actually, it’s life threatening, and it isn’t new either. But I have promised him his privacy, Poppy, and he has no reason to trust either of us, or anyone else, so I have to ask you to take an Oath to keep everything you see or hear about this situation to yourself. The Healer you will have to summon must swear the same, or he is liable to never trust anyone again, and we need him to trust us to help him out of his circumstances, or there is no question that he won’t return to Hogwarts after next summer.” His words and tone were brisk, but the thought of the boy dying made something in his chest squirm painfully.
Poppy was white as a sheet, but she made the Oath, she could do nothing else, after all, and he let her into his quarters.
Fifteen minutes and several diagnostic charms later, Poppy was grey, her mouth was a thin line and a few tears had run down her cheeks, hastily wiped away.
“I will get a Healer, alright, Mr. Potter?” she said hoarsely. “I will make them swear a Secrecy Oath too, just as I did, but this is beyond my capability to fix.”
“Alright, Madame Pomfrey,” the boy in the bed whispered.
She left through Severus’ own Floo.
“It’s really bad this time, isn’t it, sir?” the living bruise amongst the white sheets whispered. “I knew it was worse than other times, but I have always survived, so …”
“It’s really bad, Harry,” Severus admitted gruffly. He didn’t know why there was a lump in his throat or why his eyes were stinging, or why he so very carefully stroked a patch of unmarked skin on the boy’s shoulder. A move the boy hadn’t responded to at all. “We might have to take you to the hospital, there might not be any alternative. I want you to be prepared for that. If that occurs, I will nevertheless endeavour to keep your stay there and your situation confidential, but there will be a significant likelihood for the world to discover it. For that I apologise.”
“It’s alright, Professor. I will be grateful if you just try.”
The small voice and the broken body tugged hard at something in him. Tugged and tugged and tugged. The elusive scent that now was stronger after at least some of the grime had come off the child, was even more familiar, even more enticing, and still absolutely impossible. What were the chances, really …?
“Would you inform me where you live and with whom, so I know where to locate you in case I am unable to prevent you from going there next spring? I hope to prevent it, obviously, or I will gather you before you leave Kings Cross Station, but even so, I require knowledge of your placement during the summers.”
And who to kill, as soon as you are safely out.
He had carefully cultivated contacts the last ten years, on the wrong side of the law, both Muggle and magical. All of them, no matter who or from where, had one boundary they never had crossed. They had never attacked innocents, not children, nor adults. And each and every one of them detested child abuse with a passion rivalling his own. They would very much like to meet people who could do this to a teenage boy.
The child hesitated for a long moment before he stated gravely, and most likely knowing that his family’s life would change forever because of it. “I live with my Cousin Dudley, my Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia Dursley. The address is Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.”
Ice rushed through his veins, closely followed with fire.
“Petunia, your Aunt Petunia, Lily’s sister?” his voice came from somewhere far off.
“Yes, sir. I was left on their doorstep one night with nothing but a letter.”
Albus, Albus! I’m going to kill you! I will make a new poison, just for you, to make your death absolutely agonising and guaranteed. You promised me he was safe! You promised me he would get everything and anything he needed! You told me he had a loving family who spoiled him!
“Professor?” Potter whispered.
“My apologies,” he said slowly. “I knew your mother from even before Hogwarts, and thus I knew your aunt too. I would certainly not abandon any child in her custody, much less a magical child. In fact, as far as I know, it’s against the law to place magical orphans with Muggles, even if they are blood family.” He pressed the bridge of his nose while repeating the names and address several times in his mind, for safekeeping. Then he looked at the child in the bed. “I’m aggrieved and horrified that you were left with her and her brute of a husband. What is more, I’m deeply concerned by the fact that no one gave you aid, even here at Hogwarts where you should have been protected.”
Potter looked at him for long moments.
“When I asked to stay at school during the summer, the Headmaster told me that my relatives cared for me, even if they hurt me, and that I had to go back there, to them. He called them my family!” There was so much bitterness, so much hate in those words. No child should know such hate. The alarm on his vitals started beeping and Potter was gasping for breath and groaning.
“You will not return there, Harry, I give you my word. You will not return there! You will be safe. Breathe now, child, breathe. Follow my count. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three, four. And again …” He continued to talk Potter through some deep breaths, or as deep as he could make them when several ribs were broken.
The Floo chimed and he hurriedly checked for identifications before opening it for Poppy and the Healer.
Tears streamed silently down Potter’s face again, but he followed the Healer with big, green and distrusting eyes. Severus resumed stroking that one patch of unmarred skin. The Healer, Healer Tonks, introduced herself. (He remembered her daughter graduating years before. One of few in that year who not only got into his N.E.W.T class, but who also got an Outstanding in their exams, every single year. Most likely because of the stubborn and hard work of a Hufflepuff combined with extra lessons from her mother. She had been a horror on two legs, so clumsy it was frightening, except when it really counted, like in the potion’s lab or in a duel. He was not the least bit surprised that she had joined the Auror force. She would do very well there, given half a chance.) Then Healer Tonks set to work.
In short order, Potter was sent into a deep sleep, then she took extensive diagnostics scans, more than good enough to hold up in court, and set up an infirmary right there. In his mind Severus had already gone through what he had of special healing potions and salves that was unusual for use in the Infirmary, with the hope that some of them would be of help for Harry now, and he was quite satisfied when Healer Tonks asked for a potions variant against gangrene that he still had after a major Herbology mishap three years before. The potion had a very long shelf life. That should at least help against the rotting leg.
They worked on broken and bruised bones, open wounds, massive and deep bruising, including bruised organs, as well as starting to mitigate all that scarring and starvation. When morning finally arrived Healer Tonks took new diagnostic scans and sat down with them with a pot of tea and something to eat.
“The good news is that he is out of immediate danger,” Healer Tonks started after they all had drunk a cup each and eaten their fill. The calm was necessary after the last harrowing hours. Severus felt wrung out. He was very grateful that it was Sunday and that he didn’t have to teach today. “The bad news is that there is a long while yet to go. Most of the broken bones he had now are properly set and supported magically, with care they should grow just fine. We have to either vanish and regrow, or re-break, properly set and heal … 57 bones, 14 of them in his hands, not including the fresh breaks that are properly set after tonight. Without this re-breaking and healing, he will live with chronic pain before he gets to his forties. I will recommend regrowing most of the bones as his bones in general are in poor shape and there is no guarantee that just re-breaking them will help in the long run.”
Severus nodded once.
“Then there is the starvation, that will take the longest to heal, and he will probably never be at the height he could have been without the starvation. But, we should be able to heal it. His weight is actually the easiest to heal, the malnutrition and all the damage done to his bones and organs because of the malnutrition are much worse. But even that should be able to heal within two years, if he gets the proper care and follows the plan I will make for him.
“Then there is the extensive head trauma, that includes his abysmal eyesight. That comes from both being bashed in the head with something very heavy, living in near darkness for long periods of time, using the wrong prescription glasses for years and from his blood. James Potter’s eyesight was bad, but not nearly as bad as young Mister Potter.”
“Wrong prescription,” Severus said slowly. “How wrong?”
“I would be amazed if he hasn’t had a constant headache every day for the last few years. But then compared to the pain of old broken bones, his organs failing and everything else, that would have been close to nothing, I doubt he even noticed it. Most of the world out of arm's reach would have been slightly blurry, at best. His magic is also heavily strained after keeping him alive his whole life, but especially these past months. When he is healed, I would not be surprised if he finds he has a lot more magic to use than he previously had.” She sipped her tea. “Let’s go through the short term plan for his healing so it’s ready for when he wakes up. Should we move him up into the Hospital Wing before he wakes up, Madame Pomfrey?”
“No!” the enraged snarl in his own voice took him aback and he started.
The two witches stared at him dumbfounded.
Oh, oh, Severus thought dazed while a protective rage thrummed through him, it is actually true. It is actually happening. How … strange … To me, of all people … And like this … So strange …
“I …” he swallowed. “The Hospital Wing is too open and unprotected; he doesn’t want anyone to know.” As good an excuse as any, and never good enough.
“Severus! You know I have private rooms for special cases!” Madame Pomfrey chided. “And you yourself help me renew my wards every year, the last time was less than a month ago!”
That was true, absolutely true, and still …
Madame Pomfrey was about to continue when Healer Tonks held up a quieting hand.
“I took almost every diagnostic scan imaginable, Master Snape,” Healer Tonks said in a quiet voice. “Including a designation scan.”
“What? Why? It’s far too early for him to present, even if he will get an active designation,” Madame Pomfrey asked bewildered.
Severus closed his eyes for a long moment before swallowing, looking his fate in the eyes and opening his eyes again to say:
“He is an Omega, is he not?”
Madame Pomfrey whimpered and put a hand over her mouth. She knew Severus was an Alpha, she had done the same scan when he had started presenting during his fourth year, at least six years too early, if nature had been allowed to run its course as it should. But heavy abuse could start it prematurely, as a way to protect the person in question, or be protected. Severus would most likely not have survived the following summer without his extra durability and abilities, vague as they were. His own nature had realised that fact.
Now Harry had started to present early as a means to find someone who could protect him from going back, who could protect him from being hurt any more. Who would want to protect him. Who would want him. Severus remembered the hopelessness in those green eyes, and something squirmed in his chest at the thought of not doing anything to help, it squirmed, and it had spikes. It hurt.
The previous night he might have wanted to curse the boy for making his life so much harder. For upending so many plans. For forcing him into this. But truly, this was not Harry’s conscious choice. It never was, according to the few old books that he had been able to get his hands on, that described the meeting and courting between an Alpha and an Omega. He could not find it in himself to be angry at Harry for wanting to protect himself in any way he could, after the life he had had. It was simply sensible. Even if it inconvenienced Severus himself.
Technically, he still had a choice, they both had. But Severus’ own conscience combined with his instincts prevented him from doing anything but help Harry in any and every way that he could. That was what Harry’s own subconscious most likely had wagered on. Harry’s subconscious had noticed the fully matured Alpha in Harry’s proximity, that was not attacking him or threatening him, and had latched on to that and damn all the consequences.
Damn all the consequences, Severus thought ruefully.
He had been an Alpha most of his life, and even if Alpha was a designation that was considered active, unlike the forever inactive Beta that was the designation of most people, an Alpha without an Omega was simply the potential for more. He was more durable than most magicals, he had more magical strength than was average and he had some vague abilities that he still was not truly aware of, just that they were there. That was all. More than most, and something a lot of people envied, but not really all that special. He had the potential for much, much more, though, he knew that down in his core. He simply didn’t know what he had a potential for. No one did. Not anymore.
“Yes, he is an Omega that began to present just hours ago,” Healer Tonks admitted. “It will be hard, if not impossible for you to have him anywhere else but where you know he will be safe, as long as he is this fragile. It will be better when he can move around again and look out for himself.”
“Or so the books claim,” added Severus.
Because that was all anyone had to go after, when it concerned a courting Alpha and Omega. The last courting and mating were at least two hundred years in the past.
Most people had the designation Beta. Approximately one in a hundred were an Alpha. Severus was one of only three at Hogwarts, as far as he knew. Omegas were rare. One in several thousand rare. And that was to the relief of everyone, including the Alphas. At least the history books told them they should be relieved. The Alphas might never truly feel like they had a fulfilling life, might never truly feel complete, but the alternative …
There was one fact about courting or mated pairs that everyone in the magical world knew; you never, ever, got between a pair. Ever! There were a lot more horror stories about pairs than anything else, at least amongst the stories that Severus’ believed to be real. Silly romance stories were something else, of course. If the enraged protectiveness and the power suddenly storming through him at just the thought of Harry being out of his quarters, out of his protection, when he was this fragile, physically and mentally, was any indication, Severus could well believe the horror stories.
He could also understand the dark whispers and undercurrents in their society that hinted to the fate of those few Omegas that were born and found. Found before they began courting an Alpha. Severus would happily tear the world apart with his bare hands to keep Harry safe and he knew, deep, deep down in his blackened soul, that he would do exactly that if pressed. And worse, much worse; he now had the power to do so.
Suddenly he had become an Alpha with an Omega, and they were in the first stage of courting, without any words being spoken. Harry had started presenting and reached out to Severus in his desperation, and Severus was both unwilling and unable to turn away, no matter that he probably should, for the benefit of everyone else. Everyone else didn’t matter to him anymore, not at all.
Suddenly, he wasn’t just potential, he was complete, or nearly so. He now had the power to destroy worlds, when he a day ago had not. All because of Harry.
The child that had chosen him to protect him, while he laid dying on the floor with no more conscious will to live. The child that had unlocked the potential of all that Severus was and ever could be within a few world-changing moments.