Chapter 1
The rows of students at their desks concentrating on their - admittedly - increasingly difficult potions is not one Severus Snape is usually accustomed to.
Right now, however, his fifth year class of Gryffindors and Slytherins are all doing a decidedly better job at completing their assignment than they usually would be able to.
Severus walks around his classroom peering over the shoulders of his students and berating them whenever they would do something foolish or stupid.
Just then he sees Potter jump away from his cauldron when a bubble of the brightly green potion pops. Amusement curls inside the potions master even though he would never admit it or show it for the matter.
The Boy-Who-Lived being afraid of a potion is highly amusing.
“Don’t be frightened, Mr. Potter. It won’t bite.”, he calls out and a cringing Potter looks at him from the corner of his eye.
He waits for a moment.
Severus moves on to Longbottom when he won’t receive an answer to his taunting. It is rather astounding that the brat can hold his tongue for once.
Just then he notices Longbottom’s excuse for a potion.
“Longbottom! How many times did I instruct you to stir this clockwise? Three times, not four or five!”
The boy shrinks under his scrutinizing glare and with growling about ‘dunderheads’ Severus sweeps over to the Weasley boy.
Currently not finding a fault with the potion the boy has been producing, Severus decides to go back to the front when an angry hissing noise draws his attention.
A second later he is behind Potter again who has managed to stop the potion from overboiling by adding the needed steps quickly.
Interesting. The boy wonder is able to avoid volatile reactions when he wants to. Maybe there is hope after all of him not failing his potion’s O.W.L this year.
The clear liquid inside the cauldron is now ready for the finishing ingredient whenever Severus deems it safe to tell his students just what would be needed. He rolls his eyes internally. The potions master hopes to Merlin that his students won’t be stupid enough to mess this up. He doesn’t need injuries any more than he needs a migraine.
The potions master stops by Weasley’s workstation again only to see that the stupid Gryffindor had added too many yarrow leaves and the colour of the potion is not clear enough.
“Weasley, you insufferable idiot! Did I not instruct you just how many yarrow leaves are needed? Why in Merlin’s name did you decide it would be a good idea to add more?!”, the dire potions professor berates the pale looking Gryffindor.
Upon not getting an answer other than unintelligent stammering and with still grinding teeth and a bad temper the potions master returns to the front of the classroom and gathers the attention from his students.
“The last step is required to key the potion specifically to your magic. The potion manifests differently in every wizard, and the differences are generally attributed to the particular strength each witch or wizard carries in his or her magic core. You will need to add three drops of your own blood, no more, no less. It is essential that you only add three. Any more will make the potion highly volatile, and I do not want to spend my evening scraping your remains off the walls. Are we clear?”
A round of “Yes, sirs” echoes across the classroom and satisfied with the students’ responses he returns to walk his rounds around the classroom. Better stop any injuries before they can happen.
Just before he finishes his round a clatter catches his attention. Most students have now finished their potion and are waiting for it to cool so they can sample it.
Severus swoops behind Potter to see him take deep breaths. What’s wrong now?
“Mr. Potter. Why haven’t you added your final ingredient?”, he demands to know.
Merlin knows this child can’t follow direct instructions on a normal day.
Potter stutters a breathless “S-sorry, sir.” and brings his penknife to his finger. Alas he’s not pushing it to get a drop of blood.
Highly suspicious. Severus narrows his eyes at Potter but other students are already sampling their potions for him to mark.
Confused with his student’s irritable and frankly unusual behavior, Severus decides to just return to the front of the classroom.
He just needs to keep an eye on the brat who lived.
“Label your samples and turn them in to me.”, the potions master announces loudly.
“They require one week to steep, and then you will be able to sample them if I deem them safe for consumption. Dismissed.”
The whole time he has been watching Potter in his peripheral vision and frowns when he drops the knife once more and won’t finish his potion.
With a quiet snarl he glides over to Potter’s workstation. The audacity to ignore a direct order from him doesn’t sit well with the potions master and he just won’t allow it.
He can see the boy stifle a reaction to him going back. At least the brat manages to control his temper once in a lifetime.
“Mr. Potter,”, Severus says in as calm a voice as he can manage. “Why have you not completed your potion?”
The boy looks at him with a mix of fear and possibly nervousness. He swallows visibly before saying: “I, uh… I think I messed it up too much. Sir.”
Severus ignores the hastily added Sir and watches the fifth year fidget in front of him. It’s highly unusual for the kid to be nervous around him. He usually is more defiant than anything else. What in Merlin’s name is wrong with the kid?
He just raises an eyebrow before replying: “Really? Perhaps you’ve never brewed a potion correctly before, so you wouldn’t know what it looks like.” At Potter’s blank stare, Severus adds: “The potion is acceptable, Mr Potter. It just requires completion.”
The classroom has meanwhile emptied out and the two of them are now alone.
Potter grasps the knife again and brings it to his finger only to let it fall and vanish his potion completely at the lightning speed only a seeker can manage.
It takes a second for Severus to react.
A sudden rage fills the potions master and before he can yell, Severus quickly slams a few of his occlumency shields in place to stop the outburst that is surely to follow.
No use yelling and screaming at this insolent little brat for it hasn’t helped before either. It never helps.
“Twenty points from Gryffindor.”, he says sharply before continuing with as much disdain as he can muster: “What in the name of Merlin was that, Potter?”
Potter’s wand trembles in his grasp and a full body shiver wracks through the boy before he even attempts to answer him.
Fear and something else the potions master can’t decipher swirls in his eyes.
“I… It…”, he stammers helplessly and tries again with “It was…” only to fail again at completing his sentence.
Severus throws a cold glare his way before commanding him to pack up his things and meet him in his office.
“And tell Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger you will not be joining them at lunch today.”
With that Severus leaves his classroom to calm down in his study.
Something is off about the boy but he can’t put his finger on it.
By the time the Potter brat is standing in front of his desk, the potions master is calm enough to face any and every excuse the arrogant Gryffindor may have.
He throws a scrutinizing glance at the boy before commanding him to sit in front of his desk.
“Tell me,”he starts slowly: “why you vanished your work in class today.”
A terrified look graces the boy’s face for a second before he quells it.
“I just … did.”
Severus blanks at that for a moment because of the sheer audacity before repeating: “You just… did.”
In a dangerously calm and collected voice Severus says: “That’s not a reason, Potter, and we both know it. Normally I wouldn’t care about your own attempts at self-sabotage in my class, but you deliberately disobeyed me when I instructed you to complete your potion, and that does not sit well with me.”
It has never sat well with him in the five years he already taught this insufferable brat.
Severus’ dark eyes glimmer malevolently. “Now I ask you again: Why did you vanish your potion today?”
The Potter brat contemplates for a moment, seemingly looking for an excuse Severus will buy so he can leave as fast as possible.
“I was scared.”, the boy says so quickly that Severus almost misses it.
“Scared?” Severus repeats. “You were scared? Of what, might I ask?”
“I… uh… the… blood.”
What a stupid response. That just can’t be true. Does the brat even think before uttering lies that are easily distinguished?
The potions master rolls his eyes. “You’re not scared of blood, Potter. For one, you’re a Gryffindor. For another, you seem to face down the Dark Lord with alarming regularity. If you were afraid of blood, you wouldn’t have made it past your first year in this castle.”
“What do you want me to say?” The boy shouts loudly and jumps to his feet. Severus is taken aback by Potter’s anger. What in Merlin’s name…?
“What would you have me do? I couldn’t make myself break my skin, okay? Is that so hard to believe?”
Severus eyes him curiously and tries to figure out what has triggered this reaction. Could it be…? Absolutely not, but the potions master has to make sure.
There is something wrong with the kid and he tends to not ignore obvious signs.
“It is hard to believe. Why were you afraid of breaking your skin?”
Potter visibly deflates at that question and clenches his hands into fists.
“I just… I couldn’t… I was afraid that I…”, the boy drifts off helplessly and sinks back into the chair defeated.
Never in the past years has Severus seen the Gryffindor look like this. Not even after the third task when he came back with Cedric Diggory’s body from the graveyard. For a moment Severus expects the boy to stay silent. He’s proven wrong.
Potter’s eyes are trained on his knees as he whispers: “I was afraid that if I started again, I wouldn’t stop.”
An ice cold feeling sweeps through Severus’ limbs and he clenches his teeth hard enough to make them crack with the pressure upon them.
Harry Potter cannot have self-harming tendencies. Harry Potter, Chosen One, Golden Boy of Gryffindor has decidedly not been harming himself. But the moment Severus looks closer he can see the truth behind the words within the body language. For Merlin’s sake…
The boy hasn’t looked up since he spoke and Severus ends the silence abruptly with: “When?”
There is nothing calm about Severus’ complexion but he does his best to stop the ranting in his head.
The boy doesn’t even need clarification. Still not looking at Severus the boy mutters: “First time I was seven. Last time was this summer.”
Severus feels faint and can’t help but whisper “Seven.” How has nobody noticed? How come not one of his friends has seen scars or cuts? How have his relatives never noticed? Why is it always that such things run through the crack in the door? How come nobody ever notices the struggle some children go through? How in Merlin’s name has Severus never noticed? Why can’t anybody see what this child went through?
Fast and abrupt Severus stands up and barks “Come.” at Potter.
Without thinking about it the boy complies but questions it further a second after following him through to the classroom.
“By all rights, I should take you to the hospital wing. But I won’t. Come with me.”
Severus Snape has possibly made a rash decision but he doesn’t care right now. This boy has to be helped and it doesn’t matter that he’s James Potter’s son. He’s also Lily’s son and Severus has ignored this fact for too long in his life. It doesn’t matter that he should hate this boy just because Severus is a spy. It doesn’t matter because nobody would… no could help Harry Potter the way he can. And after everything Lily has done to help him, Severus just can’t fail Potter in this way.
They arrive at the wooden door that leads to the potions master’s private quarters fairly quickly. “Hemerocallis.”, utters Snape and when Potter doesn’t move he snaps: “In.”
By the look of utter confusion and a moment later fear and uneasiness, Severus assumes that the boy hasn’t thought that Severus would bring him into his quarters. Or at least he didn’t believe Severus wouldn’t tear him limb by limb.
Severus himself hasn’t thought he would ever bring another person in than Minerva.
Potter looks like he might flee any moment so Severus Snape stays near the door and commands the boy to sit.
With skittish movements and an anxious look the boy sits at one end of the couch, not leaning back or even making himself comfortable. Very different from his father.
Snape seats himself in an armchair perpendicular to Potter after closing and locking the door.
A second later it dawns on him that tea might help with the fidgeting boy across from him. Distraction is always a good idea.
He stands in a flurry of motion and asks: “Tea?”
Potter obviously hasn’t expected that because he stumbles across his answer.
Usually Severus would make a derogatory comment but he seals his lips shut. That won’t help.
When Severus returns with a tea tray in hand the boy is watching his fingers quietly. Severus sighs internally and wonders how he manages to get himself always into such situations. And of fucking course it has to be Potter.
Talking about self-harm is hard enough when the person trusts the teacher. But Potter and him? They aren’t even amiable to one another. They have enough bad blood between them to last a lifetime with a grudge.
It can’t be helped. Someone needs to do this.
Severus fixes his tea silently and then throws an expectant look at Potter who promptly fills his teacup and sips from it.
The potions master nods and watches hope bloom onto Potter’s face. He knows that feeling all too well.
If you just do what they expect from you they won’t question you.
He quells Potter’s hope quickly.
“Why did you stop?”
The question clearly startles Potter but it seems like he is seriously thinking about it before answering. At least the brat tries to be amenable.
“I stopped… because I didn’t need to anymore.”, Potter says quietly but Severus can’t see a lie in that sentence.
An eyebrow raises of its own accord. “But you were worried you would start again?”
Why does he have to do this? He is by no means a person gentle enough for this. And for fuck’s sake… Isn’t there someone else the boy trusts enough to talk to?
“I… yes.”
Potter avoids eye contact and he sips his tea again.
“I was worried I would relapse. It’s happened before.”
Severus sighs resigned and wary. Of course. That’s how nobody noticed before. When there are just scars people don’t tend to notice. If you don’t look then there’s no reason for something to be wrong.
“Do you think you will start again?”, he asks as gently as he could.
The length he goes to.
A nervous shift from Potter and his eyes darted across the room before resuming to focus on the fire.
“Honestly… probably. At some point. The longest I ever went was all of first year. I thought I was done then, but things… just kept happening, you know? And once you start…”
“It’s so much harder to stop.”, Severus finishes and green eyes snap towards him. The potions master can practically feel the confusion.
He won’t answer the silent question now. Maybe later if necessary. It’s hard enough to hear the brat talk about his tendencies. There’s no need to bring his own misery into account.
“Why did you start?” Severus looks into Potter’s eyes and waits.
“My aunt. She told me I had bad blood. And I mean, I was just a kid, I didn’t know better! And I thought… you know… if I got the bad blood out, then maybe…”
Of fucking course Potter would take something like this seriously. He has always had a flair for the dramatic.
“Potter,” Snape says sharply. The boy jerks his head up at the sharp tone. “Your aunt. Did she say this in jest? A poor example of a joke, perhaps? Or did you misunderstand an adult conversation?”
Potter shakes his head. “It definitely wasn’t a joke, sir.”, he says and grins wryly. An expression Severus has never seen on Potter before. Lily’s eyes should never look this hard and empty. “She told me that my whole life. Said I got it from my no-good freak parents. Of course, now I know she meant magic, but as a kid, I didn’t have a clue.”
Severus has been reaching for his teacup again but stills at that admission. “You didn’t know you were a wizard?” He knew Petunia was vile but he had never predicted she could be this bad. She might have not liked magic but he thought she surely wasn’t mean enough to lie to an orphaned child. He underestimated her.
Another shake of Potter’s head. “No. Not until Hagrid came and told me. The Dursleys really hated me after that, since they knew their efforts at fixing me didn’t work.”
Severus' insides are twisting in a fury he hasn’t felt for a long time. His whole demeanor must have screamed ‘cold’ when he asks: “And how did they try and ‘fix’ you, exactly?”
The Potter boy shrugs indifferently.
“Aunt Petunia never told me anything about my parents,” he says blandly. “She said they were no-good lazy unemployed drunks who died in a car crash. Of course, I didn’t know any better until Hagrid told me otherwise, so I guess I always thought they were doing it for my own good. Trying to make me better than my parents were, you know? That’s what Aunt Petunia told me. She said I had bad blood and what they were doing was trying to fix all the bad stuff my parents gave me.”
Severus grows cold and hard at that and his voice is shaking dangerously when he asks: “They told you… that your mother was a lazy drunk?”
Red anger courses through him. He needs an outlet. His magic is about to go haywire.
When Potter nods all Severus can do is jump up, take one of the dirty plates and throw it at the ground with as much savagery as he can muster to deflate the simmering and boiling rage inside him.
His anger dissipates as soon as he sees Potter flinch violently when meeting his eyes. Great, he has frightened the kid. So much for being the trusted individual.
Heavily he lets himself fall back into the armchair and apologizes stiffly.
Potter nods but wide green eyes won’t leave his frame and again Severus sighs internally.
That just throws him back by two steps. The child is watching him warily now.
The potions master gathers his thoughts before continuing his questioning.
“What kinds of things would they do?”
Potter stays silent for a good amount of time and Severus watches the myriad of expressions his face goes through before he answers.
“Punishments,” Harry says quietly. Merlin, when had the boy become Harry in his head?
“I had chores, and if I didn’t get them done, they’d punish me. Or if I did something to make things bad for Uncle Vernon or Dudley. Or if I did something ‘freaky.’ They hated that more than anything.”
Another jolt of rage shoots through Severus and he closes his eyes. “I assume by ‘freaky,’ you mean common accidental magic?”
Another nod from Harry.
“Yes.”, comes the soft verbal answer. “One time I Apparated onto the roof of my school. My cousin and his gang were chasing me, and I wanted to escape, and then –”
Severus can’t help but interrupt dumbfounded: “You apparated.”
A nod.
“Yeah. Obviously I didn’t know the word for what I’d done then, but in hindsight, that’s what it had to be. Same with the snake right before my eleventh birthday. I didn’t know I could speak Parseltongue then, so I didn’t know anything was wrong about talking to snakes until I accidentally set one free at the zoo.”
Severus exhales sharply in a shuddering breath. This is a nightmare. Lily’s child deserves better. A sudden thought struck him.
“And your chores?”
“The usual stuff,” Harry replies. “Cooking, cleaning, gardening. That sort of thing.”
The red anger curls again but he just answers: “Indeed.” with pursed lips. There’s no need in getting Potter frightened again.
“And why did you continue after that first incident with the… bad blood?”
He has to ask. Severus needs the reason behind all of this. Why is it always up to him?
The child doesn’t respond right away. Harry takes a long sip from his teacup and stares aimlessly into the fire. It’s been five minutes and he still hasn’t talked.
Severus thinks he won't answer at all but it doesn’t take much longer and the fifteen year old says: ““Because… It made me feel good. Calm. In control.”
He takes in a deep breath and exhales noisily to keep a calm and collected facade. This is hopefully not as bad as it seems. Merlin, let it not be as bad as it sounds.
“And why would hurting yourself make you feel in control, Potter?”
“Because…”, the boy closes his eyes. And then his voice is barely a whisper when he says: “Because at least then it would be on my own terms, sir.”
NO!
Severus refuses to believe that this is the truth. But he nods anyway, not being able to talk. Why has no one informed one of the teachers? Harry’s friends must be aware. Someone has to be aware.
What about Arabella Figg? Wasn’t she supposed to watch him and report back to Dumbledore? Has no one ever checked on their Golden Boy?
The child is back on focusing on the fire and soundlessly Severus moves and sits on the couch next to Harry. The boy jumps, startled.
A mix of rage and sadness courses through the potions master when the kid pulls his elbows in. He seems frail. Like a spring ready to snap and flee.
What can Severus do? What may help in making the abused child understand?
There’s no other choice. The truth may help.
“Cokeworth.”, he says quietly.
The boy blinks and then says: “What?”
The potions master ignores the question and continues in the same voice as before: “It’s a town in the Midlands. Nasty place. The streets are narrow and packed with identical row homes. The sky is always dark from the smog that the factories put out. The factory owners also owned the workers’ houses, and they took a substantial rent stipend out of each paycheck. There was a river that ran directly through the center of town. It might have been wild, once, but it was penned in by stone canals and polluted besides. It was vile, and the air always smelled of ash and dead fish. The people couldn’t risk demanding better conditions because they couldn’t afford to lose their jobs and their homes. It’s a town where hope goes to die.”
The child looks warily at him and voices his confusion as to why the dour potions master would be telling him this.
There’s nothing mocking on Potter’s behalf, only genuine curiosity. Good.
“It is where I grew up. It is also where your mother and your aunt grew up.” At Harry’s aghast look, Severus’ upper lip curls and he continues. “I think it will help you make an educated guess as to the nature of our upbringings.”
“You knew my mum?”
The child has a breathlessness Severus can only understand too well. The next question makes him cringe internally.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Because I was partly at fault for her death. Because we haven’t been friends for a long time when you were born. Because I could never forgive myself for making the biggest mistake of my life. Because in the end it was my own fault that she hated me.
But instead of saying this, Severus sighs and says: ““It was never something you needed to know. What I am also telling you, Potter, is that I know your aunt. She was a spiteful, wicked child, and I dread to think about the kind of woman she grew into later in life.”
Potter chuckles mirthlessly. An ugly sound coming from a fifteen year old. This kid has gone through too much.
“Like you said, sir. She may be an adult, but she still acts like a spiteful, wicked child.”
A humorless grin graces his face for a second before Severus resumes his emotionless mask.
The next question makes him slam his occlumency shields into their place faster than he ever had to before.
“Sir? What was my mum’s last name?”
He rests his gaze on the child and Potter quickly averts his eyes. This child, this deeply hurt and abused child has never been told his mother’s maiden name. He knew Petunia to be a vile person but he never imagined she could be this cruel. What was Albus thinking?
“Evans. Her name was Lily Evans.”
Potter turns the name over in his mouth and it pains the potions master to see the boy blink back tears. If it wouldn’t mean a lifetime sentence in Azkaban he would love to curse the Dursleys in this moment. He would also love to throttle a big idiotic headmaster.
But for the love of Merlin, he firstly needed more information.
“Potter… How did your aunt treat you as a child?”
A shudder passes through the Gryffindor and for a second there is pity pooling in his stomach.
“She hated me, of course,” he says plainly. “She hated my mum, so she hated me too.”
Severus feels sick. The simmering rage in his stomach grows steadily, again.
“She hated you, and she gave you chores, and punished you if you did magic. Is that right?”
Potter nods. Of course Severus can’t let it rest at that and he follows with: “How did she punish you?”
A shrug from the kid is all too concerning. Especially when he answers. “Mostly she didn’t want to be bothered about me. No meals, time in my cupboard, things like that. Sometimes she’d hit me with the frying pan, but only when I really deserved it. Once I learned to stop trying to make her love me, things were better because we mostly avoided each other.” Severus can’t respond and he’s all too sure that his inner rage is now showing on his face too for when Harry looks up he immediately blanches and tries to backpedal.
They made a child live in a cupboard. They starved an innocent little child for being magical!
“Sir?” Harry says quietly. “I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t complain, I know. I can go now…”
“Stay exactly where you are. This conversation is not yet over.”
He can’t muster any emotion in his voice lest he starts to shout or yell.
The child stutters through an apology and with a sick twisting in his stomach, Severus realizes that the child thinks he’s angry at him.
Severus softens as much as he currently could with the anger and resentment towards Petunia still turning his insides over.
“I’m not angry with you.” Potter doesn’t look convinced so the potions master tries to elaborate: “I’m angry with your aunt who was supposed to be taking care of you. Children are meant to be loved and cared for.” Not that anyone in the wizarding world would ever care about how children are raised. “Those who are unwanted and unloved know it all too well. It can affect how they see their place in the world.” Severus throws a look at Potter. Maybe the child isn’t reckless but just doesn’t see a value to his own life?
“Do you think your life is valuable, Potter?”
The taken aback spluttering is answer enough. But he still wants to hear it from the child itself.
“Do you think your life holds value to the world?”, Severus repeats the meaning of the question. Surely Potter cannot miss it this time.
Potter takes a moment to consider his question after an alarming change of facial expressions beforehand. It takes shorter than Severus has hoped.
“No.” A truthful admission even if it is concerning. The Gryffindor elaborates.
“I think I’m already living on borrowed time, and I’m probably going to die by Voldemort’s hand sooner rather than later. People act like I’m some savior, but I’m not! I’m just some stupid kid who keeps getting lucky. And there’s no way my life is any more valuable than the lives of the people that died to protect it.” Potter closes his eyes and there’s no doubt that he relives the incident at the graveyard for he says: “There is no way I deserve to live more than Cedric did”
This feeling inside him is worry. And now that he has felt it, Severus can’t make himself stop. Shit, that changes everything.
“I see.”, he says quietly. “Potter, if I let you go now, could you promise me that you won’t hurt yourself?”
A nervous shift catches Severus’ attention. Potter contemplates the question but Severus can see. The need to hurt, the itch under the skin. Potter won’t need to say it and yet after hiding his face behind his hands, he does.
A slow tremble crawls through the boy’s body and the potions master knows. He grabs the thin wrists and wrenches them away from an anguished face. “Look at me, Potter.”
His tone is serious enough that it catches Harry’s attention and still trembling in his grasp, Potter catches his eyes. Severus can’t help himself and wonders again why he never saw the desperate need to hurt in them. Probably because he hasn’t wanted to see. Serious, indeed.
“Have you ever made a mistake and gone too far?” He needs to know.
A pale face, green eyes shadowed with the life’s worth of pain.
“I… not by mistake.”, is the answer.
No. Impossible!
“Intentionally?”
“Yes.”
Dear Merlin.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know. I lost track.”
For Salazar’s sake. This is too much. This child is hurt beyond belief. The headmaster, his friends, his head of house, all of them haven’t seen his struggle. Potter needs someone in his life to help him.
Severus wants to curse anyone who made this child feel like he had no place on this earth. How can it be that the child of the famous Potter has had to go through nearly the same feeling of not belonging anywhere like he himself has.
“Why are you so decent?”
The question throws him out of his thoughts. The teenager looks at him suspiciously. There will be only one explanation Harry Potter will accept. Slowly he rolls up his right sleeve of his robes before unbuttoning the shirt underneath and rolling the cloth away.
Potter gasps at the neat scars lining his forearm. The boy looks up completely thrown off guard by his personal admission and his face is full of questions.
“Your mother and I were best friends for many years. She would respond the same way to you as she did to me. In this case, I feel I am compelled to act in her place.”
Potter can hardly believe it. “You… and my mum? You were friends?”
“The very best of friends. Your mother is the reason I am alive.” A murmured admission he wishes he could take back the second Potter stutters through his sentences.
“Don’t gibber at me, Potter.” He rolls his sleeve down and buttons it before also rolling his robe over it. He doesn’t want to stare longer at his past than he needs to.
“Do you know how to summon ice cubes?”
A very confused look crosses Harry’s face and Severus kicks down the smile threatening to take over when the boy dumbly repeats the words.
“Yes, Potter. Ice cubes. When you need to scratch the itch, hold an ice cube to its place until it passes or the ice melts. If it is still there when the ice has melted, come find me.”
The boy blinks before quickly thanking him. An earnest thank you makes him feel warmer. The ice cold dread somewhat lessens.
“Do you need one now?”
Severus sees it. Potter is still contemplating when the potions master hands him an ice cube and immediately the boy holds it to his wrist where scratch marks run along his forearm. Barely noticeable but not disguised enough for a trained eye.
He needs Whiskey and a screaming match with the headmaster. Maybe then he'll feel better.
“Thank you.”
The whisper resonates inside him while he clears away the dishes. Severus takes his time while washing the dishes but keeps Harry in his peripheral vision. A relaxed Gryffindor sitting on his couch is usually accompanied with whiskey and scrabble and not an already melted ice cube and a talk about self-harming tendencies. Merlin forbid Severus has a normal day in his life.
A quick tempus shows that his lunch is almost over. Severus can’t bring himself to regret bringing Potter here and having this conversation while not eating. He has to decide what to do with the boy when he resumes teaching. The potions master is not sure it would be wise to let Potter back into class when he is rattled like this. He himself wouldn't want to attend classes like this.
Severus steps behind the couch and lays a gentle hand on Potter’s shoulder who turns and looks at him wide eyed. The potions master sucks in a breath at the resemblance to Lily’s gaze. It’s too much. He shakes himself out of his stupor and says calmly: “The lunch hour is almost over. If you don’t want to attend your afternoon classes, I can write you an excuse. You are welcome to return to Gryffindor Tower if you so choose.”
A silent nod and then: “Okay… I… Professor?”
Severus knows what will come next and still he says: “Yes, Potter?”
Potter shuffles awkwardly on the couch and stumbles over his words, not finishing a single sentence. The potions professor takes pity on him. He softens his gaze somewhat unknowingly. “You may also stay here for the afternoon. I have classes to teach, but you may remain as long as you do not venture beyond this room or the bathroom.”
The teenager relaxes immediately.
“Thank you. For… all of it. No one’s ever… no one’s ever bothered before.”
Why is it always the broken that have to help the hurt?
“Lily was the only one who bothered for me. Someone needed to bother for you.”, he says gently and turns to his desk to take a sack of parchments. He stalks out of the door and takes a moment to breathe.
Severus cannot continue with the torment of the boy. Not after everything that has been revealed. And he will do his damn best to get him out of that awful situation with these god awful muggles. Not even Potter’s son should have to suffer in an abusive home. This kid is also Lily’s child and she has helped him in any way she could to overcome this. He can’t just ignore this.
Severus groans at the thought about the talk he will have with the headmaster. But it is just as he has said to Harry right now. Someone has to bother.