Chapter Text
Harry was furious, which wasn't unusual. It wasn't because of the pain, he was used to it, it was because of something much more ridiculous: his cousin, Dudley.
Harry had spent hours scrubbing the damned living room carpet, and Dudley, of course, didn't think twice before he stepped on his mud-stained sneakers, laughing in his face. He knew it was on purpose, so – on purpose – he threw the bucket of dirty water at him, not just the dirty water that was inside the bucket. With his face red and his cheeks puffed out, Uncle Vernon hit him with a slap so violent that he felt his lower lip being cut, took away his dinner and ordered him to clean up that damned blood so that nothing fell and stained the sacred carpet. He huffed as he tried to stop the bleeding with the same shirt he was wearing. Since when did he bleed so much?
He heard the doorbell, but ignored it. Come on... don't be so lazy!
"POTTER! BOY! GOT DEAF?"
He rolled his eyes at his uncle's screams, but left the bathroom almost running. He didn't want to lose anything else.
The doorbell rang again and he opened the door suddenly. His eyes widened at the image of who was standing in front of him.
“Professor Snape?
“Mr. Potter,” Snape greeted with a raised eyebrow as he looked him up and down.
Harry was suddenly very aware that he was wearing his cousin's old, baggy clothes and flushed with embarrassment. At no point did he think that Snape was actually more focused on the bloodstain.
An indignant scream drew their attention to the garden, where their aunt came out, marching towards them with fury and disgust.
"You!"
“Hello, Tuney,” Snape greeted with a sneer.
Harry had to stop himself from asking where the hell they knew each other from or reacting to the greeting, as he had never seen anyone call his aunt like that. However, his efforts were interrupted when Aunt Petunia pushed him against the wood of the door, pointing a thin finger and looking at him as if he were to blame for all this.
"You called him here, didn't you? Of course it's your fault!"
"I-"
"No food for you, today or tomorrow, boy," she squealed and glared at Snape. "And you, freak, leave immediately!"
"I came to check the protection of the house," Snape replied without flinching. "I can do this inside or outside the house, under the curious eyes of your neighbours."
Petunia immediately turned pale at the prospect of being seen and, under insults, hurried them into the house, without ever touching them, of course. For Harry, it was confirmation that they both really knew each other, to the point where the professor knew that being seen that way was more than a matter of secrecy for Petunia, it was about being seen in the wrong way.
"Petunia, WHAT IS THIS?" Uncle Vernon shouted, shaking with anger.
"He came to check the protection of the house, would he do it here or outside."
Valter snorted, still red in the face, and threw himself into the armchair.
"Don't contaminate anything, and you! Boy! Back to work!"
Harry doubted that Snape would touch anything in that house because of the look of complete contempt on his face as he observed the interior decor and residents. It was probably equal or greater contempt to the one directed at him at Hogwarts. He just picked up the bucket and the cloth and obeyed his uncle, regretting the fact that Dudley was out of the house again. He might as well have a little fun with the boy shaking in fear.
He didn't notice the teacher's incredulous gaze on him.
"May I know what you are doing, Mr. Potter?"
"He's not allowed to talk," Petunia barked, coming back from somewhere, it was only when she widened her eyes and lost her breath that Harry discovered that she hadn't noticed the carpet yet. "WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY BEAUTIFUL CARPET?! MY CARPET! We have an important dinner today, what am I going to replace my beautiful rug with? Clean that up and go make dinner, but tomorrow don't even think about leaving your room! And don't forget to wear gloves today, I don't want your nasty hands in our food!"
He swallowed hard as he went back to cleaning. Excellent. He was already hungry, and now food was even further away.
"And you!" Petunia pointed to Snape. "Just do what you came to do and leave!"
Harry didn't dare look up, but he could feel Snape's eyes on him. Perfect. His humiliated image would be the gossip of the year at Hogwarts.
"I need to start with Mr. Potter's rooms and belongings," Snape announced in a strange voice, something that Harry couldn't identify. "He can show me the way."
“That'll slow him down,” Petunia grumbled. “Just go upstairs. Last door in the hallway."
"Unlike you, Petunia, I respect other people's privacy. I won't look at anything without Potter being present."
"Good," Uncle Valter growled. "Go away then."
"Not without doing my job."
"Kid, open your closet and show your damn things before I kick you out of this house for making us put up with such an invasion."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied immediately, but quickly corrected himself after his growl. "I'm sorry. Yes sir."
Trying to ignore the embarrassment, he got up with difficulty and took the keys from his uncle's hand. He opened his old room and prayed that Snape wouldn't say anything else that would anger the Dursleys. The place hadn't been cleaned for some time, there were a lot of cobwebs on the ceiling and on the broken toys, as well as a lot of dust on the old mattress, but he pushed any bad feelings that place gave him to the back of his mind and dragged his trunk. out, leaving it on the floor in front of the teacher before returning to work on the carpet.
"Okay, now you can look at everything and still be in the boy's presence," Petunia indicated arrogantly. "Now do what you have to do and get out of my house."
Vernon couldn't stop himself from jumping in fright when Snape took out his wand, but Petunia just walked away with an expression of pure disgust. Harry didn't see it, because he was too focused on keeping his head down to do his work and hide his embarrassment, but Snape didn't make a point of starting what he had gone to do. The teacher's expression still remained indifferent, but his extreme paleness was more noticeable, and if one really paid attention, they could see an extra wrinkle on his forehead and a different feeling in his eyes. Something like confusion, disbelief, doubt, and worry.
Harry probably wouldn't have been able to decipher that look anyway, but in his defence, Snape hadn't shown anything like that in years. Many years.
"Mr. Potter," he called suddenly. "Have you, by chance, ever slept in that cupboard?"
Harry froze. Did it matter? Why was Snape asking that?
“Yes... sir,” he replied hesitantly, still with his head down.
"How many times?"
How many times? It wasn't something that could be counted on. He had slept in that place for as long as he could remember, until he was twelve.
“Mr. Potter,” Snape insisted in a deep voice, “look at me."
Harry swallowed hard and finally looked at him. He was surprised when he didn't encounter the usual contempt.
"How many times did you sleep in that cupboard?"
"I don't know, sir," Harry replied, wanting to hide, not only from Snape, but also from the withering looks of his relatives. "Ever since, I think. But I got a fourth when I finished my second year."
Harry noticed when he changed, when Snape changed. It was as if someone had pressed a button or something had awakened in the teacher. The look stopped being restless and became empty, the expression hardened, and the hand that was gripping the wand became white-knuckled. Snape was furious on a level the boy couldn't understand.
"Did you let... your nephew... sleep... there?" Snape demanded with an icy look at Aunt Petunia.
"Of course yes," It was Uncle Valter who responded indignantly, as if a situation different from that were unacceptable. "We already accepted him for free, of course we wouldn't spend any more money because of... him. But then our Duda, very kind, you might guess, gave him the second room. But the ungrateful boy continues to bring us nothing but harm, as you can see. Must be part of the aberration."
Harry stared at the floor, which wasn't opening up to swallow him and get this over with.
"How could you raise your sister's son with such neglect and carelessness?"
Harry looked up again to watch the scene. Snape's expression remained cold, but his voice wavered with the fury he tried to contain. He didn't quite understand why. He was aware that the Dursleys didn't treat him properly, but he supposed Snape knew and took pleasure in the fact when he was bored, since Dumbledore knew. He figured the obvious, if Dumbledore knew, then Snape and others, like Minerva McGonagall, also knew. Anyway, why was Snape so furious and not happy with the way the boy was being raised? Wasn't that what he wanted? That he was raised firmly and like the ungrateful, irritating brat that he was?
"I accepted him into my house, didn't I?" Petunia retorted petulantly. "I could have put it in some orphanage or thrown it in the trash, but I didn't, did I? He has a roof over his head!"
"Lily would never take care of her son in the same way! She would take care of him like he was her own!"
"I would never have a freak as a son! And my son is above everything and everyone, I would never put myself in a war and risk my son's life the way she did! Inconsequential-"
"Don't you dare!" Snape roared, livid. "Don't you dare think such things about your sister. Lily was better than you will ever be! And she must be cursing you for being so despicable with your own blood!"
"ENOUGH!" Uncle Vernon finally shouted, got up from the armchair, and faced Snape from a safe distance. "Don't speak to my wife in that tone. Leave!"
Snape backed away. Not out of fear, Harry noted the obvious, but because he concluded that it wasn't worth it. His time was much more precious than a piece of silverware in that house.
"Very well," the professor agreed. "Potter, take what you need. You are coming with me."
Harry didn't move; he was too perplexed for that. What exactly did that mean? For real? Would Snape get him out of there? But where would they go?
"Move, Potter!"
He jumped in fright and practically ran to his room, he would have run if he wasn't so sore. The search in the room wasn't long, he just picked up some school materials that he hid under the bed, a few clothes, and Hedwig, who was moving around inside the cage.
“A little more, and I promise I'll let you go,” he murmured regretfully.
The owl must have been as hungry as he was, perhaps it would be better to leave her with the Weasleys next summer or even with Hermione. The poor animal should not suffer at the hands of his relatives if it could be avoided, even if it makes him inaccessible. And what difference would it make? He hadn't received a single letter since the start of the vacation, and something told him he wouldn't receive anything until he returned to Hogwarts. Not even on his birthday.
It was just another birthday, after all.
He gathered everything up, grabbed the cage with one of his fingers, and went back to the living room, where he placed the materials and clothes haphazardly inside the trunk. Uncle Vernon was still in the same place, sulking and staring at Snape, Aunt Petunia was pretending to do something in the kitchen – and Harry knew that she hated that place. Snape, unexpectedly, still had his wand in hand and his eyes glowing with fury. Harry expected contempt, even irritation, because these were common reactions from the professor, but he couldn't understand his fury. It couldn't be directed at him, could it? He wasn't the one who called him there, and he didn't ask to be taken along.
"All ready, professor," he stammered, still feeling a little lost.
Snape lowered his trunk and put it in one of his pockets – Harry definitely needed to learn this spell, then took the cage and opened it.
“Go to Prince Manor and find food along the way,” Snape ordered.
Hedwig obeyed without hesitation, sailing out the window in the next second.
"Hold tight to my arm, Mr. Potter," Snape instructed. "And take a deep breath, this may be uncomfortable."
Harry swallowed hard and obeyed. The uncomfortable feeling only lasted a few seconds, but he thought he would vomit if he had something in his stomach. When he opened his eyes, his heart almost stopped. Even with his blurred vision, he could easily make out three pairs of similar eyes staring at him and three heads with the same shade of blonde. Malfoy.
"Harry?"
"What is the boy doing here, Severus?" It was Lucius Malfoy's voice. "I thought it was safe here!"
"And it is," Snape confirmed dryly. "You are not the only ones in danger, as you can imagine."
"But-"
"Lucius, grow up. Potter's situation is very delicate, and, at the moment, it is my priority. If you are not mature enough to live in the same room as him, please limit your visits to the room or look for another refuge."
Harry didn't need to see it to know that the older Malfoy must be insulted, he could easily imagine the sharp expression of disbelief and contempt in his direction. But the world was still a blur, was this normal?
"The boy is bleeding!" said a female voice that he assumed to be Narcissa's.
He couldn't be sure because his mind was confused, and, without realising it, his body lost strength and fell. Cold and strong hands grabbed him, he couldn't recognise them, but he felt good and wanted to sleep so badly... There was no pain while he slept, right?
“Don't let him sleep, Draco,” Snape ordered from somewhere far away.
Draco? So it was Draco carrying him?
He felt his body being lifted and placed on a cold, soft surface. He heard voices but couldn't make them out, someone touched his face firmly, making him grunt in pain from the slap he had received from his uncle, Draco reacted with a sudden scolding of "Be careful!" and the ringing disappeared. Soon after, his head was lifted, and a liquid was pushed down his throat. Part of him wanted to scream and move away, but the other part knew he shouldn't resist, there was no need. His trust in Snape was never firm, but he never questioned the functionality of his potions. It was a welcome contradiction at times like these.
At any other time, Harry would have asked a lot more questions and reacted with the usual petulance that always accompanied him at school, but with so much happening in so little time, the boy could only think about, for once, being sensible. Nothing else mattered, after all.