Chapter Text
—
Harry was turning sixteen in a few months.
To say he was handling the stress of the prophecy badly was a bit of an understatement. To be clear, Harry- a fifteen year old boy, was apparently intended to save the world. And soon. His dad always tried to be understanding, but Severus wasn’t great with these things. Who would be great with these things?
It was a bad topic in general if you were trying to have a conversation. Harry expected the stress to lighten up when he came back home to Spinner’s End for the summer, but his migraines seemed to debilitate him. Food started to disgust him, his stomach started to ache in the nights with a sharp mourning, his pulse never dropped.
His scar ached with a dull pulse, he spent most of his time incapacitated and sickly from pain. He felt weak. Harry felt pathetic.
He had a few friends here, muggle ones. They lived down the street, and asked minimally invasive questions about his life. Mostly they just snuck into places and drank whatever they could get gullible adults outside the liquor store to buy them.
Harry had heard the story a thousand times ‘You shouldn’t hang out with that bunch’ and ‘I don’t like them, they’re not good for you’. But it seemed Sefverus was just overly cautious, none of the three had ever pressured him to do anything. Harry had hopped fences, drank, and shoplifted all of his own accord.
In his defence, Harry was 15. Had Severus never been 15 before? Plus, the man had wanted him to socialize. Harry was only doing as he was told.
Regardless, Harry was currently nursing a forming cluster headache, sitting in a damp skateboarding bowl with Lucy, Matt and Andrew. Harry wasn’t great with names. He was only half sure he knew which of the guys were which. There was not a single skate shop around for a place with so many skateparks, not that any of them could afford a board.
It didn’t help that they only really hung out in the summer and half the time just used names like ‘Hey you’ or ‘Dork’. Harry liked them, but they really only hung out cause they were the only teens in the area. He wasn’t sure if they actually enjoyed his company or if they liked the fact he would usually pay when they went out for food, hesitant to dine and dash.
“You pierced your nose?” Matt.. or Andrew interrupts Lucy’s tangent on something. Harry’s not particularly listening to be honest. Lucy clearly doesn’t mind. The group is almost always buzzing with something to say, Harry is the quiet one in the group. He likes being the quiet one for once. He doesn’t get to be quiet at Hogwarts.
“Yeah- my Mom’s pissed.” She snorts, showing off the hoop. Harry squints behind his glasses. It doesn’t look infected. It does look crooked.
Andre- or Matt, Harry really should learn the difference. In his defence, he was like half sure they’re brothers. Whichever one didn’t just bother Lucy looks over to Harry, poking him. “That makes you the only un-cool one left. You should let me do your ears someday. At least I can pierce symmetrically.”
Harry snorts, sitting up from his half-reclined position. “Nah, my Dad would flip.”
“I thought you lived with your Uncle?” Who Harry is pretty sure is Andew presses, raising an eyebrow and offering Harry a sip of whatever he’s got in his single use plastic water bottle. Harry smells the clear liquid, feeling his eyes water- he pretends to take a sip by pressing his lips closed behind the bottle.
“It’s complicated.” Harry brushes off, passing the bottle back.
“Do we seriously have nothing better to do then sit here and listen to Matt?” So.. the curly haired one was Andrew. Got it. Harry needed to write this down somewhere.
“I have my brother’s weed pen.” Lucy offers, shrugging.
“It’s the middle of the day, in the middle of the week.” Harry protests.
Every teen that is not Harry laughs at his statement. “Man,” Andrew sighs, lying back on the wet concrete. “You’re like… so uptight, mate. And so confusing. I don’t mean to pry, but how exactly does an uncle turn into a dad? Your mom lied to you or something?”
“You don’t wanna know.” Harry groans, sighing as he rubs his eyes. “I should go home, I’m getting an aura.””
He started to stand, only to hear the protests of his friends.
“You don’t smoke with us, you’re gone for the whole school year, we can’t come to your house, you live with some creepy uncle-dad. We literally know nothing about you Harry, come on- try a little.” The pen is held out to him.
This is like.. textbook peer pressuring.
Harry thinks over his options, he could go home- maybe lie on his back in bed or sit in the shower. Or he could stay here, ruin his future and smoke cannabis.
Harry takes a hit.
Coughing, immediate, loud, wheezing, stinging coughing. The others laugh as his lungs do their best impression of a cat with a hairball.
“Jesus!” Harry hits his fist into his chest. “How the fuck do you do it without dying??”
Matt manages to calm himself first. “Mate- you’re meant to go way slower, and like.. Do less on your first time.”
Harry huffs, rolling his eyes as he takes the advice. He takes a second, smaller and slower draw. He didn't cough that time. He passes it to the left like he’s seen them do so many times.
It took about 15 minutes, but Harry felt it. His whole body felt queasy and he felt as if he stopped holding on, he would sink straight through the concrete.
The others were talking again, something stupid. Harry felt his stomach churn, his head felt simultaneously inside out and underwater. The UK clouds have cleared up a little, humid air now being warmed by the glowing sun.
There was never any wind this time of year, no dependable respite from the weather, just humid and sunny days with cold, rainy mornings.
“Harry, are you feeling alright?” One of them is asking, Harry is suddenly aware of his hands on the concrete and his jaw clenched tightly. He feels like he’s falling, his body is sinking from a broomstick down hundreds of meters.
And then he’s sitting up, and his eyes are open and his stomach muscles are contracting and his jaw opens of its own accord. Harry can hear panic cloud the tone of his friend's words. And then he’s feeling the breakfast that Severus practically force fed him splatter onto the concrete.
He heaves in small, slow amounts. He can taste bile build up his throat and the bitterness sear his tongue.
Harry can feel hands on him, holding him up and trying to get him to his feet. He can hear himself groan a thousand miles away and push hands away.
Harry wants to go home. He wants to cry.
He had thought the weed would help in even a small moment, his entire body felt made of bees. Every touch felt overwhelming and sharp.
Harry could feel his eyes open. He was standing on his own two feet. Someone was lifting him out of the skate bowl. Time passed in front of him like a slideshow- his body felt distant and numb yet incredibly sensitive.
And then he was sitting on a bench. And the sun was almost setting, His head was between his knees and someone was holding his hand. Harry lifts his head up, Someone- Lucy- is touching his face, her voice sounds incredibly far away. Worried voices swim around him, hands are on his shoulders and his back and his face. Three pairs of hands, but not six hands in total- just three different hands.
Time was passing like someone had started to fast forward with a time turner, but his body felt terribly slow.
And suddenly everything was quiet, and nothing hurt. And his stomach was calm. And he felt at peace.
“What time is it?” Harry mumbles, opening his eyes. The sky is an orangeish colour, he’s sitting on the concrete with his friends sitting on the bench.
He can hear excited chatter from the others, a mix of ‘So you’re alive!’ and ‘We thought you were a goner’. Harry simply groans.
“I need to get home. Sorry.” Harry stands, the world spins around him. Whether or not his friends argue on his departure he cannot tell, his head is spinning and he’s already out of their sight.
Was it underage magic if he apparated by accident? He didn’t care. Harry tucked himself behind a convenience store and focused. He focused on the back gardens of Spinner’s End, his bed, the bathtub.
Harry could apparate not on command, accurately or safely. He’d gotten splinched a few times, never left anything important though. He always told Severus it was accidental though. Harry had done it when he was little though, how hard could it be? It felt like flying through the air might be realistically more manageable then putting one foot in front of the other
And then he was in the back garden. Goddammit was his headache coming back much stronger. Harry pushed open the screen door and stumbled in. Spots were forming in his vision,
“Harry, where have you been? You look.. sick.” Severus walks up to him, taking Harry’s face in his palms. The action is familiar, the touch- the callousless hands, kept soft with proper gloves, trimmed and clean nails. Severus used to have to kneel to hold him like this.
“..Dad.. Dad- I.. I can’t.” Harry feels the words rush out without consulting him. Harry feels the tears well and his breath starts to catch in his chest.
Severus’s gaze remains firm, Harry can feel a thousand eyes on him. He can feel the weight of the world pushing down on his shoulders. He can feel Cedric’s body, limp and cold to the touch in his arms. He can feel his scar burning against his forehead. “Harry. Breathe.”
Harry can feel his head pounding, his gaurdian helping him to the floor, his head being put between his knees and a firm hand on his back. “I can’t do this. I can’t save anyone. I couldn’t save Cedric- or Sirius- I can’t fulfill a prophecy. I can’t do this.” Harry sobs, taking fistfuls of his hair and pulling. It usually helped, it wasn’t this time.
“Harry, in..” Harry feels his hand being guided to his mentor’s chest, he could feel him take an exaggerated inhale. Harry tried to mimic it, “And out..”
Severus takes Harry’s chin, staring him straight in the face. “Listen to me. Nobody expects you to do this alone. Not a single person thinks that it makes any sense for you to need to save the world.”
Harry hiccups, sobbing. Severus puts his hands on his shoulders and hugs the boy. “But we all believe in you. Alright? You never forget that.”
Harry sobs, he fully just.. breaks down into large, body-wracking sobs. He balls up his fists in Severus’s robe and sobs.
—
Harry’s sitting on the couch with Severus, drinking cocoa. Harry was still sniffling. It had been quiet for a while in the house. For more than an hour he’d been sitting on the couch. It had been quiet since Sirius died, since Harry found out about the prophecy- since Harry found out who told Voldemort of the prophecy.
Harry had dodged and weaved his way out of any formal conversation about his feelings. Dumbledore said Harry acted more and more like his guardian every day.
Harry had been in his head a lot last summer. Thinking about Cedric. This summer wasn’t much different, he had been thinking about Sirius. Harry didn’t pretend he had known Cedric closely for long. But regardless, he knew Cedric’s blood was on his hands.
Harry remembered the body, He remembered the way that Cedric’s eyes faded and went all cloudy. The way his lips were blue by the time he was back at Hogwarts, the way Cedric had been everything he wanted. Adored, yet out of the spotlight. Cedric used to hang out with him on the roof- not because he was Harry Potter, or because they were both champions, but because Cedric was the only person Harry knew who could really keep a secret.
Harry told him everything, they talked for hours and hours over cigarettes even though Harry never smoked. He only ever watched Cedric. Cedric was Harry’s first crush, and Harry had never told a soul- because it was the late 1990’s and boys just… boys don’t have crushes on other boys. And now it was too late. Besides, Cedric likely only ever saw him as a little brother.
It was too late to ever admit it to anyone, too late to ever steal glances at him from the Quidditch Pitch again.
So, Harry tucked those feelings away. He tried to move on. He tried to forget, even when his subconscious mind never did, replaying, reliving, reanimating the memories every night. And the worst part? He almost told Sirius about it. He was pretty sure Sirius and Professor Lupin had something going on, and Sirius didn’t seem like a bigot.
But Harry never got to tell Sirius, he never got to be co-parented by his godfather and his adoptive father, and he never got to be close with the man.
Yeah, he was close with Severus, the man had taken him in- and for that he loved him unconditionally. But Severus is incredibly serious and clinical in all accounts. He wasn’t the playful type. He wasn’t reckless or childish. Harry needed someone to goof around with and be a teen. Severus was not that person.
So here Harry was, sitting on the couch- hands scratched up from climbing a fence, baked as a cake, crying his eyes out over a mug of unsweetened tea.
“What’s going on with you?” Severus asks gently, setting down his book. Harry was sitting on his lap- chest to chest while his mentor read a book. His favorite spot in the world.
“Nothing.” he mutters.
“Really?” He doesn’t make eye contact, he knows Harry doesn’t like it. “You’ve eaten pretty much nothing all week, you’re getting migraines and refusing any medication, you smell like weed and vomit, and you’re breaking down in hysterics most days since Cedric died.”
“I know.” Harry huffs, rubbing his eyes.
“Harry,” His Severus closes the book, he swallows thickly. “There is nothing you could be to make me stop caring for you.”
Harry’s voice catches in his throat, he wants to go home. He’s not sure where home is right now. “It’s a sin.”
“You are braver than that. We both know.” Severus stands up, his knees clicking loudly in addition to his groan as he stretches his back. “Come on, you simply must eat something substantial.”
–
“Am I in trouble?” Harry breaks the silence, he’s sitting in the back garden over two bowls of pasta- one with butter and one with red sauce. Harry never liked tomato sauce.
“Normally,” Severus sets his bowl down, taking a sip from his seltzer. He had quit alcohol years back when he saw how scared little Harry would get at beer bottles or glasses of wine. Harry now knew better than to think that was the only reason. “I would make sure you know how much I am disappointed in your behavior. But I do not pretend that you are not under a ridiculous amount of stress. I think you’ve earned this one and learned your lesson.”
Harry let the words muddle for a while, sitting in the silence. “I want to get my ears pierced.”
“That’s dangerous, and unnecessary." Severus replies without missing a beat.
Harry hums. “I know. That’s why I’m asking you instead of someone in a school bathroom.”
Severus sighs. “I suppose we all go through phases.”
“It’s not a phase! I just.. I think it would be cool.” Harry argues.
Severus snorts. “Merlin, you remind me of myself when I was your age.” He turns to Harry.
“Harry, If you want this, I have no real issue with it. But I want you to give it some time. Think about it carefully. Changing how you look on the outside will not change the fates, it will not change the stars or who you are.”
—
Harry lay awake that night, thinking. He had done weed for the first time and reacted so badly that not even Severus was mad.
His Dad had once dragged his drunken body like a sack of potatoes out of a party at Hogwarts and grounded him for a month from Quidditch with detentions; he had been strict Harry’s entire life. But this.. broke no boundaries? It made no sense.
Perhaps he was simply.. getting older.
It was a terrifying thought. Washing away his identity to become the savior of the wizarding world. Harry had no choice but to kick his feet and thrash his arms, cough up the water and keep going.
But he did have a choice. The coward’s way out.
The thought made him swallow thickly, he had considered suicide before- in the way he thought most of everyone did. Passively, in long afternoons or late nights when he let his mind wander.
It had never felt this close, this real. This… preferential to life. Harry didn’t understand, he had a good life. He had a Dad who loved him and a roof over his head. Why was it not enough? Why did bad things happen to him? Why did he have to be born as the chosen one, and not simply ‘Harry’.
–
The next morning Harry came downstairs late. He ate the plate of cold scrambled eggs put at his placemat hours ago and went downstairs to Severus’s lab.
The man had a cellar put in over the summer after Harry was officially adopted, needing a new place to store dangerous ingredients after the whole snake incident.
Harry usually kept out of the place, understanding that it was Severus’s workspace. He was usually ushered out on the excuse of dangerous fumes, needing focus, or sensitive information. But Harry just.. didn't want to be alone right now.
He didn’t knock, the place had silencing charms paired with wards that would alert him- it was pointless. He opened the door. Despite not being formally allowed in the space, the door was never locked. But never open.
Severus was avoidant, but Harry was never neglected. Never in this house.
“Dad?” Harry calls out into the dampened space, sniffling. He had been waking up feeling emotional for weeks now, going to bed feeling apathetic. He rarely actually called the man ‘Dad’, it was usually just ‘Severus’ when he wasn’t actively in class, and Professor Snape when he was. But it was never an indication of where he stood with the man, it had always been indicative of his own emotions.
‘Dad’ in a watery voice, had always informally meant that Harry wanted to be held. It had always meant Harry needed a softer hand, to have any punishment postponed until he had finished his breakdown. It wasn’t often, it was select days out of years and years of knowing the man, it was when Harry truly didn’t know what to do but to cry and grovel to be held.
“Harry. What’s wrong?” Severus sets down his book. Harry can see it’s a new one, clearly muggle. The Spine reads ‘DSM-III’, likely a textbook on something boring.
“...I don’t know.” Harry mumbles, rubbing his eyes from behind his glasses as he walks down the cellar stairs
Severus cast a stasis charm onto his effervescent cauldron, it was simply an anti-nausea elixir. Harry’s migraines tended to burn through the supplies. “Try.” He motions to the sofa, it was the one in the living room when Harry had first arrived. It had been quickly switched out after Harry’s arrival due to his dustbunny allergy. He sat down, the room had a few candles lit, and he had left the door open- light floods into the room, revealing the dust particles in the air.
Harry sits. He feels the morning sensitivity inside him fade into a cold, uncaring and apathetic shell only destined to melt.
“There’s something wrong with me.” The words form not in his head but somewhere in his chest, escaping with ease.
“Why do you think that?” Severus crosses one leg over another.
Harry shrugs, turning to not look at the man directly. He sits with his knees to his chest, stomach aching. “I just- everyone expects me to just know.. the answer.”
“The answer?” Severus raises an eyebrow.
“-Know how to defeat Voldemort, know how to save my own arse from certain death every year- keep myself from unraveling- and none of them- Not a single one will let me in on the stupid meetings! Dumbledore is as helpful as a doorknob if he doesn’t let me in on at least some information sometime bloody soon!” Harry didn’t think he was this angry, but he’s seething.
“And I don’t. I don’t know the answer, and I don’t think they do either.” Harry shrugs, embarrassed.
“I mean- what the fuck even is the plan?” Harry ignores the disapproving look at his profanity. “If I were to die- no, really. If I were to be kissed by a dementor that night, if Aragog had eaten me- or Fluffy, if Malfoy had knocked me off my broom a few moments earlier. If a basilisk had eaten me- What was the plan?? Everyone seems awfully confident that I won’t simply give up for someone who seems to cycle through the stages of grief like a fucking washer!” Harry pants. His fists are scrunched and he’s yelling.
“You’re right.” Severus admits, taking Harry’s hands in his own- taking his fingernails out from where they dig into his palms. “We all have no backup. We rely on the sole fact that you will not give up. You are simply.. Too stubborn.”
“..That’s not comforting.” Harry sneers.
His father sighs, standing. “Harry, nobody expects you to do this alone. There are an army of people who protect you, the sooner you accept the idea of deserving this help- the sooner you can be helped.”
“What?” Harry moves a stray hair out of his face. He had grown it down to practically his shoulders by now- letting Lucy hack away at what she called a ‘short wolf cut’ and what Severus called a mullet. Harry wasn’t too bothered.
Harry follows the man out of the cellar, sitting at the breakfast table as his guardian butters bread for sandwiches. Severus wasn’t much of a cook, usually Harry did the cooking- he simply enjoyed it. But Harry did like being cared for.
Harry eats quietly, feeling much more emotionally stable as the food passes through his stomach. It was a ham and cheese sandwich with the crusts cut off. Harry hasn’t actually minded the crusts since he was twelve, but he didn’t have the heart to tell the man.
“Cannibis can cause brain damage, paranoia, anxiety, and psychosis when ingested before your brain fully develops. Low blood sugar can cause irritability, mood swings and fainting.” Severus states, sitting down across from the boy and casting a diagnosis spell.
Harry obviously isn’t the biggest fan of the spell, but after being the subject of hundreds of them- he knows that squirming and disturbing the spell is only further evidence that Severus should be fussing over him and usually results in some form of being manhandled into bed and forced to take medication like a child.
Harry watches as a pink, misty haze forms in small rings around his head. They remind him of the rings around Saturn in Professor Trelawney’s classroom. Also, of all the other times Severus had caught him with a forming migraine. Something other than the head trauma indicator is set off though.
Something Harry hasn’t seen after being the subject of hundreds of these spells. A sort of.. Dark blueish grey steam. An impure Kyanite, as Severus likely would specify.
It forms around his chest, wrapping like vines around his arms and his throat. Harry knows it’s only a visual representation of his ailments- the same as the lakefoam and emerald mists clouding his sinuses when he was sick- or the sharp, reds and deep oranges that develop around his head during the peak of his migraine- a yellow halo that is his head. Migraines looked awfully like a sunset.
Harry still fears the unknown, he looks to his guardian for support only to meet a crestfallen face.
“Harry..” Severus has gone quiet, soft.. Pitiful. He turns away, looking through the cabinet for a potion.
“What? What does that mean?” Harry demands, his squirming dismissing the indicating fog.
His father sets a familiar flagon in front of him, a pale orange concoction that kept Harry out cold until the migraine passed. It really was the best medication for him, despite the fact that it tasted like the rind of a grapefruit and Harry usually refused to drink it until it was much too late. “It’s.. a manifestation of melancholy. Harry, I understand that I am not the best.. Emotional outlet- to say. My idiosyncrasies are simply not in tune to other’s emotions. But I would like to be available, emotionally for you. Because my efforts have clearly been unavailing.”
“...What?” Harry would be willing to bet the man had a word-a-day calendar or something. That or he simply used big words to make him feel stupid intentionally. “In English.”
Severus rubs his temples, sighing. “I’m going to enroll you in a therapeutic program.”
“What?” Harry blinked, offended. “I’m not crazy! I’d say I’ve been doing fan-fucking-tastic for someone in my position, actually! I don’t need some.. Person- to pick through my head and tell me that!”
“Harry, therapy isn’t just for …’crazy’ people as you so crudely put it. You have been through trauma previously unknown to wizard and man kind alike. Simply do me the favor of going to one meeting. If you hate it, I’ll explore other options.”
“..And if I don't want to go to a stupid meeting?” Harry pushed the potion to his adoptive father across the table, glaring as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Well,” Severus pushes the container back. “I suppose you could always smoke weed in a skatepark and refuse anyone who tries to help you. That seemed to work out quite well for you.” He smirks.
Fuck. Harry hated when he was right.
He glared, pinching his nose as he swallowed the potion and went to lie down on the couch. Shortly after- Severus came over with a migraine cap and a weighted blanket. It was good to catch these episodes before they became unbearable.
–
“Mhhm..” Harry mumbled through a sleepy daze, it had been hours since he fell asleep by the dry feeling in his mouth.
“Hello Harry.” Said the pillow he was lying on, also known as Severus.
“Mphpt..” Harry groans, stretching his back as he squirms and tenses. He can feel the vibrations of a mild chuckle from his father. “Wha?” He mutters,
“You stretch the same way you did when you were a child, a smaller child.”
—
Harry got his ears pierced shortly after his third therapy session as a reward.