Chapter Text
The boy is 2 when he learns he is hated. He cries and his aunty slaps him. Hard. She calls him freak, and tells him not to touch her precious Diddykins. All he had done was poke him, and he is shoved into the cupboard, but not for the first time.
He is 3 when he is hurt badly for the first time. Aunty had slapped him a few times. Uncle had kicked him. But he had never been left bloody on the floor before. Never had he been dragged from his cupboard and hurt before, for being 'too noisy'. At this point he was always known as freak, or piece of shit. He had forgotten his own name.
He is 4 when he learns how to cook and clean. He does everything, and when done wrong he is kicked. Aunty stops doing anything, unless it is a special occasion.
He is 5, again in the cupboard. He no longer cries. He is not allowed to cry. It only makes Aunty and Uncle angrier than normal. He had learned that at age three. He almost looked forward to cooking dinner. Aunty would let him out then. It had been three days, and he was hungry. Maybe he would get scraps tonight.
He is 6, and he burns dinner, and receives a frying pan to the face. He is then thrown into the cupboard as Aunty, Uncle and Dudley go out to dinner. He is not fed.
He is 7 when the accident happens. Aunty had just allowed him to bathe. Using the rough wire brush and the icy water he had grown accustomed to. He watched sadly as the spots where he had scrubbed a bit too hard had started to bleed, but stared in wonder as the cuts knitted themselves back together. He giggled. And Aunty heard him. She burst into the bathroom and she growled at him. Her eyes immediately going to his bloody arm, and she grasped it, digging her nails in. He didn't scream, he only looked with wide fearful eyes. She dunked his arm in the cold bath, and saw no trace of the cuts. She slapped him.
"How dare you?! How dare you do such freakish things beneath my roof!?" She shrieked as she dragged him by the hair to his cupboard. "Wait until Vernon hears of this, you good for nothing, worthless freak!" She slammed the door, locking it. He curled into a ball on the floor, holding back his tears as he stared at the door. He knew Uncle would come in as soon as he got home. He would be angry.
The small boy cowered further into his raggedy blanket as he heard the front door slam, and Aunty runs down the stairs to tattle on him. He didn't understand. What had he done? He didn't mean to make Aunty angry!
Uncle bursts through the door, and the small boy has no choice but to follow 'the drill'. He walked out of the cupboard slowly, and goes to the wall.
He places his feet firmly on the floor. He would not fall. Not again. His ribs panted with agony as the memory passes.
He removes his shirt, feeling Uncle gaze at the 'masterpiece' of scars on his back. He would bleed, and he would scrub all evidence away after.
He places his hands on the wall. He would not move them. Now after last time. He heard the crunch through his memories, and winced.
He heard uncle remove his belt, slowly, savouring every second. He would add new scars to his 'masterpiece'. Aunty shushed a protesting Dudley upstairs. She would sit with him, protecting him from the horrors downstairs. The boy envies him. He wished he would be loved like that.
He put his eyes forward, as Uncle takes a deep breath. He clenched his muscles in preparation. It hurts more, but he will not fall.
The first lash lands and the boy grit his teeth. But he does not cry out. Uncle smiles, but the boy does not see it. The next lash falls, and the boy hears it rip his skin. He still does not cry out. He grips the wall. He will not move. He clenches his legs. He will not fall.
He feels the familiar sensation of blood dribbling down his back. It is thick, stick and hot. He hopes it will not stain. The next lash happens, but this time it hits his neck. He bites his tongue, praying that the pain there would relieve him of the pain of the lashes. He tastes copper.
Uncle's smile disappears. He was certain that that would make the piece of shit scream. He removes the belt from his hand, and flips it around. The buckle is no longer clenched in his fist. The buckle slams down, and this time he is certain his teeth go through his tongue. He feels a tickle, and he no longer tastes copper.
He gets 20 more lashes, and now Uncle is panting. He is done, and the boy is kicked onto the ground.
"Clean this up," Uncle growls before he lumbers off. The boy sets to work.
This happens more and more, until after a month, it is almost a daily occurrence. Anything the boy does wrong, deserves a beating. The boy knows his uncle enjoys it. He learned that when he is 7. Uncle starts laughing as he does it, calling it his masterpiece in loving tones, but he stays away from the boy's face and neck. No one must know of his guilty pleasure.
When he is 8, it happens again. Worse than ever before. This time he is beaten until he is nearly unconscious, then dumped outside in the cold winter snow. He is thankful. The snow numbs his wounds as it quickly turns red and mushy. He is tired. So very, very tired. He closes his eyes, wishing for the pain to end. For everything to end. He shivers. He is only in his shorts. Uncle had wanted to extend his 'masterpiece' to his legs. He is wet, and very, very cold.
He had always liked the snow. When he would shovel the driveways, the cold would numb his injuries. His fingers were wrong, and at weird angles, and it hurt to shovel, but he did it anyways.
This time though. He wasn't sure he liked it. It was red. It was leaving evidence to what Uncle had done. And he was cold. He had never been this cold. He opens his eyes and looks at his hands. They are slowly turning blue, and he can't feel them. He sighs and closes his eyes. He stays like that a while. He hears a sharp, loud crack in the night. He tries to open his eyes, but he can't. He is too tired.
He hears a gate open. It doesn't occur to his sluggish mind that it is the gate to Aunty and Uncle's back yard. He was visible. Uncle was caught. He hears a gasp, and feels the pounding of running feet. He feels the feet stop beside him, and he knows someone is crouched beside him. The eight year old attempts to move away, but his limbs only move a bit. He feels heavy, and slow. He hears a shushing.
"You're going to be alright," a man whispers soothingly to him, and he is gently lifted up. He wants to cry out, but he doesn't. He doesn't think it was uncle, but he can't be sure. He blacks out soon after.
~~~
Severus Snape had received a call from Dumbledore. Apparently Harry Potter's watcher had had a 'nasty feeling' that night. She had felt something was wrong. He rolled his eyes and disapparated from Spinner's end, and apparated to the Dursley home. He pulled his wand. Dark magic was about. Something was very wrong. The car to number 4, Privet Drive was missing, so he cast an Alohomora, and let himself into the house. He was horrified at what he found. The dark magic was concentrated in the living room. He walked into it, and felt sick. Blood splattered the walls, and pooled on a carpet. He left the room. No one was in there. He went out to the hallway and saw that the cupboard under the stairs was wide open, but the door is what caught him off guard. It had about 4 locks on it. Strong locks. He went around the house. As far as he could tell no one was home, but he had found a trail of dark magic. He followed it. It lead him to the back door, but it would not open, it was barred from the other side. He rushes to the front yard, and through to the back garden. What he found there sickened him more.
A small boy was laying in the snow, so pale he was a translucent blue. He was laying in a pool of red slush, and he was in nothing but shorts. Snape ran over to him as quick as he could, and kneeled next to the small child. He looked at his forehead, already certain of his identity by the flashbacks his appearance caused. There was no mistake. The boy, who was too small for his age, was Harry Potter.
Harry tried to inch away and he shushed the frightened child. He wrapped his arms around him, reassuring him. The child was tensed up, but he went limp pretty quick. Snape bites his lip, unsure of what to do. He isn't sure the child can handle apparition, but at this point it is the quickest option.
He tucks the child under his cloak in an attempt to warm him, and disapparates. He lands in Spinner's end, and hustles inside. He puts the small child on the bed, and breaks out any salves he can get his hands on.
~~~
The boy wakes up. He is groggy and sore, but he is quick. He notices that he is in a different house. He had never been in a bed before, comfortable and warm. He opens his eyes and he notices that there is someone he doesn't know on the chair near the bed. He jumps up quickly and stands, backing away. He does not cry out.
The man jumps up, but does not move closer to the boy. He kneels and looks at him. "I'm not going to hurt you Harry, I promise," he said slowly. The boy tilted his head.
"Who's Harry?" he asked tentatively, unsure if he could ask questions. Aunty had never let him.
Snape feels rage. The child doesn't even know his own name!
"You are," he said simply. Harry shook his head.
"You're wrong."
"Then what is your name?" Snape asks tentatively.
Harry bites his lip and thinks for a moment. "It depends on the day," he said carefully, "Freak mostly, but 'piece of shit' sometimes."
Snape is disgusted, but quickly stops dwelling on that as he watches Harry continue backing up. "Are you hungry Harry?" he asks.
"No," he answered, but Snape knows it's a lie. He can see it in the boy's eyes.
"When was the last time you ate?"
"Three days ago."
"Then you must be hungry."
"No."
Snape is confused, and he conjures up a bowl of porridge. "Eat this."
Harry dives in and eats it all as fast as he can.
"It seems like you were hungry to me."
"Maybe a little," Harry answers, eyes staring at the ground.
"Then why did you refuse?"
"Aunty says never to ask anything. She hurts me if I do."
Snape nodded. "I won't hurt you Harry." He stands and tries to move closer to the boy, he doesn't move away, but he tenses up. Snape sits in front of him on the floor, and tells him to sit. Harry complies, a bit tentatively. For some reason he trusted the man. He knew he shouldn't, but he did.
"May I look at your injuries?" he asks calmly. Harry shakes his head. Uncle would get caught! Uncle told him he would kill him if he showed anyone!
"Why not?" Snape asked.
"Uncle will be angry! You'll ruin his masterpiece!" the boy cries out before he can stop himself. He winces. Oops.
Snape feels the fury in his chest again. Masterpiece? That disgusted him.
"Harry, I have been tending to your injuries for about a week. Let me see them," he said. Harry looked afraid.
"You've seen it?" he asked, terrified. Snape nods and Harry tenses up. Uncle would kill him. If Aunty didn't first for being gone so long.
"Please sir, I have to go back home," he said carefully making a B-line for the door. Snape shook his head.
"You are not going back there Harry. I won't allow it. You almost died."
Harry shook his head. "No sir. I have to go back. I have chores to do, and I'm sure Aunty and Uncle will be vey worried about me. I'm sure Dudley misses his playmate too," he said sending a fake smile at Snape. He had to make the man not worry about him. He had to make him believe he lived a normal life. If Uncle got caught, he would kill poor Freak.
"Not after what your Uncle did," he said carefully.
"I fell alright? Uncle bumped into me, and he said the bruising made my back look a famous piece of art, that's why he called it a masterpiece!" he said, telling the first lie in his head. He knew it wasn't convincing.
Snape sighed. The boy was stubborn, that was for sure. "Your Aunt and Uncle are already with the police. They were reported by a neighbour who saw you in the yard," Snape said matter of factly. Harry looked at him, paler than before. Uncle would kill him. "You will never have to see them again Harry. They won't hurt you again."
It clicked in Harry's mind then. "Where will I go then?" He asked quietly.
Snape rolled his eyes. "Here Harry. That is what I have been trying to tell you."
~~~
Freak couldn't believe his ears. He didn't have to go back? Aunty and Uncle would never see him again. He fell to the floor and started pinching himself. The man grabbed his arms, and he held back a flinch. He had to tense up his arms a lot to prevent it though.
"This isn't a dream Harry," the tall man said, holding his arms tightly. Freak just stared at him.
"My name isn't Harry," he said again. The man shook his head. "Yes it is. Even if it wasn't wouldn't it be better than those other names?"
The man had a point. It was a nicer name. Harry. He liked it. He smiled a bit.
"Now Harry, may I see your injuries?" the man asked again. Harry shook his head.
"Why?"
"Uncle will be mad." he said.
"Your uncle will not hurt you Harry. He won't even be able to find you."
Harry thought for a second about it. If that was true, why shouldn't he show the man then. He turned around, and stood up.
~~~
Snape had decided it would be best if he took in Harry. He hadn't particularly wanted to, but being a death eater, no one would suspect he had him, and being head of Slytherin he knew about abused kids. The abused ones always ended up in his house, as it took so much cunning to hid the abuse from others. He sighed and looked at Harry's back.
It was covered in old scars, purple bruises and cuts and welts. Many of the cuts and bruises had healed but a lot of them were deeper than the others. They would need more time, and salve. The scars would take forever to fix. He would be able to bring the boy to Pomfrey though, now. He was moving around, so he would be strong enough to apparate. Pomfrey would have to deal with any internal damage. Snape wasn't that good.
He stood up with a groan. "OK Harry. I need you to grab my hand, we are going to see a medi-witch now. She will be able to help you further," he explained.
"Witch?" Harry asked, cocking his head.
"Yes a magical woman," Snape said irritatedly.
Harry paled. "You said the M word."
Snape looked at him. "The M word?" He asked confused.
"Ma- ma- magic," Harry said hurriedly, before flinching. Of course. He had known Petunia. He should have known he would do this.
"Yes Harry magic. It is very real, and it is not bad. You and I are magic, and it is nothing to fear," he said calmly. Harry looked at him in disbelief.
"Prove it," he whispered.
Snape made the bowl that had had Harry's porridge in it float. Obviously he had been to preoccupied to see him conjure originally. Harry's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
"Believe me now?" he asked. Harry nodded dumbly. Snape smirked.
"Now grab my hand. This will be unpleasant, but I will try to take the brunt of the apparition," he said. Snape then proceeded to lift the too light boy into his arms, and they apparated to Hogsmeade.