Chapter Text
Harry knew very little about his parents. What little he knew came from what his aunt had told him, but something, or someone, a voice in his head, kept telling him it was a lie, that his aunt and uncle only wanted to hurt him. That what they said about his parents being drunkards who died in a car crash was false.
And Harry, five years old, decided to believe that voice, that thought, or that intuition. Just like when that same voice, or premonition, or whatever it was, told him to go up to the cupboard and look for things that had belonged to his parents. That there was a box labeled Lily and James, crossed out and replaced with freaks in what looked like furious handwriting.
Harry, once again, listened. He went to the cupboard when his aunt, uncle, and cousin were out, and searched through the boxes. He found photographs and many books, apparently his parents’ personal diaries.
Harry stared at two photographs. In the first, there were four young people sitting together on a sofa in a warm and relaxed setting. On the left was a person with shoulder-length black curly hair, covered in tattoos, wearing a black band T-shirt (Harry thought he looked like the kind of young people Vernon and Petunia called delinquents). He was looking at the others with an amused expression, holding a glass with some kind of drink in his hand. In the center was a young man with dark brown curly hair, so messy it looked like a bird’s nest (Harry couldn’t help raising a hand to his own hair, it looked a lot like his). He wore glasses and was reclining comfortably in a red shirt and jeans. He was smiling broadly, as if enjoying the moment. Beside him was a red-haired young woman in a yellow dress, leaning against or embracing the brown-haired boy affectionately while looking at him tenderly. And on the far right was another young man with light brown hair, wearing glasses and green striped clothes, reading a book. But what caught Harry’s attention most were the scars decorating his face. (Harry touched his own scar, the one shaped like a lightning bolt.)
He couldn’t help smiling. He turned the photograph over and saw their names written there, along with nicknames: James (Prongs), Sirius (Padfoot), Remus (Moony), Lily (Little Flower), and the date: December 21, 1978.
In the second photograph, it looked as though it had been taken in secret, because it showed the brown-haired boy with glasses and the red-haired girl dancing outdoors while leaves fell around them. On the back of the photograph, their names were written again, along with the date: October 31, 1978.
Harry carried the box back to his cupboard. It was covered in dust, so he thought his aunt would not notice. It was the only box there. Inside his cupboard, he picked up the first diary he grabbed and opened it. His eyes widened in surprise, because it spoke of magic, of a school called Hogwarts, things his aunt and uncle never stopped saying did not exist and that he was crazy for mentioning. Harry kept reading, completely absorbed, until he reached a page that seemed to be the last one written in the diary. It was dated the very day of his birthday, July 31.
July 31, 1981
It’s your first birthday, Bambie. It is a truly happy day for all of us.
Right now, I’m writing this in your room while your father and Sirius are giving you your first toy broomstick, and Remus is trying to keep the three of you under control without going mad (which I think is impossible). But still, I can hear your laughter from here.
Harry, my Bambie, we are in a delicate moment right now, and I don’t know how old you’ll be when you read this, but I’m sure you’ll know why. I’m sure we will have told you everything once you were old enough.
I just want to tell you that, in case you are ever in danger and none of the four of us are near you, there is a protection spell that will take you somewhere safe. We have set it to Gringotts, to the office of our account manager, Bogrod; Hogwarts, to Minerva McGonagall’s office, or Severus Snape’s office, or even Severus’s house.
James doesn’t know about that last one. He never got along with Severus. But he was my best friend throughout my childhood and much of my adolescence. We fought and grew apart, something I truly regret. But I am sure he would take care of you if I were not there. He may seem rather harsh and serious at first, but deep down, very deep down, like an onion, beneath all those layers, there is a heart.
Well, all you have to do is hold the pendant on the necklace we gave you and say, “I wish to be in a safe place,” and it should work.
I love you very much, my Bambie.
Your guardian angel.
Harry searched through the box. The necklace was not there. There was no necklace. And he began to cry. He wanted so badly to be in a safe place, to be with his parents, with those people who, according to the diaries and the photographs, had been his parents’ friends: Sirius, Remus, and Severus. He wanted so badly to be somewhere else, somewhere safe.
There was one week left until his sixth birthday, and he already knew what would happen. His aunt and uncle would give Dudley a “Second Birthday,” with cake and dozens of presents, while he, Harry, the actual birthday boy, would get the leftovers and, if he was lucky, perhaps some broken toy Dudley had lost interest in.
Harry clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his skin. Tears fell silently onto the open pages of the diary in his lap, leaving small dark stains on Lily’s ink.
He wished to be in a safe place.
He wished it with all his heart.
But nothing happened. Until a week later, on his birthday itself, when he performed his birthday ritual: drawing a cake in the dust and blowing out the imaginary candles. Making his wish: I want to be in a safe place.
As he was drifting off to sleep, he heard a click, and the cupboard door beneath the stairs opened. Harry ignored it at first, thinking it was only his imagination.
But he was very wrong.
Harry.
Bambie.
He heard two voices at the same time. Harry shook his head, barely able to move through the haze of sleep. Had he really heard a voice saying his name? His relatives never called him by his name. To them, he was always simply boy or freak.
Pup.
Harry shook his head again slowly, trying to sleep. For a moment, he swore he saw reddish hair and brown hair. As if both of them were reaching out their hands to him. Had Petunia been right? Had he finally gone mad?
Bambie, it’s time to wake up.
Harry sat up, his stomach growling with hunger.
My little one.
Harry looked up and saw the faces from the photograph he had hidden away. Lily and James, his parents. Their two hands reached for him again, and he took them without thinking.
Harry felt as though he were being sucked through a very narrow rubber tube. Dizziness and nausea overtook him before he heard a loud crack that surely woke the entire Dursley family.
Severus Snape woke with a jolt. It was a nightmare, one of many that tormented him during the nights. In many of them Lily appeared, blaming him for everything and telling him she hated him. He tried to lie back down and return to sleep. On his bedside table sat a vial of Draught of Peace, a calming potion normally used to relieve anxiety and nervousness, but he did not want to depend on it, just as he refused to depend on the Sweet Dreams potion.
But he listened to his instincts and went downstairs to the sitting room, and nearly swore his soul left his body. He did not know how he did not faint from shock.
James and Lily Potter, their spirits, were standing in his sitting room. Severus swore it was a cruel trick of fate mocking him. He stood frozen in the doorway, one hand gripping the stair rail so tightly his knuckles turned white.
For one second, only one, he thought he had died.
The room lay in shadow, lit only by moonlight spilling through the window. And there, beside the sofa, stood them.
Lily.
James.
Lily was exactly as he remembered her, no...she was better. There was no trace of fear, no trace of despair, only that warmth of hers, that light he had always wanted beside him. She looked at him with affection, with an affection he did not deserve. And beside her stood James, just as irritating as he remembered.
“This is a cruel joke,” Severus muttered, his voice low and rough. “A hallucination.”
“Sev,” Lily said softly.
Severus shook his head. That nickname. His heart gave a painful lurch. “Don’t call me that,” he spat, more from reflex, a way to protect himself, than conviction. “You are not her.”
James rolled his eyes. “What a welcome, Snivellus. I see the years haven’t improved your temper.”
“James!” Lily scolded, nudging him lightly with her elbow.
Severus narrowed his eyes. He was beginning to believe this was real. “No one can be as insufferable as you, James Potter. This must be real,” he muttered, exasperated. “Even as ghosts, you remain unbearable, Potter.”
But then he noticed it.
Something else.
Something smaller.
A slight movement behind them.
And then he saw him.
Something small, thin to the point of concern, dressed in clothes far too large and worn. Messy black hair, crooked glasses, and the scar, the cursed scar.
“Severus,” Lily said with a serenity that hurt. “We need your help.”
James sighed. “Just forget the hatred you bear me. I can set aside my dignity and beg you on my knees.”
Severus blinked, startled, once again wondering if all of this was a dream.
Lily approached slowly. “Sev, we have little time. Thanatos has only allowed us to cross the veil for a few hours. I need you to take care of Harry.”
Severus ignored James’s presence and looked at his former best friend, his former love. “Dumbledore told me he was in a safe place.”
Lily took Severus’s hands gently. Severus was startled to find them warm. “He lied to you, Sev. Harry was with Petunia. She was not caring for him properly.”
Severus looked at the child sleeping in one of his armchairs. There was an old bruise fading on him and one cheek was reddened.
“I’m going to kill Petunia,” James and Severus growled at the same time.
Lily laughed, looking at them both. They were so alike and so different at once. “First, James, you are already dead.”
“Then I’ll come back just for that.”
Lily chose to ignore him and turned to Severus. “Sev, I want you to take care of Harry. I named you his guardian if we were gone, because I knew that even if you hated James, you could still care for Harry.” Lily sighed, knowing her time to explain everything was running out. “Go to Gringotts, and read our will.”
Severus blinked, tightening his hold on Lily’s hands to make sure she was truly there. “How are you here?”
“Thanatos allowed us to cross the veil for a few hours,” Lily said again, understanding that Severus, in shock, was not entirely focused.
James chose to remain silent in the background while he draped a blanket over Harry, who was asleep.
“Severus, please,” Lily begged, just as she and James began to fade. “Tell him that we love him,” she asked, before turning to Harry and kissing him on the forehead before vanishing.
James kissed his son on the forehead as well, and seeing that he too was beginning to disappear, he faced Severus. “Before I go, Severus, I must apologize for everything I did to you. I was wrong, and I know an apology changes nothing, but I beg you, forget your hatred of me and take care of Harry.” He pleaded, and just as he had promised, he did so on his knees before disappearing.
Severus remained there, still and silent, not knowing what to do, with his heart broken all over again, with the sensation that he had once more lost his best friend. He stood motionless for several seconds after the room had gone empty.
The silence Lily and James left behind was worse than any scream. It weighed upon the walls, upon the air, upon his chest. He could still feel the warmth of Lily’s hands clasping his. He could still hear Potter’s voice, astonishingly sincere, asking forgiveness.
And there was Harry.
Sprawled sideways, the blanket badly arranged, breathing lightly.
Severus moved forward slowly, fearing that if he made any sound Harry would wake, or that this was only the beginning of a nightmare, and Lily would reappear screaming that she was dead because of him.
A tremor of rage went through him.
“Safe place,” he growled with contempt. “Old manipulative fool.”
For these now six years, he had trusted that phrase.
He is protected.
Lie.
Harry stirred in his sleep.
“No... don’t take it away... it’s mine,” Harry murmured dreamily.
Severus frowned.
The boy was clutching something tightly in his hands.
Severus took it carefully, making sure not to wake Harry.
It was an old photograph, wrinkled with age, a photograph taken by surprise by Marlene McKinnon.
It was him and Lily, in their fourth year, long before he had ruined everything.
In the picture, the two of them could be seen carrying stacks of books in their arms, on their way to the library to study.
On the back, written in ink, were the words: Sev and Lily, best friends.
Severus murmured the words under his breath as he read them.
His chest burned with an unbearable mixture of pain and nostalgia.
Harry’s eyes flew open.
He sat upright like a spring, breathing quickly, looking around in panic.
“Mum! Dad!”
Severus froze.
Harry’s green eyes filled with fear. “I’m sorry, sir, I...” Harry began to stammer. “Where are they? My parents, they brought me here.”
Severus inhaled, uncomfortable. “Er... they had to leave. I am... Severus. A friend of your mother’s,” he said, notably awkward.
Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re Mum’s friend! In her diary it said you were like an onion, lots of layers and then a heart. She said you’d take care of me!”
Severus turned away sharply before he said something either unforgivable or intolerably soft.
“You are not going back to the Dursleys.”
Harry jerked his head up. “I’m not?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Do not test my patience with redundant questions.”
Harry went still, processing it. Then he asked in a whisper, “Can I... stay here?”
Severus looked around the house as if he suddenly hated it. His house was not fit for a child. But it was better than Privet Drive. Severus kept studying it carefully, already imagining childcare wards, protective charms on the doors, especially on his laboratory, and on the kitchen drawers that contained dangerous utensils.
He was already making a mental list of everything he would need. He lowered his gaze to the child, who was staring at him with those impossible green eyes.
“Temporarily,” he growled, pretending not to notice the boy’s smile.
He tried to step closer, but Harry gripped the arms of the sofa with all his strength. Severus instead sat down on the sofa beside him.
“I am not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice unexpectedly soothing to the small child curled into the armchair, clutching the blanket tightly.
Harry studied him carefully. This man looked a lot like one of the photographs he had found, the same photograph the man was now holding in his hand.
“My parents told me you would look after me,” Harry murmured. “That you were Mum’s friend.”
The voice inside his head said so too.
Trust him. He protected you.
Harry swallowed. He was not sure he trusted anyone; trusting meant expecting something good and then finding out it was not true. But that strange voice had never lied to him. It had told him his aunt and uncle were lying. His parents, his angels, had guided him to the box. They had brought him here.
Severus, meanwhile, observed every small movement.
The boy’s back was rigid, shoulders raised, as though he expected a blow. He never took his eyes off Severus’s hands. When Severus moved one arm slightly to place the photograph on the table, Harry recoiled as far as he could.
A cold fury ran through Severus, filling him with a desire for vengeance. But he ended up sighing, trying to calm himself.
“I am not going to hurt you. Your parents were right.”
“I... I didn’t mean to be a bother.”
“Well, what a tragedy. You already have. You are in my sitting room.”
Harry lowered his eyes, but the tiniest smile appeared on his mouth.
Severus felt something uncomfortable in his chest.
Merlin.
The boy found comfort in sarcasm.
That was Lily’s fault. Or Potter’s. Probably both.
“Soren,” Severus said, summoning one of his personal house-elves with a single word.
There was a crack of displaced air, and then Soren stood before them. Harry jumped in fright, hiding behind the sofa.
“Master Snape, what does you desire? Oh!” the little elf squeaked sharply. “There is a little master!” he squealed again in delight. “The little master is very thin!”
Severus sighed. “Silence, both of you,” he ordered. “Harry, Soren is a house-elf. Have you never seen one? I suppose not, judging by your reaction.”
“Soren will make food! The little master needs to eat. Master Severus does not need to say anything. Soren will make chicken soup, vegetables on the side, and fish. Soren will also prepare a room for the little master. Master Severus needs to go shopping for proper clothes for the little master.”
And with that, Soren disappeared again, after ordering Severus to go shopping.
The first weeks were difficult. Severus tried to earn Harry’s trust. Harry, though he knew he could trust him, still kept running away and hiding food. Severus also had to convince him several times that magic was real. He had to stretch what little patience he possessed, enduring the sight of Soren and Harry seeming to have formed an alliance against him.
But little by little, each of them began to break down the wall they had built. It all started with a nightmare Harry had one night.
Something that made the cold, frozen heart of Severus Snape begin to melt.
Severus knew feelings were not his strength, and he was not about to admit that he was growing attached, that he was beginning to see Harry as a son.
That was something he would never admit.
