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Having something wonderful, only to get it ripped out of his hands the moment he started to enjoy it was the cruellest trick of fate Harry has ever experienced. At 11 (almost 12, he corrected himself, he was almost 12, with his birthday being only a few days away), he was grown-up enough to know attending Hogwarts was the best thing to have ever happened to him.
Shame he had to go back to Dursleys to see it.
No, it wasn't true at all — he knew it the minute he set foot in the Diagon Alley and saw what magic, true magic, was capable of, but the disbelief stopped him from fully embracing it. Then his teacher tried to kill him and Harry had to go back to—
“Boy!” Aunt Petunia squeaked from downstairs, prompting Harry to sigh. She sounded more high-strung than usual, but he chalked it up to her being worried about Dudley not passing his classes. The letter regarding his situation came early this week, having been lost at the post for the better part of the summer holidays. It was a welcome change, to see his Aunt and Uncle pick at Dudley for a change. “Boy, come here!”
He pushed his parchment he'd been working on to the side and covered it with his pillow, wincing when he remembered the ink had not yet dried. She'd be furious when she found out, he knew, but there was nothing Harry could do to remedy that.
She wasn't inviting him to a meal or anything else even remotely pleasant; ever since he'd come back, Harry was delegated to more dignified (but still cumbersome) tasks, like preparing meals for the whole family. It wasn't anything he hadn't done before, but at least now he wasn't required to swipe the chimney twice a day.
He looked longingly towards the pile of letters stashed under one of the floorboards. The space was bursting with parchments big and small, all letters from his friends and schoolmates.
He wished he could respond to them all. Some owls stayed with him for a little while, but never long enough for him to actually send anything through. It didn’t help that his Aunt and Uncle (and sometimes Dudley too) were very keen on shooing the animals away with increasing hostility. This morning, just before he got to dinner, he even got another letter from Hogwarts —brought not by the usual owl but by a sombre, smaller one with dark feathers and huge yellow eyes — but was yet to take a peak at it. The address was written in a different handwriting to Professor McGonagall’s careful script. It seemed familiar, but Harry couldn’t quite put a finger on where he’d seen it before.
At least he wasn’t still living in the cupboard under the stairs.
“Boy, come here this instant!”
“I’m coming!” he yelled back, cringing at how loud his voice sounded. Aunt Petunia would surely comment on this, and not in a humorous way.
Before leaving, Harry reached out through the bars of Hedwig’s cage and the owl butted her head on his fingers. After so many weeks of not being able to fly, she surely must have started to grow irritated, but by some miracle she only screeched at him a few times, and never at night.
“Be strong, Hedwig. Soon we’ll be back home,” he said to her in hushed tones. He wasn’t sure which of them needed to hear it more.
As it turned out, Aunt Petunia didn’t want him to prepare her dinner. In fact, she didn’t want him to do any chores at all.
She wanted him to come downstairs because there was a Wizard sitting in their living room, sipping a cup of hot tea from Aunt Petunia’s favourite set. Harry knew he must have been a Wizard and not a Muggle, because he was wearing a long black robe which pooled at his feet as he sat in Uncle Vernon’s favourite chair.
Harry also knew he was a Wizard, because the man in his Aunt and Uncle’s house was Professor Severus Snape, the Potions' teacher from Hogwarts.
“Good evening, Harry,” Professor Snape said, with his usual expression of dissatisfaction painted on his sullen face. “Nice of you to finally join us.”
“What are you doing here?” Harry barked, to the alarm of his Aunt.
“Mind your tongue!” Aunt Petunia looked faint, big splotches of red blossoming on her cheeks. She was keeping her hands on her lap, but Harry could clearly see how white her knuckles were.
“No, no, it’s the first sensible question he’s asked in his life.” Professor Snape put down his teacup on the saucer, the porcelain clicking when he did so. “I’m here on Hogwarts business.”
“Well, then, I will have no part in this magic business.” Aunt Petunia made to stand up, but one withering look from Professor Snape was enough to stop her.
“Please, stay. You’ll want to be here for this conversation.” He motioned for Harry to take a seat next to him. Usually, he wasn’t allowed to sit on the expensive furniture, but seeing as his Aunt didn’t object, Harry took a chance and tried the armchair Professor Snape pointed at. It wasn’t as comfortable as he’d thought it would be, with springs sticking out and poking at his behind, but it was miles better than sitting on the cold hard ground. His feet hovered over the floor when he finally settled and got almost swallowed by the uncomfortable armchair.
For a moment no one spoke.
It was weird. Professor Snape wasn’t supposed to be, well, not nice, but— civil. Calm. And, most definitely, he wasn’t supposed to be in Dursleys’s house, sipping on tea and eating biscuits.
“Will your husband be joining us?” There was barely disguised resentment in Professor Snape’s voice, but a different than he showed Harry usually. This was cold, calculated kind of hatred Harry’s seen in his Aunt sometimes when she looked at him. It made Harry want to go back to his room and bury himself in the ratty bed.
“No. I will not have Vernon partake in any more magic.” She scoffed. “Besides, it’s a workday. Do you take him for a wastrel? My dear husband is a respected member of the society—”
“Fine,” Professor Snape interrupted her with a shrug. “I only need one of you to sign this.”
“Sign what—?”
With one masterful flick of his wrist, Professor Snape summoned his wand directly to his hand — or maybe the wand was already in his hand? — and then repeated the motion, this time adding a few more moves. He stayed silent throughout, and Harry couldn’t recall ever seeing a spell with a motion similar to what Professor Snape did.
He didn’t have to wonder what the spell did for long, however, because almost immediately a long scroll of parchment appeared on the coffee table between Aunt Petunia and Professor Snape, blinking into existence with a small puff of smoke.
He cleared his throat and begun reading, “It has come to the attention of our Board that one of our student’s living conditions leave a lot to be desired. You have been accused of significant child neglect and child abuse. What is more, the Board finds it unacceptable you have knowingly held back information crucial to your ward’s development—”
“We gave him the best chance at life, without all this magic nonsense—”
“You kept me in the cupboard under the stairs—”
The lights in the living room flickered and went off as Professor Snape looked up at Aunt Petunia. He no longer seemed calm; instead, Harry saw fury on the man’s face the likes of which he’s never seen before. Usually Professor was calm when talking with other adults, but something Aunt Petunia said must have angered him more than any of Harry’s words ever could.
“You will not interrupt me.” This was more like the Professor Snape Harry knew from Hogwarts. Even so, seeing his anger directed by another person was— weird. Even weirder was the fact that Professor Snape, someone who was so intent on destroying Harry during his first year, seemed to… protect Harry from his own Aunt.
“I- I will—” Aunt Petunia stuttered, lost for words. Suddenly, Professor Snape flicked his wand again, and the lights lit up again.
“Now, as I was saying. The Board has come to a conclusion it will be in our student’s, Harry Potter’s, best interest to find him a home that would be more conductive to his development as a Wizard. Furthermore, all the monetary compensation paid so far to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley for the upbringing of one Harry Potter, should be returned to the Ministry at your earliest convenience, for it has become clear they did not utilise the funds in the way benefiting their ward.
“With that being said, the student in question shall be place elsewhere, in the care of a guardian hailing from the Wizarding Community, and one bound by a magical contract that will keep them from harming their ward.”
“They… they got paid to raise me?” Harry felt as if he was struck by the Confundus Charm. The words Professor Snape said, they made no sense.
At the same time, Aunt Petunia yelled, “You’ve no right!” It surprised Harry. Was Aunt Petunia actually opposed to the Ministry — or, Hogwarts? — taking Harry away? Her next words cooled his excitement. “We earned that money. Don’t you know what we’ve suffered, raising that little freak?”
If that was even possible, the room grew even colder than before. The lights, previously lit by Professor Snape, began to flicker again, this time with more intensity. It seemed to Harry like the room was shaking, but when he glanced outside, nothing looked out of place.
Suddenly, Professor Snape was on his feet, towering over Aunt Petunia similarly to how Hagrid leaned over everyone, only with the potions’ master it was much more menacing.
“Having magic does not make us freaks.” His voice was cold and simultaneously booming and a whisper. “I remember the things you said to Lily all those years ago. Every insult, every wrongdoing.”
“What?” Aunt Petunia sounded like Professor Snape had punched her right in the stomach, even though they were at least two meters apart. “Who are— Wait. Are you that friend she made up?”
“Oh, I am very much real, and I will be taking Harry whether you like it or not, so we can either do it peacefully, or,” he held out his wand in front of himself, “not. If I knew how you treated Lily’s son, I would have never agreed to— It doesn’t matter. He will be living with me now, so sign that parchment and scram.”
Harry expected Aunt Petunia to put out more of a fight, but she meekly picked up the quill, signing her name in splotchy letters. Then, without a word, she left the room without even sparing a look towards Harry.
Professor Snape made the parchment disappear and turned to Harry.
“I know I’ve hurt you, and I apologise for that. I— I was stupid and fuelled by anger. After, you can choose who you want to live with. I’m sure the Weasleys or whoever, will be ecstatic to take you in. I was blind sided by many things. Many people. I— I don’t expect you to forgive me, but your situation… It cannot go on like that. I thought you were raised with the same care and love Lily would have provided you with. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner. I… I suppose I should have asked you first, but my temper got the better of me. Being here, with her, made me remember how awful she was to Lily when they were young. So, Harry, would you like to leave?”
Harry nodded, unsure what to say. He was angry, at Professor Snape, for suddenly being nice, at Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon for hurting him for so many years. At himself, for almost giving up.
He knew one thing very well — even if living with Professor Snape was awful, it would still beat whatever the Dursleys threw at him. “Yes.”
Aunt Petunia was gone by the time they made their way down, all of Harry’s possessions made smaller and stuffed inside a bag Professor Snape produced from one of his many pockets. In Harry’s hand, there was only a cage with Hedwig, and his wand, which he promptly tucked away in his back pocket.
Together, they walked out of the front door, with no one to stop them or say goodbye to.
“Does Dumbledore know of this?” Harry whispered, hating how shaky his voice sounded. “I begged him when the school year ended. I went to him and asked if I could stay. He said no.”
Professor Snape regarded him with a less withering look than usual, but said nothing of Harry interrupting him. It almost seemed like he cared what Harry had to say. “He knows. I didn’t get him the chance to say ‘no’ the second time. You— you don’t deserve that. Lily didn’t deserve that.”
Harry still didn’t trust the man, but hearing him say all those things about his mother— He thought he understood him just a bit better.
“You knew my mum?” he asked, hoping Professor Snape wouldn’t grow angry at him for asking.
Professor Snape nodded and swallowed, and when he spoke next, his voice sounded rough, “Yes. We were… we were friends, once upon the time.” He extended his hand to Harry. The movement was slow, hesitant, like he was afraid that Harry would bite him. “Now, let me take you home.”
“Okay.”
For some reason, as he was leaving Privet Drive 4 behind, Harry felt lighter than ever.