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Author's Note: I'm going ahead and posting another one! Note: I have been trying to only post completed stories on Ao3 and this one is a WIP. I intend to finish it, but don't expect daily updates like with my other stories on this platform.
Enjoy and let me know your thoughts!
A high-pitched alarm sounded through the Potions Master’s quarters like a banshee attempting to wake the dead.
Severus Snape jolted awake and grimaced, his head pounding. Perhaps he should have chosen a less jarring noise to alert him to miscreants wandering the halls past curfew…
Pinching the bridge of his nose and willing the pounding headache away, he silently admitted he didn’t mind having been wrenched from his last dream - a particularly unpleasant one of his days as a spy (happily, those days were behind him as of a few months previous).
He tapped into the alert to see it was coming from the astronomy tower. Whichever student was foolish enough to be up at - he cast a quick tempus charm...2am! - had apparently fancied a bit of stargazing.
Snape's annoyance heightened as he considered it would have been more useful to have been jolted from his other dream that night - a dream that was somehow more harrowing to him even than recollections of being tortured while playing lapdog to the evil dark wizard.
His more disturbing dream was less gory but held a special place in his heart for being mortifying and unbearable, filling him with helplessness and guilt.
For once again, he had dreamed of that day in his fifth year…the day he had called his truest and closest friend, the only woman he'd ever loved, that word. And of course, it was always pleasant to see the sneering faces of a young Black and Potter again.
Potter. An evil smirk stole its way onto Severus' face at the thought of what he would do to the Brat-who-lived if he were the one who had decided on a nighttime stroll.
With a quick wave of his wand, Snape had donned his usual black, flowing robes. He then flew from his quarters, following the quickest path up to the astronomy tower.
He smirked as he imagined various scenarios that might await him, becoming more certain of the identity of the trespasser the closer he got. For who else but Potter would be bold and foolish enough to test Severus Snape like this?
No doubt the brat would be under his invisibility cloak, perhaps with his little fan club in tow, deeming it their right to wander the castle halls at any hour if sleep evaded them. Or perhaps they were planning something more sinister - something they would, of course, see as a harmless prank?
After all, that is certainly what the brat’s father would have done. And Potter Junior is no different. Why Dumbledore insists on tormenting me by stubbornly suggesting otherwise escapes me.
Once he had reached the seventh floor, he slowed his pace. Best to stay in the shadows, as was his specialty, for the greatest effect would be made by taking the brat by surprise.
The moment the Professor exited the seventh floor corridor onto the large astronomical observation deck that wound around the tower, he heard an odd noise.
Severus froze to listen better. He had expected the hushed voices of scheming teenagers, but instead heard what sounded like a wounded animal.
He crept closer to the source of the noise and heard muffled whimpers give way, occasionally, to soft, frantic whispers. Human, then, at least in part.
Was he about to witness a young fool’s botched attempt to become an animagus?
Again his thoughts turned to those blasted marauders.
The sounds were coming from a dark little bolthole beneath the winding stairs that led to higher levels of the tower. Remaining still out of sight, Severus peered around and froze.
Harry Potter. Harry bloody Boy-Who-Lived Potter, but not as he expected.
The boy was rocking back and forth, curled into a ball in a way that made him look impossibly small and emitting a constant stream of unintelligible mumbling.
The rocking continued, the boy’s knees bunched up to his chest.
Suddenly the boy changed position and his hands began to frantically tear at his impossibly messy mop of hair.
Severus was hard pressed not to stop the boy from such foolishness but stood by for now, wanting more information before making himself known.
Potter shifted slightly and Severus got a better look at him.
The boy was a mess. He had lost his glasses at some point during this episode and for once his eyes - painfully familiar - were unguarded by those hated frames.
But in truth they shared precious little resemblance to the green eyes Severus remembered at the moment. For they were glassy, unseeing, and filled with an astonishing depth of fear and grief and hopelessness the likes of which he had never seen in Lily's eyes. And seeing those green eyes this way rattled Severus to the core.
Suddenly, the Potions Master realized he no longer felt any particular pleasure at catching the boy after hours. His tormentor's son or not, the bloody bane of his last 5 years as a professor or not, something was terribly wrong.
But what? A curse? A nightmare?
Slowly, Severus crept forward and crouched down before his student. The Gryffindor didn't make any sign to show he had noticed his least favorite professor's presence, and so Snape took a breath and said firmly, "Potter."
At first the boy gave no response. He had resumed his rocking motion and continued to whimper and rock, the only change being in the volume of his whimpers.
"Potter! Potter! Can you hear me?"
For just a moment it seemed as if his words may have reached the boy, but just as quickly, he was back in his trance-like state. Potter was taking quick shallow breaths, and they were getting closer together. Severus wondered if the boy was about to hyperventilate.
A little too roughly, perhaps, Severus grabbed the boy's shoulders and gave them a shake, wondering at how impossibly thin they were. "Potter!" He barked.
This finally got a reaction, but it only served to baffle the Head of Slytherin further.
The Gryffindor had flinched violently before curling in on himself, pressing himself as far back into the dark crevice as was possible.
The way the scrawny arms had moved on their own in a gesture of protection set off alarm bells.
Severus knew that posture. He knew it far too well. But why would the spoiled, pampered son of James Potter respond to a touch that way, regardless of how out of it he was?
Attempting to make his voice less threatening, he tried again. "Potter, I am not going to hurt you. Will you look at me, please?"
Slowly, the dark-haired boy lowered his hands and hesitantly opened his eyes. Those green eyes the Potions Master always tried to ignore were suddenly very much in front of him.
There was a moment of lucidity but it vanished as quickly as it had come.
The boy’s posture shifted again, and he shrank in on himself, somehow making himself even smaller. At that moment, he looked more like a small child than a teenager of his apparent 16 years.
He started to speak, but his tone was soft, fearful and hesitant - not the voice Severus was used to from Potter, but one of a much younger child.
"I'm s-sorry, Uncle Vernon. I didn't mean to sleep so long. I know I need to get up and make breakfast, I just - I had a nightmare a - and-"
Abruptly the boy’s voice turned to frantic, terrified pleas, and he threw himself down on the stone floor. "No! Please! Please stop! I promise I'll be good! I won't touch the couch ever again! I'm-"
Severus stared, aghast, as the boy he had thought he understood (though admittedly, he had made every attempt not to get to know), collapsed into himself in hysterical, wrenching sobs.
"P-Potter, what is the meaning of this?" He rasped.
Again, Potter shrank away and whimpered. But then, he did something which nearly made Severus' heart stop. He turned around and leaned over, bearing his back to the professor, and said softly, hollowly, with the creepily innocent voice of a young child, "Okay, I'm ready, Uncle Vernon."
It couldn't be.
All this time he had assumed, with the way Potter was always so negligent with his homework, the way he talked back, how he always seemed to dissemble and answer in half-truths or simply stubbornly refuse to answer questions…
Severus had seen these behaviors as evidence of the boy’s sense of entitlement, proof positive of the strength of his insufferable father's genes.
But now, suddenly, he could see all of his preconceptions crashing to the ground.
Harry Potter was an abused child. It seemed impossible, and yet, Severus knew the signs too well to deny them.
And he was 16, dammit! How could this have gone on so long? But hadn't Dumbledore missed the signs with him, Severus Snape, as well? But this was different. This was the Boy-who-lived! Of course Dumbledore wouldn't give a damn for the greasy little Slytherin in comparison! But if that was the case, then why had it come to this for this boy, too?
Severus made himself pause to collect his thoughts. The child’s behavior was one thing but what was responsible for it? Perhaps Potter was simply acting out delusions brought on by a curse, not actually revealing his own real experience.
The Potions Master quickly cast a diagnostic spell and what he found was worrying. There was a trace of extremely dark magic on the boy, concentrated entirely in his head, and seemed to be swirling and upsetting the order of the boy's thoughts.
Casting another, more specific spell, Severus’ face darkened in understanding.
This was a curse of insanity, Confundus mens, that worked by two distinct effects that worked together in an insidious way. First, it trapped its victim in a dreamworld, rendering them unable to distinguish dreams from reality, memories from the present. At the same time, it jumbled the order of one’s thoughts and memories so they could not make sense of who they were at any given time.
This curse is unlikely to create false memories. Does that mean Potter was truly…abused?
Severus cast an incantation, a targeted dark magic reversal spell.
Once it should have taken effect, he cast another diagnostic.
He grimaced. His curse counter had succeeded in deactivating the curse so it would not cause additional damage…but the havoc it had already wreaked? His spell did nothing to address that.
And if Potter were left as is, he would certainly go mad, his bright golden future dashed to be replaced by a lifetime of the sterile walls of St. Mungo’s.
Severus knew the only way he might help the boy, and it wasn't with a counter curse or potion. No. He would need to enter the boy's mind and systematically reorder its contents.
He hesitated. Was there any other way?
In order to do this, it meant the entire contents of the boy’s mind - his secrets, his dreams, his every thought - would be on display to him.
To use magic so invasive…if it were not absolutely necessary he would never even consider it. But the boy was declining, he could see, and he had heard many case studies of this curse being used in his own research into dark magic.
He considered apparating with the boy to Albus’ office, for surely it would be easier for the boy to swallow if his beloved Headmaster were the one to examine his thoughts rather than his hated Potions Master?
But something gave Severus pause. His observations from earlier gave way to suspicions. If indeed the boy had been raised in an abusive environment and Albus Dumbledore had done nothing to stop it, had ignored the signs and let it continue for all these years…
Then was he really to be trusted with the full mind of this boy who should have been his responsibility?
No.
Unhappily, Severus was certain the boy was in better hands with him.
In that moment, Severus made a mental promise to himself and to Potter that he would guard the boy’s memories as viciously as he would his own. His personal feelings for the boy were irrelevant.
He would not trespass and then allow those memories to be used as leverage.
He was decided.
But how to get the boy calm enough to let him in?
For such a thing to work, Potter needed to trust him, at least in part, and he sure as hell didn't trust Severus Snape. Why would he?
For the first time, Severus felt a sharp pang of guilt for how he had treated the boy since the day he'd met him. He had judged him for his father's sins and never spared a glance for the boy beneath the obnoxious messy hair and thick-rimmed glasses..
But each moment wasted could be devastating to the boy's sanity. And so, Severus gritted his teeth and tried to make his voice as soft as possible, to do the impossible and get the boy to let him in. Even if it was far too late to forge a bond of trust, he had to. For Lily, he had to try.
"Po-Harry," Severus said, softly and as gently as he could. "Harry, it's okay. I'm not Uncle Vernon. He's not here. Can you turn around and look at me?"
Harry seemed to relax a small bit at the unfamiliarly soft tones and words, but then he shook his head back and forth.
"Harry. Harry, it's Professor Snape."
The boy froze, and his posture straightened. Damn! I should have known that was the wrong thing to say!
"Pro-professor?" Harry asked in a whisper, his tone suggesting disbelief.
"Yes. You're at Hogwarts, on the Astronomy tower. It seems you've been the target of a curse. If you'll just turn around, I can try to reverse the effects…"
Slowly, much to Severus' surprise, the boy turned around to face him. In the light cast by the Potions Master's wand, Severus could see the drying tear tracks on the boy's face, the worried lip, and of course those eyes which were looking at him, not in hatred, but in confusion.
"Pro-professor…S-Snape?" The boy managed.
"Yes, it's me," Severus hurriedly reassured him, for he could see the recognition in the boy's eyes wavering once again - the glassy look threatening to return.
"Harry, I promise you. Those people aren't here. I won't let them hurt you. Now, I need you to listen to me. I'm going to enter your mind, okay?"
But Harry was shaking his head again. "No…hurts…please don't make me go back again…I'll be a good boy. I won't be a freak anymore. I promise, aunt 'Tuney! I didn't mean it, honest!" And he was sobbing once again, shivering in the cold night air and looking utterly lost and small.
The sight snapped something within Severus and before he knew what he was doing, he moved closer to the boy and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder, meaning to be a supportive presence.
Harry froze for an instant, his face a mask of shock, but then his expression relaxed and he looked up hopefully at Severus' face.
His eyes were glazed again. He clearly didn't know who he was seeing, but then he whispered, in still far too child-like a tone, "D-Daddy?"
Severus stiffened and almost pushed him away, but then Harry spoke again, crying. “You came! Did you hear me calling you? I called you and mummy every day, even though Aunt ‘Tuney said you didn’t want me. B-but you’re here now, right? C-Can I please go home with you now? I-it’s so cold in my cupboard…”
Severus was speechless. The look of cautious hope in those eyes burning a hole in him, and he knew the smallest misstep could destroy any hope he had of reaching the child.
The lie tasted like ash, but Severus knew that to deny the boy now would be to forfeit his mind to the curse. For the sake of the mission—for the sake of the boy’s sanity—he gave a stiff, jerky nod.
Suddenly the boy's skinny arms were wrapping insistently around the professor's neck, and the boy was sobbing and laughing into his shoulder. Severus resisted the impulse to flinch and push the boy away. Instead he awkwardly patted the boy’s back.
Severus was frozen in a battle with his feelings. Potter was delirious, and it was his job, as the boy’s Professor, to see him through this safely. But to do so through false pretenses…
The boy had finally calmed down and his breath seemed to have regulated slightly.
Belatedly Severus noticed the boy was ice cold. He quickly transfigured a soft cushion for the boy to lean back against, and a blanket to wrap around him.
“Po-Harry, can you hear me? It’s Professor Snape. Right now, it's hard to tell what is a dream and what isn't, right?"
Listlessly, the boy nodded.
After a curt nod, Severus continued. "I am going to enter your mind and show you reality and fiction. Can you stay as relaxed as you are and let me in without pushing against me? I give you my word that I will keep anything I see between us.”
Again, Harry nodded obediently, and yawned, his eyes half-lidded and said, "Sure, dad."
Severus flinched. It was too much to have hoped his words would have fully reached the boy, but there was nothing to help it.
Gently positioning the boy to look at him, he looked into those half-glazed eyes and said firmly, "Legilimens!"
Torrents of images passed him, and emotions to accompany them. Some passed by them quickly, but others seemed to have been pulled out of the river of memories, stuck playing on repeat.
Severus pushed into one of these.
Before him was darkness. A moment later, light flooded the space as a door was yanked open roughly.
“Get in there, freak!” A monstrously large man, his face purple with anger tossed a tiny child into what appeared to be a broom closet.
"Next time you want to eat, you'll make sure not to burn our damn dinner, you hear? Don't expect anything until I say so and don’t think your sniveling will have any effect on me. Remember you brought this on yourself. Your aunt and I give you a roof over your head, we give you more than you deserve! You're an animal! Now stay there!"
With that, the behemoth, apparently Potter’s uncle, slammed the door shut and the space was again plunged into absolute darkness. Severus could hear the distinct sound of a door locking. A tiny click and the little room was flooded with light from an exposed lightbulb.
Severus took a good look at the boy.
The child was tiny, painfully skinny, almost skeletal. If Severus had to guess, he would say Potter was 3 or 4 in this memory. He was shivering and wearing nothing but a tattered, filthy grey shirt that was several times too large for him.
The child grasped at a pitiful, paper-thin blanket, pulling it to his chest and made an attempt to lie down on what appeared to be bedding of sorts. It could hardly be called a mattress, thin as it was and springs poking out every which way…
Perhaps this was a place Potter’s abusive uncle threw him as a way to punish him? But wait…
There were indications the space was more permanent. Beside the spot where the little boy was trying to sleep was a pile of neatly folded rags. Potter’s clothes?
There were also a few broken action figures. No stuffed animals or anything else age appropriate for a child, however.
Then Severus’s eyes widened. Taped to the wall near Potter’s head was a little piece of paper. On it, in the messy scrawl of a young child, was written:
Harry’s Room
Severus was shocked despite himself. So this was the boy’s room? Even he, Severus, had had better accommodations than that growing up under Tobias’ thumb…
Rage was fermenting, congealing, building within him. Oh, how he wished this were not just a memory so he could clout that damn Walrus! But this was not the time. Gently, Severus took this memory and pushed it back into the boy's mind, securing it with other memories of a horrific, neglected childhood.
One by one, Severus investigated more scenes of Potter’s childhood, as they seemed to be where most of the dark spell had focused.
In one, a blond child, likely no older than 6, but not much smaller than a young killer whale, was howling and throwing a disgusting temper tantrum for only receiving 31 Christmas presents, while a little dark-haired child with broken glasses stood in the corner, opening a pitifully-wrapped gift to find a pair of holey, barf-colored socks. The boy sniffed and bit his lip, clearly trying to hide his disappointment. His efforts were of course wasted when the huge pig-boy waddled over, pointing a fat finger in Harry's face.
"Is that whacha got for Christmas, Scary Harry? Hah! That's cuz no one loves freaks! And you don't gotta mum or daddy neither! Hey freaky geeky, I'll make you a deal! You can ride my bicycle for one hour if you do me a favor!"
"Really?" Harry's tone was hesitant, but such hope flashed in his eyes that Severus could barely stand it. I really don't want to see what's next…
"Yeah!" The fat boy sneered. "All you hafta do first is clean me and my friends' shoes-with your tongue!"
Harry paled instantly.
"What's wrong? Thought ya'd be happy to have somethin' to eat! And don't ya eat garbage anyways?"
Severus turned to look at the parents' reactions, but the enormous father was reading his newspaper and throwing approving looks at his lard of a son, and Petunia (she sure hasn't aged well, Severus thought to himself) ran over to the scene between the boys. For one instant, Severus wondered if she was actually going to do something somewhat decent and scold her brat (Merlin knows he needs it) but instead, she wrapped her bony arms around his fat neck and then glared at her nephew. "You! Boy! Leave my Dudley Diddums alone! He doesn't have to let you near his presents!"
"Yeah, boy! You should be grateful for what we gave you!" The uncle added, chuckling to himself as if he'd just made a great joke.
Severus watched helplessly as the little memory-Harry held back his tears and turned to run into his cupboard. Once inside, he finally let out dry, wracking sobs as he clutched his blanket to his chest.
This and many other episodes flashed by. Though it seemed to be hours and days that Severus experienced the life his best friend's son had endured, it took, in fact, only moments in the real world.
Eventually the memories turned to Harry's time at Hogwarts.
Several stood out.
Hagrid? Hagrid had been the one to inform Potter of the existence of magic?
The feelings of overwhelming hope and happiness were unsurprising given all Severus had witnessed.
Severus felt the intense anxiety as Harry waited for the school year to begin, terrified it had all been a big joke, and the intense relief when he finally found the Hogwarts Express.
The fact that Potter had been returned right back to those people after his interlude with Hagrid angered Severus where he could only feel disappointment from the child.
The absurd level of gratitude the child had felt at the friendly overtures from the youngest Weasley boy made sense.
As did the result of the first interactions between his godson and Harry - in Madame Malkins’ and on the train. Despite himself, Severus had to admit Draco as a child reminded him a little of Black as an 11-year old, arrogant and unable to imagine anyone worth bothering with wouldn’t share his own worldview.
Add to that his snide remarks about the first people who had been kind to the boy and it was no small wonder he had left Potter with a poor impression.
It was time for the sorting.
Severus got ready to be bored, expecting the hat to have listed the ways the boy was the perfect Gryffindor…but he couldn’t have been more wrong.
He felt Harry’s fear at being put in Slytherin and being separated from what he perceived as his only chance at a friend.
Despite his pleas, the hat was rather insistent that Potter would have done well there.
Severus knew the boy well after having witnessed so much of his life by now and could certainly say Harry Potter had highly developed skills in those areas he had required to survive growing up with those Merlin forsaken Dursleys. He was skilled at remaining unseen and manipulating others to see what he wanted them to, to a point.
He was not the golden boy Severus had assumed him to be.
The next memory Severus took special note of took place in his own classroom in the dungeons. It was their first day of class and indeed, Severus could remember being annoyed by the boy that day, his inattentiveness from Day 1 setting them off on a path they would continue to tread.
But this time when his memory counterpart gave his beginning of year speech, Severus could not ignore the strong feeling of anxiety coming from the dark-haired boy in the front row.
That was not what he expected.
Where was the boredom? The distaste?
Certainly those were the emotions of a pre-adolescent who was doodling rather than paying attention to a lesson.
Focus, Harry. Don’t mess this up! Maybe if I can show the Professors I’m trying then things will be different - maybe I can finally be a normal student without the Dursleys turning them against me…
What? That wasn’t what he expected but it certainly made sense.
Then Severus stepped behind the boy and peered down at the page.
The Potions Master cursed.
Not only had Potter not been doodling, he had clearly been clinging to every word that had come out of the Potions Master’s mouth as obvious by the entirety of the speech being captured there on the boy’s sheet of parchment.
When his memory self landed into Potter for a perceived slight, Severus felt a rare sense of shame. He wished he could go back and talk some sense into himself.
It annoyed him that he could have been so wrong about the boy’s intentions in class that day. Severus was normally one to think before he acted but this was an example of him doing just the opposite.
That did not sit well with the Potions Master.
As eye-opening and hard to watch as Potter’s older memories had been, he felt a sense of dread about what lay ahead. He knew he had never been kind to Potter, but he had always felt it was warranted. The boy was disrespectful and spoiled and careless with both his and others’ lives, always putting them in danger…
Or was he?
Severus was no longer sure.
By now, Potter’s brain had become much less of a mess. It was mostly back in order - just a little more to go and the danger for his mind would pass.
And as he continued, he admitted to feeling physically ill at the number of times he watched himself sneer at the boy, docking points and assigning detentions when the memories revealed Draco to have been the culprit…
That initial desire of Harry’s to try hard in his first lesson had been well and fully stamped out of him.
Occlumency. He had dreaded having to relieve these memories. And sure enough, he got a front row seat of how needlessly cruel he’d been to the child.
He had truly made no effort to teach him.
When the memory of the day Potter stole a look in his pensieve surfaced, he found he could empathize with the reason Potter had for wanting to look, foolish as it was.
But when the boy had witnessed Severus’s worst memory, his reaction was not what Severus had expected.
He had been so upset he had even called the mutt and wolf to discuss it afterwards.
Another instance where he had misjudged Lily’s son.
Finally, the most immediate memories fell into place near the surface of the boy's psyche, and Severus glimpsed a confrontation between Harry, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle on the 7th floor.
Draco, Crabbe and Goyle left a room next to a statue of a one-eyed Witch and the door promptly vanished. They turned to walk down the hallway, when Crabbe stopped.
"Ya hear something, Draco?" He grunted.
Draco froze, and looked around nervously. "It's…probably just a ghoul or something. Let's get out of here."
They had only gone a few more steps when Crabbe spun around and shot a curse at the thin air behind him.
The sound of a body collapsing stopped the three, and Draco turned around first.
"Potter," Draco whispered. "It's Potter!”
Grinning evilly, Crabbe raced to the form and revealed a stunned Harry Potter.
Color rose in Draco's cheeks. "Dammit, did he follow us?"
"What should we do?" Goyle asked.
"Well, we should teach him a lesson, a'course," Crabbe smirked.
"Let's just get going, Crabbe," Draco hissed. "He's already unconscious. He'll get in enough trouble anyway, once he's caught."
Crabbe scowled. "Come on. Don't be a softy, Draco. He's the Dark Lord's enemy! We have to do something!"
"The Dark Lord has...other plans for him," Draco said warily.
"He wants to KILL him. He wouldn't complain about him being roughed up a little."
Draco looked at him with concern. "Okay, well hurry it up, before someone sees."
Smirking, Crabbe pointed his wand at the prone figure and said "This is a spell father taught me. I haven’t had a chance to try it out yet…Confundus Mens!"
Though still unconscious, Harry began to move in his sleep, flinching and kicking. His face screwed up and he began to moan.
"Crabbe, are you out of your mind?! That's an insanity spell!"
"Heh. He deserved it."
"We're going to be expelled, idiot!"
"No one'll know! God, Draco. I thought you didn't care about this hell hole anymore. We're onto greater things, right? Get a hold of yourself!"
Draco was still staring at Harry's convulsing form, an odd look flashing through his eyes, as Crabbe scoffed and retreated back down the hallway with Goyle. The blonde Slytherin made a movement as if to approach the Gryffindor, flinching as a particularly violent attack coursed through the other boy. A moment later, Draco's jaw stiffened and he turned to follow his fellow Slytherins.
Harry was clearly beyond delirious when he woke, and began stumbling forward, holding his head and whimpering…
Severus did a final sweep to make sure Potter’s mind was in a state of proper order. Once confirmed, he pulled out.
Severus breathed harshly once he was back on solid ground, feeling as though he'd aged 10 years from his time in the boy’s head.
The Gryffindor seemed to have drifted off into a calm, even sleep now…and after running another diagnostic spell, Severus was relieved to find that the curse's effects had fully eliminated, and only exhaustion and some nerve damage remained.
The Potions Master regarded his student in silence.
Here was a boy who had endured unimaginable misfortune, abuse, neglect, and yet somehow had come out of it not jaded as Severus himself had by his own experiences…
No, beyond the memories, Severus had gotten a clear sense for the boy’s thoughts and feelings as well.
And now so much was clear.
There was not a selfish bone in this child’s body. Somehow, his life before Hogwarts had not broken him. Harry Potter had maintained his gentle nature despite everything. Severus could not fathom such resilience.
Severus had been wrong. Deeply wrong in regards to this boy.
He owed it to him to make amends.
And having invaded his privacy to such an extent…he owed it to him to somehow earn the boy’s trust.
Severus leaned forward and gently took the boy in his arms. Harry was far too light for his age, and now Severus knew why.
"Come on, Potter. Let's get you to the hospital wing," he muttered, and began to carry him back into the castle.
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!