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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Harry lowered the Prophet concealed by a Muggle paper with a frown and a sigh as he moved himself gently on the creaky, rusty swing. The slightest breeze that was even hotter than the suffocating air ruffled the paper as it rested against his legs and he stared at the image of himself screaming as he clutched to Cedric’ body, Dumbledore’s hand on his back and the students of Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons crowded, crying around them.

His eyebrows pulled together as he watched the repeating scene, stomach twisting and heart aching with grief as he remembered, everything about that day still so fresh. So many mornings and nights he nearly didn’t realize he was in Privet Drive and not the maze or the graveyard. It haunted his every moment, waking and asleep, the pain and the fear still so real as though the curses were still tearing through him, the Death Eaters were still around him, Voldemort was still before him rising out of that cauldron…

His eyes drifted from the photo to his left forearm where the jagged wound sat, each day becoming a harsher scar as it finished the deep healing. As he stared, he felt Pettigrew’s dagger drag through the skin, parting the flesh for the heavy flow of blood that had drenched his arm. He could still feel it dripping off his elbow.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the memories, praying for them to disappear only for them to play on the inside of his eyelids. They slid up and his gaze fell back on the paper, reading that headlines that surrounded the immortalized moment of his life.

Tournament of Tragedy as Hogwarts Student Dies in Final Task!

Potter and Dumbledore Claim the Return of You-Know-Who!

Potter Exits Triwizard Maze with Body of Fellow Hogwarts Champion—What Happened?

The Boy Who Lived: Victim of Barbaric Tournament or Dark Wizard on the Rise?

Clenching his jaw, Harry crumpled the papers and chucked the crinkled ball towards the street, watching it bounce across the dry, brown grass towards the bushes on the other side of the road. Hands hanging between his thighs as he continued his small, gentle swings, he gazed at the bush that made another memory come alive.

He saw the big black dog emerge from the bush like it did a couple years earlier before it disappeared. He frowned to himself again at the memory of seeing Sirius for the first time before he ever even knew about his godfather. His heart hurt even more as the memory reminded him that he hadn’t received a single letter from not only Sirius, but anyone in the three weeks he’d been back in Privet Drive. He’d waited, hoping for a letter from Sirius or his friends, anything to help him make it through that summer, to make it through his uncle and the graveyard. He’d waited for those letters that would remind him he wasn’t alone and he had a whole other world in which he belonged, no matter the new threat of Voldemort.

He just needed to know he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t being left to drown in his pain and his grief the way he always had from before he could remember.

He was just so…lost.

Sighing, Harry turned away from the bushes and looked up the street which had previously been empty, everyone hiding from the heatwave inside. Now, however, a single large figure was heading towards him and his eyes narrowed as Dudley approached.

“Avoiding Dad, Potter?” Dudley sneered.

“I’m not the one that needs to avoid him,” Harry retorted. “How long do you think you can hide the fact that you put a kid in the hospital?”

Dudley’s face twisted. “And what about you, huh?”

“What about me?”

“I hear you every night,” Dudley said. “Crying for Cedric.”

Harry tensed, his face tightening as he glared at his cousin. Dudley stepped closer, his twisted expression morphing into a smirk.

“What’d you do, Potter?” Dudley said. “Kill ‘im?”

“Shut up.”

“Or maybe he killed himself to get away from you like your pathetic parents.”

Harry jumped to his feet, trembling with growing rage. “I said shut up.”

“Looks like no one wants to stick around you,” Dudley said. “You’re still here, after all.”

“Meaning?” Harry ground out.

“Even your lowlife criminal godfather knows he’s better off without you.”

And Harry snapped, hot rage erupting inside. There was no clear thought, just his arm swinging and his fist hitting Dudley. He felt the crunch of bones and the sting in his knuckles, and he knew he’d broken Dudley’s nose before even seeing the blood that gushed down his cousin’s face. Dudley cried out, stumbling and his hands flew to his nose. Seeing the blood and listening to Dudley whimper, Harry felt a small bead of fear settle within him, knowing the trouble he was going to be in with Vernon. While still healing injuries on his back pulled as though to let him know the minimum of what he would face back at Number Four, it was all still distant, muddled by the anger still clouding his mind.

“Dad’s gonna kill you!” Dudley shouted through the hands still over his face, turning to hurry back.

Harry sighed. Probably going to be pretty close.

He reluctantly began to follow his waddling cousin, wincing at the small droplets of blood he spotted making a scattered trail on the asphalt. He was following the blood spatter, examining the red skin and tiny cut on one of his knuckles, when his exhale was suddenly a visible mist around his hand. He slowed, coming to a stop with a frown and he looked around as it grew dark and cold, a stark contrast to the unnatural heat and sun of the last month. Breaths continuing to come out in clouds and a heaviness settling in his chest, he looked down at the ground. He found the frozen, frosty beads of blood at the same time muted screams began to echo in his ears.

He whipped around, searching for the source of the harsh cold and despair seeping deep within him. He spun again and again, frantic. As the cold began to sear his skin and he grew lightheaded with the suffocating draining of his happiness—as little as he seemed to have—he suddenly fell hard to his knees. He ground his teeth and his hands clapped over his ears as his mother’s screams grew deafening. He fought back cries as his worst memories flooded his mind, forced to watch Quirrell disintegrate under his hands, as Ginny lay still on a damp floor, as a werewolf tried to get to him and his friends through Snape, as Dementors surrounded him and Sirius, every time Vernon’s hand or belt came down on him, all the dark, silent nights in the cupboard, as the green light blinded him and Cedric fell to the ground.

He folded over, his forehead nearly touching the now icy pavement as his fingers dug into his skull and he grit his teeth so hard they cracked, breaths coming in painful gasps and Lily Evans screaming in his head while Cedric died in front of him again and again. His vision was blurred, spinning as he fought to stay conscious, and he didn’t even realize that he was mumbling, whispering, “Please, please, please.” It all just needed to stop; he needed it to stop.

When Dudley suddenly screamed behind him, Harry’s head flew up just as a Dementor drifted over him. He ducked and covered his head with his arms, hissing at the frostbite left on his skin from the Dementor’s cloak. As the Dementors continued flying over him and Dudley continued howling, Harry reached back to draw his wand. He rolled off his knees and raised his wand to the Dementors only to hesitate.

He couldn’t use magic. He’d be expelled.

Instead, he scrambled to his feet and ran towards Dudley who was on the ground, screaming and gurgling as a Dementor leaned close, sucking hard, trying to take the soul before it. He gasped as a Dementor flew directly at him, swiping past him and knocking him to the pavement again. He hit hard, grunting and hissing as pain erupted in his knee, and gravel buried into his palms as his wand went clattering out of reach.

Waiting for the three Dementors to fly over him, groaning as one drew harshly at him, stealing his breath, he scrambled across the street. Snatching up his wand again, he dashed to Dudley, still under assault from the Dementor. He ran between them, dropping to the ground to shield his trembling cousin. The Dementor’s focus broke, its faceless head turning to Harry instead with its void-like mouth. The rattling of its breathing joined the echoing screams in his head and its breath froze on his face.

When the pulling in his chest began, creating a heavy pressure, he was sure it was the Dementor sucking at his life, but then it changed. The pulling sensation was there, but it wasn’t something being drained from him; rather, he was pulling something into him. Whatever it was, was cold and sharp, but powerful as it swirled, pressing against his chest and core.

Harry gulped in a deep breath when the Dementor suddenly screeched, writhed, and floated away. He watched it as he shivered and gasped for air, confused at what had made the creature retreat. He turned to his cousin beneath him when Dudley whimpered and cursed quietly. Dudley was white as though he had no blood left in his body. His eyes were wild yet glazed and unfocused. Despite the still icy air, sweat shone on his forehead while the blood from his broken nose had frozen. His body was shaking violently, spasms wracking him. The only sound he seemed capable of were his pained, terrified whimpers.

Harry climbed shakily to his feet.

They had to get inside, had to escape the Dementors.

“C’mon, Dud, get up,” Harry muttered, grabbing his cousin’s arms and struggling to drag Dudley up from the ground.

He grunted as he manoeuvred Dudley’s dead weight, eventually getting up upright. He pulled Dudley’s arm around his neck, groaning as he supported nearly all of Dudley’s weight to keep him standing. He’d barely managed to shuffle them a few steps when it grew suffocatingly cold and Dudley moaned. Heart pounding, Harry looked over his shoulder to see the four Dementors soaring towards them.

“Son of a—go, go!” Harry shouted despite Dudley’s inability to respond and dragged Dudley towards Number Four, tripping and stumbling under the weight and draining despair.

The Dementors swooped over them, cloaks freezing their skin and sucking at their happiness. Under the relentless attack, Harry finally got them back to Number Four and he shouldered the door open. Shoving Dudley into the house, Harry dashed in and slammed the door shut, leaning against it heavily. He cringed at the rattling and pounding against the door, the Dementors crashing into the house, desperate for their prey. He let out a deep breath of relief when the assault behind him ended after a couple minutes.

His head fell back against the door, his breathing hard and the odd pressure still in his chest even as the draining effects of the Dementors slowly eased. His mother’s screams muffled and disappeared while all his memories stopped playing, returning to hover just at the edges of his thoughts. He frowned up at the ceiling, catching his breath and his mind clearing enough for one single question.

What the hell were Dementors doing in Privet Drive?

“What is all the ruddy noise?”

Harry’s head dropped at the voice and his eyes grew wide as Vernon came thundering down the hall from the sitting room. Vernon’s approach stuttered as the man comprehended the scene he’d come upon—Dudley pale and bloody, spasming on the floor, and Harry against the door, wand still in hand.

“Dudley!” Vernon exclaimed, rushing to Dudley’s side. “What’s happened, son, what’s wrong? Who’s done this to you?”

Dudley was mumbling incoherently, his eyes rolling, but he managed a single moment of slight clarity where he raised a shaky hand to point at Harry and stutter, “M-m-magic.”

Vernon’s eyes snapped to Harry and his heart stopped, fear flooding through him, and his grip tightened on his wand. He desperately wished he could use magic, watching Vernon rise with his face turning red with his anger.

“You did this?” Vernon said, his voice low and the words escaping through gritted teeth.

“No, I-I didn’t—”

Harry was cut off as Vernon’s hand wrapped tightly around his throat, shoving him hard against the door. Harry’s hands, one still holding his wand, flew to Vernon’s arm, clawing for release as he choked for air.

“Vernon, what is—” Petunia trailed off with a sharp cry when she spotted Dudley, dropping to the floor next to him. “My darling boy, what’s happened?”

“Take the boy upstairs, Petunia,” Vernon instructed, never looking away from Harry. “It’s time I take care of the freak.”

His vision spotty and tears beading at the corners of his eyes, Harry watched Petunia help Dudley up from the floor and head upstairs. He couldn’t help but send what he knew was a pleading look at his aunt despite knowing full well he would receive no help.

He never had.

His gaze was pulled back to Vernon as the hand tightened around his neck and Vernon leaned in close, snarling.

“I am done with you, freak,” Vernon said and Harry found himself flying down the hall.

He hit the floor hard, his already injured knee gaining further damage. He turned over quickly, needing to keep his uncle in sight, and backed away, dragging himself across the floor as Vernon stalked towards him. He clutched his wand, debating taking the risk of being expelled to stop his uncle.

Because something was different.

He’d been beaten all his life and the scenario wasn’t new, but there was something different.

And he knew, if he didn’t stop his uncle, he might not make it out of this one.

“You have been nothing but a useless freak that has made my family’s life a nightmare,” Vernon said, continuing to advance.

“Uncle Vernon, please,” Harry pleaded, his throat aching.

“I hoped I could beat it out of you, but you are just like your freak parents,” Vernon spat. “You should have died with them. I should have left you outside to die.”

They were in the sitting room now and Harry finally raised his wand, willing now to take the expulsion if it meant he survived. Surely Dumbledore wouldn’t let him be expelled anyway. However, he still hesitated and Vernon took advantage, gripping Harry’s wrist so tightly his bones ground together and he gasped, swearing he felt something crack.

“No, no, no!” Harry yelled when Vernon tore his wand from his fingers. He fought his way to his feet despite Vernon’s grip on his wrist and fought for his wand. Vernon released his arm to keep Harry from reaching his wand, viciously backhanding him after a few seconds. Harry cried out at the hit, falling back to the floor with a hand flying to his cheek where he felt a gash alongside the split he felt in his lower lip. He turned back to Vernon, terrified.

“I told you, I’m done with you, boy,” Vernon said, and he swiftly took Harry’s wand in both hands and snapped it.

“No!” Harry cried desperately, his heart shattering and the pieces sinking heavily into his gut. He jumped to his feet with another cry and threw himself hopelessly at his uncle. A meaty hand wrapped around his throat again and he was driven back until he hit the mantle over the fireplace, the shelf at the perfect height to dig painfully into the back of his neck. His hands came up to clutch at his uncle’s wrist and hand.

Vernon sneered at the wand halves before tossing them carelessly to the side. “Look at that,” he said lightly. “Even your world of freaks doesn’t give a damn.”

Harry’s eyes drifted shut in pain as Vernon pushed, making his neck arch around the mantle. He gasped for the miniscule amounts of oxygen making its way through his collapsing airway.

“Remember, boy,” Vernon said in a low voice and he swung Harry around, throwing him heaving back to the sitting room floor. Harry cracked his eyes open only for them to widen when Vernon took the iron fire poker from the holder next to the fireplace, looking at it casually as he turned around. Harry’s heart clenched when Vernon’s gaze slid to him, flashing. “Freaks are better off dead.”

Harry threw his arms over his head and curled onto his side as the poker was brought down hard on him. He yelped as it hit his side, impacting with his ribs. The hits continued to rain down, making contact all over his body. Harry shouted and cried as he felt bruises bloom, skin break, and bones crack. Pain sparking across his body, Harry attempted to escape, pulling himself pitifully across the floor dotted with his blood. He fell to the floor with sobs each time the hard iron snapped across his back. When the poker caught him in the side of the head, he rolled onto his back, dazed and vision tunnelling. He barely reacted to the continuing blows, whimpers the only sounds leaving him.

His fading consciousness was yanked back to brief clarity and he was sure his throat tore with the scream he released when the fire poker was suddenly piercing through the palm of his exposed, limp right hand. Tears poured down his cheeks, his vision turned white, and he shook violently. Overwhelmed with agony and waning life, he barely noticed the pressure that grew and exploded from his chest. With his vision blurred and darkening, and his ears ringing, he only vaguely heard a crashing and saw a blueish-white glow.

As the glow disappeared past his periphery, he let himself go, life bleeding out onto the floor of Number Four.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

The gentle ringing echoed through the house just as Severus finished his letter, confirming his visit to the compound in Romania. He signed and folded the parchment, tucking it into an envelope. The owl waiting on the window sill cocked its head as he rose from his desk and approached, sticking out its leg with the leather ties. Severus rolled the letter and wrapped the ties around it securely. With a quiet hoot, the owl took off, beginning its journey back to its home in Romania.

Severus left the office and headed through the door next to the room, making his way down to the lab. Entering, he waved his hand absently to cancel the alarm he’d set and walked over to the shelf where a charmed chunk of ice sat, holding sixteen tall, narrow vials that it held at their required chilled temperature. These sixteen were enough for the two weeks he had before he had to brew the batch that would get him through his trip. Ideally, there would be no need to use Dark Magic or any additional leaking of Dark Magic from the mark into his body, both of which would cause him to need more of the potion than he would have available. He pulled one of the vials out and gazed at the icy blue liquid swirling with black flecks with a small frown.

He sighed, staring at the potion in distaste. He hated having to take it, hated what it meant, hated himself and all he’d done that had made it a necessary, permanent part of his daily life. Just one of the many things that made him regret every choice he’d made and disgusted with himself. As if he needed such reinforcements.

Pushing through his fully self-imposed self-hatred, he threw back the potion and wandlessly levitated the now-empty vial to the wash basin for later cleaning.

He left the lab and returned upstairs. He intended to return to the study and continue with his trip preparations when his path was suddenly blocked by a white-blue light that temporarily blinded him before dimming, allowing him to see the unexpected Patronus. He narrowed his eyes, recognizing the regal stag. Irritation immediately bubbled inside and he drew his wand, fully prepared to disperse the brat’s magic. He was stopped in doing so, however, when he spotted something different in the glow the creature was made of. He stepped closer, wand lowering, and he frowned at what he found.

He knew Patronuses, had seen plenty, was capable of one himself despite everything that indicated such a thing should be impossible for him. Normal Patronuses were made up of glowing, wispy, swirling blue and white mist, creating a cloudy barrier or a detailed creature of protection. This Patronus, however, had strange runic symbols drifting throughout the stag gently alongside the wispy magic that created the stag itself. He’d never seen anything like it.

“Save him.”

Severus was startled at the unknown voice and stared at the stag in astonished confusion, particularly as it gazed steadily back at him. Patronuses could be used to communicate, certainly, but the message was always in the sender’s voice and emitted from the Patronus arbitrarily. This one was not Potter’s voice or one he thought he recognized, and the stag’s mouth had moved with the words.

“He is too important to lose. Save him,” the stag said, voice airy but firm. “You are the only one who can.”

Severus eyed the stag suspiciously. “Why me?”

“You put yourself in the path,” the stag told him, making him frown. “You’ve become each other’s way. It is in the stars. Save him and he will save you.”

“From what?”

“Yourself.”

Severus blinked, having not expected such a response. Unsettled, annoyance returned within him to mask the feeling, always needing to keep vulnerability hidden.

“What exactly has the imbecile done now?” he sneered.

“It is not only the now from which he needs saving,” the stag replied. “It is also from what is coming.”

“And what is coming?”

“Darkness.”

Severus was taken aback again, a heavy stone settling in his gut at the ominous response. He was contemplating, considering if the whole thing was real or actually a sick joke of Potter’s, though he questioned the boy’s capability of something so complex, when the stag moved. It took a step toward him, gazed intently at him, and then bowed its head, large antlers now pointing at him.

Without him realizing, his hand had begun to rise, reaching slowly towards the stag Patronus. Upon noticing, he pulled back and frowned, unsure what to do. After all, it was Potter, but…he found himself unable to ignore what the Patronus had said and the strange emotions it had fuelled within him. Still bemused, Severus slowly reached out to the stag again. He felt a warmth as he got closer and watched as some of the misty magic swirled around his fingers as though encouraging him forward. He continued, his frown deepening as the warmth melted away, and his heart began to pound with a pain and terror that wasn’t his own. He paused again, staring at the stag in confusion and concern. This was unlike any Patronus he’d ever known.

“What are you?” he murmured.

The stag’s head rose, staring directly into his eyes as though searching deep within his soul. “Him.”

Then the stag moved and Severus’ fingertips sunk into the stag’s snout as though he was petting the creature. Upon the touch, there was a tug and everything blurred around him as his hair whipped around, a warm, twirling wind rushing around him. It lasted only a few seconds and then he was standing in a silent, empty street lined with identical houses. He dropped his hand from the stag, gazing at it as it looked back at him.

“Save him.”

The stag turned its head to look at the house they were in front of and Severus followed the gaze to look curiously at Number Four. The stag dissipated next to him, leaving him alone with the sun sinking behind him, his shadow breaking up the orange rays that seemed to cast a spotlight on Number Four. He frowned at the empty street as he slowly approached the seemingly perfect house. He paused in the middle of the street when the setting sun glinted off something small on the asphalt and he crouched down to take a closer look. His eyes narrowed and his grip tightened around his wand as he identified the trail of blood droplets leading directly to Number Four. He rose stiffly, unsettled, and continued towards the house, suddenly on edge by the still, silent suburb. As he stepped up to the door, a familiar power began to brush across his skin, the air feeling charged and making his skin tingle. He glanced around, a part of him expecting to see Potter’s Patronus again, but the street remained empty. He turned back to the house and, holding his wand tensely, he slowly pushed the door open, letting it swing into the hallway almost ominously.

His eyes darted around the dark hall before taking a small step inside which allowed a stream of dimming sunlight to shine down the hall, briefly highlighting a strange heap of broken wood and plaster at the end of the hallway. He moved further into the house, eyes catching sight of more blood inside the door, and walked towards the heap at the end of the hall. Getting closer, he recognized the clear limbs of an extremely large man sticking out from the pile that was a destroyed wall.

Concerned, Severus turned to look into the sitting room, the large man having clearly been thrown from the room and through the wall. He saw the drops and smears of blood on the hardwood, following them into the room where they led to a larger pool of blood that lay under a pale mutilated hand. He stepped up to the sofa around which the hand was poking and he was able to see the rest of the body, small and bloodied and still.

For a split second, his brain could not comprehend what he had come upon and he could do nothing but stare. Despite the astonishment freezing him, he forced himself to react and he hurried over to the beaten boy. Crouching next to Potter, he ignored his knees landing in the puddle of blood as he reached out to gently roll the boy’s head towards him, pushing the hair damp with blood away from Potter’s face. He slid his hand down to Potter’s neck, searching for a pulse. He was shocked, but relieved when he felt a faint beat and quickly, but carefully gathered the boy into his arms, blood instantly seeping into his shirt.

Potter securely against his chest, he hurried out of the room, casting a glance at the still-buried Muggle as he headed to the door.

“Vernon? Dear, what’s the freak—“

A high-pitched squeak cut off the words and Severus turned to the stairs, eyes narrowing at the woman that somehow hadn’t changed from when they were kids.

“I was a fool for believing you would have grown a conscience for the boy, given how you treated Lily once she displayed magic,” Severus sneered. “You best hope he doesn’t die.”

With a glare at Petunia, he wandlessly threw the door open and ran outside, crossing the street to where the Patronus had brought him where he quickly Disapparated. Landing outside his home, he crossed his wards and dashed inside. He ran upstairs and into the spare room, gently depositing Potter on the simply-dressed bed. He waved his wand, summoning a large number of potions and other supplies, before putting his wand on the bedside table and rolling up his sleeves, ignoring the blood stairs. He would need to be able to feel his magic in Potter’s body to heal him, thus, he needed to use his wandless magic.

With his various vials, jars, flannels, and other supplies settling on the side table, he removed Potter’s bloody T-shirt and jeans, and began treating the horrendous and numerous injuries covering the boy. He used damp flannels to gently wipe away the blood, allowing him to better see the wounds, while pushing his magic into the boy where it found internal injuries, leaving behind glowing spots.

He healed the indicated lung puncture and forced Skele-Gro down Potter’s throat to heal the broken rib, shattered knee, and fractured skull. Starting with the laceration across Potter’s forehead and eye, Severus placed his hand over the wound and bled his magic into the boy, feeling it tug the skin together. He moved down Potter’s body, repeating the process for each wound, frowning when the more severe ones would reopen. Eventually he had them all at least partially closed and turned his attention to Potter’s right hand.

He sat on the edge of the bed, closely examining the damage. Even with magic and potions, he wasn’t sure the hand could ever be completely healed. Healing something as small and delicate as nerves and tendons was extraordinarily difficult. It was unlikely Potter would ever have the same level of use in the hand that he had.

Sighing, he held the mutilated hand between his and guided his magic into the wound, feeling each layer of flesh knit back together. When the flesh began to stutter in stitching together, he pulled his hand away and frowned at the partially healed hand. He would have to do a few rounds of infusion to complete the healing, at least of the flesh. He would have to research to find if there was anything he could do for the nerves, tendons, and other delicate structures.

He cleaned away the blood that had left the wounds before he healed them and covered any that were not fully closed in bandages, wrapping Potter’s hand. He had the boy drink a Pain Reliever before grabbing his wand again to send all his supplies away and transfigured some light pyjamas for the now-stable child. He also banished the blanket he’d placed Potter on, now covered in blood, and summoned a spare, draping it over the Gryffindor.

The boy settled and Severus’ adrenaline waning, he sank back to the edge of the bed and gazed at Potter, feeling everything he’d believed and felt for the last four years fracture in the face of this new reality.

Harry Potter was horribly abused and no one had noticed, including him.

Harry Potter was abused…

And it changed everything.

Severus was sitting in the desk chair next to the bed and reading through his medical magic texts when the second Patronus within a couple hours appeared in the room, this one a familiar phoenix.

“Severus, something has happened. Harry’s been expelled and is missing while the wards around Privet Drive have fallen. Some to headquarters immediately.”

Severus quickly conjured his Patronus to respond.

“The boy is with me,” he said simply and sent his doe off.

It was only seconds later that he heard his Floo flare downstairs.

“Severus!” Dumbledore called.

Severus sighed at the underlying hardness in the headmaster’s voice and, putting his books on the end table, glanced at the sleeping teenager before making his way downstairs. He walked into the sitting room where Dumbledore was waiting, arms crossed and face tight.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said sharply. “Where is Harry?”

“Upstairs, asleep,” Severus said shortly.

“How has this happened?”

“The boy sent his Patronus to me asking for help,” Severus told him vaguely, keeping the finer and stranger details to himself. “I went there and found he’d been beaten to within an inch of his life.”

“You understand this is akin to kidnapping, do you not?” Dumbledore said, voice accusatory.

“You understand Potter nearly died?” Severus retorted, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, you said the wards have fallen. Surely it is best he no longer resides there now the place is vulnerable to attack.”

“Yes, however, I am afraid Harry cannot be around others any longer,” Dumbledore replied seriously. “He is a danger now, a danger I’d hoped to avoid.”

Severus’ raised eyebrow dropped as he frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“There is more to what happened to Harry in that graveyard,” Dumbledore explained. “The connection between Harry and Voldemort is significant, and I believe Voldemort is taking over Harry.”

Severus looked at the man skeptically. “How have you come to this conclusion?”

“Harry attacked his uncle and cousin,” Dumbledore told him. “It is why he was expelled.”

“Have you lost your mind, Albus? The boy was defending himself from being beaten to death!” Severus countered, angry.

“Even if that is so, the power he used destroyed the wards. It was Dark Magic from Voldemort’s influence,” Dumbledore told him.

“Harry Potter, Dark?” Severus scoffed. “You are mad.”

Dumbledore just looked at him, face expressionless which made Severus narrow his eyes. This was not the reaction he’d expected from Dumbledore in the face of Potter’s beating and expulsion. There was something he didn’t know, something Dumbledore was hiding.

“And the boy’s expulsion?” Severus questioned stiffly. Surely the old man would get Potter reinstated.

“I cannot risk Harry returning to Hogwarts while he is connected to Voldemort in this way,” Dumbledore said, and Severus was disturbed to hear a distinct lack of remorse and regret in the headmaster’s voice at the admission. “I am certain Voldemort can feel and see through Harry. I cannot risk him recognizing me or anyone in the Order, including you. He cannot stay here and he cannot return to Hogwarts.”

“And where do you propose he go?”

“I am going to arrange an isolated safe house,” Dumbledore replied. “Unfortunately, based on what has happened, I believe Harry will and must die in order to defeat Voldemort. However, Voldemort cannot die yet so we must keep Harry protected until that moment comes, but he must still be away from anyone else for the danger he poses now the connection between him and Voldemort is activated and growing because of the graveyard.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “The task you’ve set me. The item I am to retrieve.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Voldemort has ensured his survival and victory over the prophecy by tying himself to Harry. He can control Harry and also ensure Harry dies should we try to defeat him prematurely. This item is a key to Voldemort’s defeat as is Harry. However, their connection, what has just happened, means Harry will die no matter what. I have to make sure Voldemort dies with him.”

Severus stared hard at him, appalled at what he was hearing. “Come with me.”

“Severus—”

“Now!”

He swept upstairs, hearing Dumbledore behind him, and stormed into the spare room where Potter still lay. He stood next to the bed and glared at Dumbledore who stood at the foot, but refused to look at Potter.

“Look at who you are condemning to exile and death,” Severus growled. “Look!”

Dumbledore’s eyes flickered to Potter ever so briefly.

“If you are correct and the Dark Lord is taking over the boy, you would abandon him to that fate?” Severus said harshly. “Should you not help him fight so he can and will face the Dark Lord as you so wish him to do, perhaps even survive the encounter?”

“He cannot survive and I cannot risk it,” Dumbledore argued. “With Voldemort’s power, with this connection, Harry is dangerously powerful. There is no telling what he could do to Hogwarts or anyone else with Voldemort in control.”

“So you’ll throw him aside until it is time for him to die,” Severus said bluntly, sharply. “You sicken me.”

Dumbledore gazed at him searchingly. “I confess myself quite curious where this concern has come from. You have been adamant in your hate of the boy for years, dare I say even since you confessed your sin regarding the prophecy to me and the night you begged for her, but the boy never crossed your lips until I mentioned him.”

Severus glowered, chest constricting and heart squeezing painfully as he was taken aback at the old man’s cold brazenness.

“It must be done,” Dumbledore said, tone firm and final. “When he is healed, I will tell you where to bring him. I cannot be near him when he is awake.”

Severus just glared, grinding his teeth to avoid saving anything that could cause more of a problem.

“I will see you at tonight’s meeting.”

Dumbledore left then, leaving Severus glowering at the empty door.

What the hell was going on?

What was Dumbledore hiding?

What was the truth about Potter and the Dark Lord?

“Pr’fessor?” Potter mumbled and Severus looked at the boy he knew had been awake, at least partially, the entire time.

“Go back to sleep, Potter. Relax,” Severus said and glared at the door again. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Harry was hazy when he woke, suspended in a cloud that was concealing his thoughts and memory. He knew he was awake, not still hovering in unconsciousness, yet he was numb and every blurry thought was fleeting, impossible to catch. Gaining awareness happened in an odd order through strange sensations.

His left leg was folded, just enough for his foot to be pressed against his right calf.

He was laying on his left ear wrong; it was bent forward slightly by the pillow.

There was warmth on his right hip. Not the warmth of a blanket or person, but rather the warmth of the sun touching him.

It was quiet. There were no sounds of cars outside or the telly downstairs or his relatives talking.

The toes on his right foot were folded down, letting the blanket drape over them.

His lower lip felt large.

His right hand felt heavy.

Then, the pain hit.

It was a deep ache below a sharp, shooting agony, all of which washed through his body, crashing hard in his injury locations like harsh waves hitting rough rocks. His right knee was pulsing. His lip was stinging. His head was pounding. His chest was suffocatingly tight. And when his pinky twitched on his right hand, the excruciation ripped through his hand as though razor-sharp shards of glass were slicing at his nerves and carving at his bones as they grated together. It all made him want to curl up, but any movement made it all worse.

He gasped and groaned and even whimpered, barely feeling the magic that washed over him or the strange sensation of something entering his stomach that he hadn’t swallowed.

“Give it a moment,” a deep voice said. “It will ease shortly.”

Harry wasn’t sure he believed that. It seemed impossible that such pain could disappear, that this wasn’t the state he would exist in forever now. Yet, after a few long minutes, it did ease, and he was able to think and blink open his eyes in front of which his glasses were sat, letting him actually see as his vision cleared.

And, stunned, it was Snape he found sitting next to him.

“Snape?” he mumbled, throat dry and strained, limiting his volume and clarity.

“I would prefer ‘Professor’, but, given your condition, I will let it go for now,” Snape said dryly and Harry just stared at him. “You appear more aware. What do you remember?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought, everything hazy and disconnected. “I…I remember the Dementors and…and my uncle, but…but I don’t remember you or coming—” His eyes darted around the unfamiliar bedroom. “Where am I?”

“My home,” Snape replied simply and Harry’s frown deepened.

“Why?”

“You called for me using your Patronus,” Snape told him and Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “You do not remember?”

Harry shook his head, rolling it on the pillow. “I can’t have cast it. My uncle broke my wand.”

Snape gave him a long, odd look. “While strange, it is not a matter of priority right now, though, I do regret to tell you that your use of the Patronus and magic used against your Muggle uncle have resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts.”

Harry’s heart stopped. His stomach dropped. His lungs froze. The world fell out from beneath him.

“What?” he breathed.

Snape was quiet, just watching him with a stoically blank face.

“No, no, that’s…I can’t be…” Harry shook his head again in denial. “What…what about Dumbledore? He’ll fix it, right? He’ll get it overturned or revoked or whatever?”

Snape’s lips thinned as his face tightened. “The headmaster’s plans for action are…unclear.”

Harry was sure he was going to be sick. “Why?”

Snape shifted and gave a short, but harsh exhale. “He has some…concerns.”

“About…about…me?” Harry muttered and Snape just stared at him again. He winced when a fuzzy memory flashed in his head, hearing loud but indecipherable voices. “You were fighting with him.”

“You remember?” Snape wondered.

“Not really. I don’t know what you said, but I remember hearing yelling,” Harry told him.

“Unsurprising,” Snape assured. “While you woke, it was barely considered conscious. You were heavily medicated.”

“Why were you fighting with him?”

Snape seemed to sigh with frustration. “We…disagree on the response to the situation.”

“What’s the response?” Harry asked, stomach twisting with anxious dread.

“The headmaster has instructed you go to an isolated safe house once you are recovered until the situation is resolved.”

Harry tilted his head in confusion the best he could on the pillow. “And you…disagree with him?”

Snape gave no response.

“Why? Why aren’t you thrilled with me being expelled and sent away? Why aren’t you thrilled about what you found?” Harry waved his thickly bandaged hand over himself vaguely before having to let it drop.

“I understand our relationship is volatile at best—a state I have, admittedly, strived to put it in—but I have clearly overdone it if you think I have ever wanted this,” Snape said, his eyebrows pulling together.

“You thought I was spoiled,” Harry pointed out. “This proves I’m not.”

“There is a difference between discipline and abuse, and I am aware of that difference,” Snape said, tone gaining a sharpness.

Harry thought it almost sounded like the man was speaking with personal knowledge, not in abstracts.

“The only thing this proves is that I allowed myself to be disgustingly ignorant and fail in my promise,” Snape added.

Harry frowned, thoughts pulled from contemplating what the man could know about abuse. “Promise?”

Snape sighed, eyes flickering away from Harry. “To your mother.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the revelation. Somehow, it had never occurred to him that Snape might have known Lily. After all, Snape had obviously gone to school with Sirius, Lupin, James, and Pettigrew—made abundantly clear in their words and interactions in the Shrieking Shack—so it shouldn’t have been too out there to realize Snape had also known Lily. However, like with the Marauders, Snape clearly knew Lily more than just someone that was in the same year as him at Hogwarts. He’d known Lily more personally.

“And it is because of her and my utter failure towards both of you that you will not be going to the headmaster’s safe house.”

Harry blinked, taken aback. “Wait, what? Where am I going then?”

“I am going on a trip in two weeks so you can come with me or I can make other arrangements,” Snape offered.

Harry couldn’t help but gape at the blatant disobedience Snape was suggesting.

“I can guarantee nothing in terms of getting you reinstated as a Hogwarts student, but I can try to find a way to get you back to that castle,” Snape told him.

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Why? Why would you do any of this? Why would you help me?”

Snape gaze intently at him. “To do something right for the first time in my godforsaken life and because things need to change, because things have changed.”

Severus was tense as he walked into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, joining the flow and congregation of the other Order members. Half of him was still back at his cottage, caught by surprise as much as Potter by all he’d said. He couldn’t understand what he’d said and offered or why. It had been…impulsive.

He wasn’t impulsive.

So what the hell had come over him?

The other half of him that had managed to make it to Headquarters was on guard, worried his sudden plan to abscond Potter directly against Dumbledore’s orders would be discovered. He trusted himself to Occlude, of course, but he couldn’t do so more than usual or Dumbledore would notice something was different and he would push.

And he hated when people pushed.

It hurt and felt terrible.

What was he thinking going against Dumbledore for Potter? Finding the boy abused can’t have changed things that much. It was terrible and he was a fool for blinding himself to it, but it can’t have erased four years.

When his eyes drifted over the kitchen and fell on Lily standing in a corner, looking not angry or sad, but disappointed, he realized the years hadn’t been erased. Rather, they’d been opened, every door that had hidden the truth and the difficulty and the pain flying open to show him that he had been just as bad. He was no better than anyone else because he’d let himself ignore the signs—for there would have been signs, there always was—and he’d let himself sit in that ignorant, bitter bubble because it was easier…comfortable…fit with what he was willing to face.

“He is too important to lose…You’ve become each other’s way…Save him and he will save you.”

The voice of Potter’s strange Patronus echoed in his head even as he continued staring at Lily, his heart aching, and he slowly understood.

Things hadn’t changed because he’d seen an abused child because it wasn’t just an abused child he’d seen. He’d seen himself. He’d seen Lily. He’d seen Harry.

And whether he was ready to accept Harry or not after fighting so hard to ensure he never saw Harry, one thing had been made very clear.

He’d been too comfortable for too long.

“Let us get started.”

Lily disappeared as Dumbledore passed in front of her and Severus’ eyes flicked to the headmaster, tracking him to the head of the table. As everyone settled, the blue eyes met his and held, the stare pointed as though ensuring his obedience in spite of their earlier dispute. He forced himself not to move or react in any way even as he waited for the touch of Legilimency. He was confused when it never came and Dumbledore turned to the now-filled table.

“An unfortunate announcement to begin,” Dumbledore said and everyone gazed at him seriously, waiting. “Earlier today, Harry was involved in an altercation with his uncle. In this altercation, Harry had an unexpected outburst of what has been identified as powerful Dark Magic and it took down the protective wards around the home. We all know of Harry’s connection to Voldemort, a connection I fear is growing stronger and could be more than he can handle. As a result of Harry’s magic use, he has been expelled from Hogwarts and, until the situation has been resolved and to protect Harry, he has been sent to a safe house for the foreseeable future.”

Murmurs rumbled around the table and Severus was disturbed to see several uneasy expressions as though they were afraid of Potter. How any of them could even believe Potter capable of Dark Magic was beyond him. It was laughable. Even if what Potter had used was Dark Magic, it certainly wouldn’t be pure Dark Magic; it had to be secondary at best. If there was any Dark Magic in Potter from Voldemort as Dumbledore claimed, it would imply it had been in Potter for fourteen years and, if it were, Potter would be long dead.

“Why not let Harry stay here with me?” Black said, bringing Severus out of his thoughts. “I’m his godfather, after all.”

“It is too dangerous,” Dumbledore told the mutt. “The risk of Voldemort discovering this place through Harry would be far too large. Plus, Harry cannot do magic while he is expelled.”

“I can protect him,” Black argued, “and surely it’s riskier having him here than Harry.”

Black pointed at Severus aggressively with a glare that was accompanied by all the usual looks of discomfort, uncertainty, and distrust Severus typically received from his fellow Order members.

“Never know when he’s going to decide to point a wand at us,” Black spat.

Severus sneered, but said nothing.

“Harry cannot stay here,” Dumbledore denied. “He is a danger to himself and to others until I resolved things.”

“Can’t we even let him choose?”

“Enough, Sirius,” Dumbledore said, a snap in his tone. “Harry stays at the safe house until I arrange and say otherwise. This is not a decision anyone can make.”

Black looked at Dumbledore with a hurt frown. “Why can you?”

“There is plenty you do not know, plenty I cannot tell you at this time,” Dumbledore told him. “I ask you to trust me.”

“Of course,” Black said, so easily backing down at the request of loyalty, and Severus couldn’t help but notice the blindness amongst them all, including himself prior to eleven hours earlier.

Blind faith…blind trust…blind loyalty.

Even when they questioned Dumbledore, as Black just had, they still fell into line and ceased following their tiny bubble of doubt. He’d been the same, never truly questioning Dumbledore’s actions or choices because he believed everything Dumbledore did was right, the only one who could make the decisions. And maybe, in many ways, he was, but only because he held the knowledge to make such decisions to himself while using their pasts and vulnerabilities and mistakes against them so they didn’t think themselves capable of such choices. They were entrusted with only what he deemed them worthy of, gave them roles based on what he wanted. How it hurt them didn’t matter.

They were…expendable.

How could he have let himself become this?

A toy to be played with at another’s malicious whim with no will of his own and constantly on the edge of being thrown away upon boredom or broken uselessness?

How had they all become this?

How had they allowed Harry Potter to be turned into the very same?

He hardly listened to the rest of the meeting, present only just enough to provide his inner knowledge of Voldemort’s build to power. The rest of him was back at his home with Potter, contemplating his decisions in the past eleven hours, while simultaneously working through a joint identity-existential crisis alongside a worldview upheaval.

Harry Potter was abused.

He’d failed Lily.

Dumbledore was not the wise benevolent leader they should blindly bow to and to whom a war meant more than happiness or lives.

And somewhere along the way of his horrid life, he’d lost himself. Not just his way. He knew he’d lost that long ago, but he’d lost himself, whoever he’d been or might have became. It was gone.

“Can I talk to Harry, Albus?”

Severus came back fully to Grimmauld at Black’s question and found everyone was leaving. Apparently, the meeting had ended.

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said shortly.

Black’s lips pressed together subtly as his jaw tightened, but he still nodded and left the kitchen despondently with no further argument or comment. Even Severus couldn’t help but frown slightly. He hated Black and he hated Potter, but even he thought they should at least have the chance to see and talk to each other. They were the only family either had. Even he understood that.

“Severus, might I speak with you a moment before you leave?” Dumbledore asked.

Severus gave a short nod and followed Dumbledore to the empty study.

“When will Harry be recovered?”

“Do you mean fully?” Severus questioned. “If so, technically he may never ‘fully’ recover due to the extent of the damage inflicted on his hand. I am unsure how much I can do with such delicate structures.”

“And if his hand is not considered?”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “A week to ten days at most.”

Dumbledore nodded. “In seven days, I will send you the location of the safe house.”

“Albus, are you certain this is the best solution?”

“Unfortunately, it is,” Dumbledore told him. “Voldemort transferred his magic to Harry that Halloween, and now with Voldemort’s return and the ritual he used, that magic is getting stronger, consuming Harry. You know the destructive nature of Dark Magic. It is a dangerous power for Harry to have when it is not in his control.”

Severus’ jaw tightened at the reference to the Dark Magic he was self-infected with that was constantly trying to burn him away.

“Albus, if it is Dark Magic, the boy will die without intervention,” Severus protested.

“He will be alright. Lily’s sacrifice has given him protection even from within,” Dumbledore dismissed.

Severus’ brow furrowed.

“In seven days, you will bring Harry to the safe house, understood?”

Severus wanted to refuse. “Yes, Headmaster.”

“Very good,” Dumbledore said with a small, satisfied yet insincere smile. “Have a good night."

“And you.”

Severus left the study and Grimmauld, Disapparating back to his home once beyond the wards. Stepping into the cottage, it was quiet as it always was, but there was something different. Of course, Potter was there, but it felt like more than that. He hung his cloak and draped his outer robes over a chair in the sitting room, leaving him in his trousers and white Oxford, before heading upstairs where he stood in the doorway of the spare bedroom.

Potter was asleep, allowing him to just gaze at the boy.

How had he let it all go so wrong?

“Save him and he will save you.”

He didn’t know if he deserved to be saved, but Potter did. Potter was there because of him, because of his choices constantly failing Lily, but he wouldn’t do it again. He would make and keep a promise, but not for himself because that’s where he’d gone wrong, believing everything he had done and promised had been for others, for her, but it hadn’t been. When he stopped to actually think, it had all been for and about him.

It was time for it to be about her.

It was time for it to be about Potter.

Resolved, Severus silently summoned one of the texts he’d left on the desk and left Potter to sleep.

He had medical magic to study and a trip to re-plan.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

“So, what are you doing?” Harry asked, watching Snape sit in the chair next to the bed and place both a large book and his wand on the bedside table. He manoeuvred slowly and carefully to sit up at Snape’s gesture.

“Healing you,” Snape said shortly. “Many of your wounds require multiple rounds.”

“No potions?” Harry wondered as Snape pulled the blanket back to uncover him completely.

“If they are required,” Snape said and Harry frowned. “I can manage fine with just my magic.”

Harry glanced at the man’s wand on the table, his frown deepening. Snape said nothing and Harry watched curiously as the bandages were removed from his knee, revealing the flesh that had been horribly torn down to the bone when the poker had shattered the cap. Snape leaned in to examine the wound before he gently rested his palms around the kneecap. For a moment, nothing happened, but then Harry’s skin began to warm and there was a prickling sensation. Harry’s leg twitched involuntarily at the feeling, but Snape didn’t seem to notice in his focus. Harry’s eyes widened when tiny strands of glittery black appeared in the wound and seemed to manipulate the ragged, bloody flesh, bringing it slowly together and meshing the edges together until a new layer of flesh had been formed. The tiny threads continued to work with the damaged flesh, recreating a few more layers before Snape pulled away when one layer pulled apart instead of binding together, allowing a trail of blood to run down the side of Harry’s knee which Snape caught quickly with the old bandages.

“What was that?” Harry asked. “How did you do that?”

“Magic, Potter, you’ve heard of it, yes?” Snape said dryly, wrapping new, clean bandages around Harry’s knee.

Harry glared at Snape who just arched an eyebrow as he glanced at Harry while moving onto another wound.

“I know that, sir,” Harry bit out, “but it’s never been done like that before. You’re not even using your wand.”

“It is the same Healing Magic Madam Pomfrey uses,” Snape told him. “However, it is a different level of Healing Magic due to the severity of your wounds and because I am using wandless magic which is, technically, a different form of magic.”

“Really?” Harry said and Snape nodded. “I thought it was just something powerful people could do.”

“Not necessarily though it is often an indication of power,” Snape replied. “However, only those with the innate ability to do so can perform wandless magic.”

“How do you know if you have it?” Harry asked, watching the glittery magic pull another gash on his thigh closed.

“It appears quite early and is often mistaken for accidental magic,” Snape said. “However, it is distinct in that it is more deliberate, though performed unconsciously, and often appears in particular situations in which it uses magic it has an affinity for.”

“You can’t do everything with wandless magic?”

“You can, but everyone has a field in which their wandless magic performs best. Affinities are formed through the situations in which one’s wandless magic was utilized in formative years,” Snape said. “I have an affinity for medical and Healing Magic as it is what my wandless magic often performed during the key years of my magical development.”

Harry looked up from his leg at the vague, hinting comment, Snape keeping his own attention on the gauze he was taping to Harry’s leg. The comment had him curious, made him wonder why child Snape’s wandless magic would have had to use Healing Magic enough to develop an affinity. When Snape gently took his hand and began to unwrap the thick bandages, the rest of the man’s explanation made him think.

“Professor?” Harry said and Snape hummed in response.

Harry was distracted briefly when his hand was revealed and he grimaced at the horrible mutilation. The hole his uncle had made had been closed, but there was still a deep concavity in the centre of his palm. The skin and flesh were ragged, and a horrible deep red and purple. Harry was disturbed when he saw what he swore were crushed, torn veins and tendons and tiny, jagged bone fragments. The injury was flooded with a horrible mixture of thick blood, something that was clear and watery, and something else that was milky in colour and in the middle of the others in terms of composition. When Snape dabbed at the area to soak up all the fluids, Harry realized his entire hand was numb for surely even such a light touch should be agonizing in such a wound with what had to have destroyed nerves.

“Potter?”

Harry shook himself and looked away from his hand just as Snape held it between both of his. Harry figured he’d feel the prickling if his hand wasn’t numbed.

“Um, right, you, uh, you said wandless magic can be done unconsciously,” Harry said. “You said I cast a Patronus, but I was unconscious and didn’t have my wand so do you think…”

“Do you have wandless magic?” Snape said, glancing at him before looking back down at Harry’s hand as he took his own from on top. “Yes, I believe you very likely do.”

Harry’s eyes snapped back to the man, surprised. “Wait, really?”

Snape nodded.

Harry was stunned, both at the idea of having wandless magic and that Snape had so easily confirmed it. He’d expected to be told he was being stupid and was too useless at magic to have such an ability.

“How would we know for sure?” Harry asked.

“There are exercises we can do that are only possible with wandless magic,” Snape said, pulling away to examine Harry’s hand again. “They will have to wait until you are recovered, however.”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?” Harry said, his confusion over Snape’s behaviour growing. “You don’t agree with Dumbledore, fine, I get that, but why wouldn’t you just send me somewhere else? Why do all of this?”

“You can go nowhere until you are healed.”

“And when I am? You shouldn’t want me here and you definitely shouldn’t want to bring me with you.”

“Would you prefer another option?”

Harry cocked his head, puzzled. “I didn’t think there was one.”

“I did say I could make other arrangements if you preferred it.” Snape was casual in his responses, continuing to focus more on Harry’s hand as he periodically lifted his own to examine the process.

“Like what?”

“It would be difficult as the headmaster has already rejected the idea, but you could stay with your godfather,” Snape said. “It would be difficult as Black is living at the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.”

“The what?”

“It is an organization of the headmaster’s to combat the Dark Lord. Your godfather is a member and his home headquarters, thus the headmaster is a frequent visitor. It would make it difficult for you to be there as, should the headmaster discover you there, he would remove you. You would also have to rely on your godfather for magic.”

Harry frowned. “You would help with that, help me live with Sirius?”

Snape nodded. “If it is what you would prefer.”

Harry’s frown deepened and he had no idea what to say.

“Consider the options,” Snape said, beginning to rewrap Harry’s hand. “You will be mostly healed in another six to nine days with the exception of your hand.”

“Will it ever heal?” Harry asked, doubtful.

“Technically, yes, but the long-term effects will differ based on how much I am able to do. I am studying what I can, but it is a difficult area.”

“What will be the long-term effects?”

“None are guaranteed, but all are possible,” Snape said. “Chronic pain, numbness, loss of function, involuntary spasms and other movements, temperature intolerance, and, should you have wandless magic, difficulty directing magic.”

Harry gazed at his hand sadly.

“I am doing my best to limit these effects, but it is likely you will experience some of them and certainly loss of function. The structures in the hand are extraordinarily sensitive and delicate, making them difficult to repair seamlessly. Time is needed to do as much as possible.”

Harry took his hand back, touching the thick bandages with his other fingers.

“I leave for my trip in two weeks,” Snape said, gathering his supplies. “Take until then to consider what you want to do: stay with your godfather or accompany me.”

Harry gave a small nod.

“I will bring up lunch in a couple hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

Snape inclined his head and left the room, leaving Harry alone in the silence heavy with the difficult decision before him.

“How does it feel?” Severus asked a couple of days later as he stepped back and watched Potter slowly stand, carefully putting his weight on his now-healed shattered knee.

“Stiff,” Potter said, carefully leaning on his foot. “There’s an ache.”

Severus nodded. “The stiffness will ease with more consistent movement, but the ache will remain until it heals completely. I cannot heal strain.”

“It’s fine. It’s not bad at all.”

Severus sighed silently. Of course an ache would be nothing compared to what had just been done to the boy.

“Would you like to have breakfast downstairs?” Severus offered, pushing away the memory of what he’d discovered in Privet Drive.

“Merlin, yes,” Potter said, tone heavy with relief, and Severus smirked, understanding. The boy had been stuck in bed for five days.

“On your way then,” Severus said, gesturing to the open bedroom door. “Slowly. You can still reinjure yourself until everything is properly healed.”

Potter nodded and began taking small, careful steps, transferring his weight to his injured knee very carefully. Severus watched closely and followed patiently nearby.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Why would Dementors have been in Surrey?”

Severus gazed at the back of Potter’s head, bowed to watch his feet as they moved slowly across the hardwood. It was the first time Potter had mentioned anything about that nearly fatal day.

“I honestly have no idea,” Severus said, watching a small frown cross Potter’s face. “Would you care to tell me what occurred that day? You were expelled for using magic against your Muggle uncle, not against Dementors. How did you deal with them?”

“Ran, mostly,” Potter said. “I wanted to use magic, but I didn’t want to be expelled.”

Severus was glad Potter was more focused on the stairs he now stood at the top of and didn’t see the sympathetic grimace he knew briefly crossed his face. Potter had fought off Dementors without magic for greater fear of being expelled than for his life, only to be expelled anyway unconsciously saving himself from another danger.

“I think there was some accidental magic though,” Potter said, gripping the railing and taking a slow step down onto the first stair.

Severus looked at the boy curiously. “How so?”

“The Dementors took off at one point and I thought I felt some kind of magic in my chest,” Potter told him. “There was just a weird pressure that wasn’t the same as what the Dementors cause.”

Severus frowned, following Potter down the stairs. While it wasn’t impossible, accidental magic was unlikely at Potter’s age. Accidental magic also didn’t typically cause any kind of pressure.

“Dudley was in a bad way when we finally got away,” Potter continued. “Uncle Vernon thought I’d done it and decided he was done having a freak around.”

Severus looked at the boy sharply, the word echoing in his head in another voice. “You are no such thing, Potter.”

Potter shrugged carelessly. “It’s okay, Professor. I know what I am.”

“Potter, you are not,” Severus said firmly and Potter looked over his shoulder, appearing surprised at Severus’ insistence. “You still do not remember what happened after your uncle’s assault?”

Potter shook his head, releasing a breath of relief as he finally stepped off the stairs. “I think I might have felt a pressure again and I might have seen a light, but I really have no idea. It’s all blurry or a complete blank.”

“Normal given your injuries and state of consciousness.”

Potter nodded absently, heading in the direction of the kitchen upon Severus’ gesture. “Why you?”

Severus looked at the boy questioningly. “Why me what?”

“Why did my Patronus go to you?”

“There are a lot of things about magic we do not understand,” Severus replied. “Unconscious emotional responses is one of those things.”

“I guess,” Potter said. “How did you know I needed help?”

“Your Patronus in my sitting room was a sufficient indication,” Severus drawled.

“Sure, but I assume you would have just figured I was breaking the rule and trying to cause trouble,” Potter said. “My Patronus showing up wouldn’t have been enough to bring you to Privet Drive.”

Severus arched a brow at Potter’s back as they entered the kitchen. Since when was Potter observant?

He pulled a chair out at the table and Potter dropped into it heavily with a huff, gently but firmly massaging his obviously-sore knee with his uninjured hand.

“I admit your Patronus was different from any Patronus I have seen before,” Severus said, moving into the kitchen to make breakfast.

“What do you mean?” Potter asked.

“It had a different appearance than most and it spoke. Now, Patronuses can be used to relay messages, but not only did yours speak freely, it should not have been capable of message delivery as you were unconscious upon its conjuring and I assume you do not know how to send Patronus messages.”

He looked over at Potter as he waved his wand to animate everything to make eggs, sausages, mushrooms, and toast. Potter shook his head.

“How is that possible when I don’t even know how to do any of that when awake?”

Good question.

“It is likely your wandless magic. It responded to your need for help and did what it had to to save you.”

Doesn’t explain the runes or any of what the damn thing said or why it came to me.

Potter just hummed, likely not understanding, but able to attribute that lack of understanding to his age and Muggle upbringing. Severus, on the other hand, simply didn’t understand. Wandless magic explained some of the situation, but none of the larger aspects.

They were quiet after that, Potter sat at the table and Severus supervising the charmed breakfast. Severus found he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting over to Potter, however, drawn to the boy and watching as Potter gazed at his bandaged hand, dancing his others fingers absently over the thick material.

It was odd. He’d always watched Potter, always knew the brat was up to something and he’d just waited for each slip that would let him swoop in and gain his satisfaction in catching the boy break whatever rule he’d newly deemed didn’t apply to him. Now, however, he wasn’t sure what he was watching or looking for. Everything about Potter had become a puzzle filled with pieces he could no longer fit together, not even forcibly the way he’d previously done. The pieces had never actually fit together, but he’d made them and he wished he could do so again. It had worked.

He glanced at Potter again.

He’d thought it had worked.

He sighed in frustration to himself and turned to the breakfast as it finished, dishing it up. He sat to Potter’s left, placing the full plates in front of each of them and quickly summoning glasses of water, utensils, and his potion from the lab. He started to eat, watching Potter as the boy took a long drink of water and stared at the breakfast almost questioningly. He saw Potter’s eyes flicker between his damaged hand and the fork sitting next to the plate, and Severus understood the hesitation. It was the first time Potter had to use a utensil and he was unable to use his dominate hand. He just waited, not giving Potter too much direct attention so as not to aggravate the embarrassment he was sure Potter was or was about to feel over not being able to properly hold a fork and feed himself. Eventually Potter picked up the fork with his left hand and took a few seconds to try and get an adequate, if awkward hold.

“Alright, Potter?” he asked casually once Potter managed to stab a few mushrooms with little issue.

Potter nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Severus gave a nod of his own and continued eating, sorting through the post that appeared a few minutes later on the table while subtly watching Potter in case the boy needed help. He was taking his last bites and reading the compound’s confirmation when the silence was finally broken.

“Professor?” Potter said quietly, clearly hesitant.

Severus hummed to accept the query, not looking away from his letter.

“What is that?”

Severus glanced at Potter to see the boy looking curiously at the vial of blue potion. He sighed, lowering his letter and picking up the potion, gazing at it himself.

“It mitigates the effects of a choice, a mistake I have made, effects that would otherwise be fatal.”

“Oh.”

Severus glanced at Potter again, the boy frowning at the potion as he fiddled with his fork in his fingers. Needing to take it then anyway, Severus downed the potion and banished the vial to the basement.

“I apologize for disappointing you with my continued survival,” he drawled, turning back to his post.

“What?” Potter said. “No, that’s not…I don’t want…”

He looked sidelong at the boy.

“I’ve wanted you to go away or just leave me alone, but I never wanted you to die,” Potter said. “I never wanted anyone to die.”

Severus lowered the post to gaze at Potter searchingly, remembering the boy had just seen Cedric Diggory murdered mere weeks ago.

“Was it my mum?”

Severus blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The mistake you made?” Potter said. “You said you made her a promise that you failed, but you wouldn’t feel like you failed unless you were trying to make up for something.”

Severus’ jaw tightened, continuing to stare at the boy as his eyes hardened. Potter was being presumptuous, prying into the topics he loathed speaking or even thinking of.

“While she was a part of one of many catalysts that led to my many mistakes, I’d already been on the path to make them anyway,” Severus said tightly. “As for my promise, your mother was unaware of it. I made it after she died.”

Potter frowned at him. “Why would you make a promise to someone who’s dead?”

“Because I was involved.”