Work Text:
The night was dark and dappled. The moon sent a strip of silver light filtering through Harry’s barred windows, glaring against the page he was reading for Snape’s class. His mouth was set into a scowl but his eyes were squinted and determined.
“I swear, he assigns the hardest books just to piss me off,” Harry grunted to himself, flipping a page.
There was a sudden slam from downstairs and Harry froze, checking the time. It was nearly eleven. Petunia and Dudley had left yesterday to visit her side of the family—Petunia didn’t exactly want Harry coming, so she left him with Vernon instead.
He’d expected his uncle to be furious about the entire ordeal, but Vernon hadn’t even acknowledged Harry with a sideways glance. He usually went to bed early, leaving ample time for Harry to sneak downstairs and take whatever was left over from dinner. He was fine living like this, really—it was easier than being smacked upside the head with a pan, bless Petunia’s soul, and he enjoyed being ignored. Vernon hadn’t even asked him to do chores! It was a bloody miracle.
Tonight felt different, though. There was something thick in the air that Harry couldn’t quite place his finger on. Either way, it left him feeling peeled open and on display for the entire world. Frowning, deeply unsettled, Harry placed the book on his bedside table and climbed under the covers.
He eventually heard the thundering footsteps coming up the stairs, but immediately recognized a discrepancy in them. They were slower and heavier, indicating that his uncle was somewhat drunk or very drunk—he couldn’t be sure.
Once the footsteps reached the top of the stairs, they pounded towards his room before moving on. Harry found himself able to breathe, but his chest squeezed with dread when the footsteps backpedaled and cast a set of two shadows from underneath his door. The knob clicked open and he heard the heavy breaths of his uncle. “I know you’re awake, boy,” Vernon sneered, walking closer. “Ate my leftovers, did you?”
Harry cast his emerald gaze to his uncle. Eyes narrowed, the teenager lifted himself to his palms, back pressed against the headboard. “If you wouldn’t starve me, I wouldn’t have to eat your leftovers,” he said.
He felt the smack coming before it even happened. His head rang with the impact and he toppled to the side, cheek burning from the slap. Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to breathe, choking back his anger. He was fine. This was nothing. “Is that all? Because if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to sleep now—”
A hand threaded through his hair and slammed him against the headboard. Vernon reared back and struck him, teeth glinting against the moonlight. Harry’s gaze swam with a blur of color until his head was pounded back against wood, over and over and over again until he fell limp in his uncle’s grasp. The sudden barrage of abuse was concerning to Harry, but he was too exhausted and disoriented to even think about the implications.
His uncle was just drunk and angry. That was it. He would be fine.
“You know, boy, you tempt me. I think you do it on bloody purpose, too, knowing I’m powerless when Petunia and Dudley are here. But they’re gone, tonight, aren’t they?”
When Harry was finally able to focus on Vernon’s face, he saw a look in those eyes that struck a chord of terror into his chest. There was something predator-like about them, gleaming with satisfaction, with excitement, with—
With lust.
A hand clamped around his throat and pinned him to the bed. Suddenly unable to breathe, Harry began thrashing, face flushed as air was sucked from his lungs. “Vernon, please—please, let me go,” he wheezed, “I can’t breathe. I—I can’t breathe!”
The fingers let go, but not nearly enough to let Harry scramble from their grasp. He cried out when Vernon’s weight was laid on top of him, completely pinned. Alarm bells were ringing wildly in Harry’s head and he could hear Hedwig’s panicked screeching from the desk, but could say nothing to calm her down. Harry wasn’t even sure he could speak at all.
“God, I’ve wanted to do this for years,” Vernon growled, face partially shielded by shadows. “Just never got the chance to, not with your freakish kind roaming about…but tonight’s my chance and you’re going to enjoy it and tell me you like it, got me, boy?”
Harry didn’t speak.
His head wrung around as a hand connected to his cheek. “Got me, boy?”
“Y—yes, yes Uncle Vernon,” he panted out. Harry was sure he knew what was coming but he was paralyzed beneath his uncle’s weight, completely unable to move. He felt like screaming out but would give no such satisfaction to Vernon. If it was going to happen, fine. But Harry wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived for nothing. He hadn’t even begged while under the Cruciatus.
“Good,” Vernon said huskily, and suddenly there was a wet tongue poking at his ear and Harry nearly vomited on the spot. He tasted bile in his throat as his uncle trailed from his ear to his lips, pushing them open with brute force and sliding into Harry’s mouth with his tongue.
Harry couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He was stuck here, completely useless, with his wand and ‘freakish’ belongings trapped down in the cupboard. Harry couldn’t help the tears that escaped from his eyes, trailing rivulets down his cheeks. What would the Wizarding World say if they could see him now? Harry Potter, their hero, being overpowered and violated by his uncle.
It was a pathetic sight, but Harry had not the strength to fight back.
There were meaty hands suddenly grabbing Harry’s thighs and he jerked, tempted to bite down on the tongue invading his mouth. A hand pressed against his shoulder and the other trailed down below, gripping the outline of Harry’s cock.
He began to sob.
“Shut up, boy,” Vernon grunted, retracting his lips from Harry’s and glowering down at his nephew. “I don’t want any crying, got it?”
Harry began to cry more.
“Shut up!” Vernon gripped him and slammed him up against the headboard, filling Harry’s head with lead. He tried to blink away the stars but sought to ignore it when a finger tugged at the waistline of his jeans. Harry began to wriggle, images of what could happen next thrumming through his mind.
“No, no, no, please…!” Harry hiccuped, gasping when there was another blow against the side of his head. While he was dizzy, he felt himself being flipped over onto his stomach, pants ripped away from his body. Harry heard a zipper open and sobbed harder, attempting to move but his limbs didn’t seem to be cooperating with his brain. “Please, please…no…”
“That’s right, beg,” Vernon growled, shedding his pants. “After everything you’ve put this family through you should be grateful I’m even doing this. I just hope your freakish ways haven’t let you be fucked by those little friends of yours yet.”
I’m a virgin, he wanted desperately to beg. Please, I’m a virgin…I can’t take this…!
A hand grabbed the band of Harry’s boxers and pulled down, cold air splashing over his exposed skin. A weight pressed down against his body and he let out a muffled scream when a stick of flesh probed against his ass. Harry began to fight back, animalistic terror vibrating through his chest. He kicked and cried and clawed, attempting any way to get out of this situation, but Vernon was stronger—in fact, Harry’s attempts seemed to amuse him, and that made the situation even more humiliating.
So, for the first time in his life, Harry turned to begging. He couldn’t help it. Anything but this. “Please, Uncle Vernon,” he whispered, voice raw from screaming. “Please, I’ll—I’ll do anything else you want, okay? I’ll clean the entire house, I’ll, I’ll leave and never come back, I’ll stay in my room forever, please just—just don’t do this to me.” He sobbed harder, chest heaving with each breath.
Vernon didn’t seem to be listening, because the next thing Harry felt was a large, thick cock pressing up above his hole. He screamed as loudly as possible, trying to get away, but a hand gripped his hair and pushed him into the mattress. Just by how rough Vernon was already being, Harry knew this was not going to be pleasant.
He couldn’t believe this was going to be his first time.
Harry could feel the tip of Vernon’s cock burrow into his hole and all he felt was sharp, hot pain. Even with lube, everything hurt as his body attempted to push the unwarranted organ out, but Vernon was ruthless. He pressed in more, shaking with excitement at the pain-filled scream that ripped past Harry’s lips. He could physically feel himself squeezing against the warm penis burying inside, blinking tears when his uncle didn’t stop his pursuit.
Crying would do nothing. Screaming wouldn’t, either. Still, Harry couldn’t help it, unable to hold back the desperate sobs that wrenched from his throat. He attempted to thrash but that heightened the pain even more, black spots dancing across Harry’s vision. All he could focus on was the threads of the pillowcase laid before him, trailing his eyes with the intricate patterns that had been sewed on the cover, trying anything and everything to block out the horrid pain that threatened to pull him into unconsciousness.
Vernon, however, seemed to be enjoying every second of it. He groaned in pleasure when he dove as deep inside of Harry as possible, balls pressing against Harry’s exposed ass. “God, you’re tight,” he panted. “I guess you really aren’t the whore I thought you were.” Vernon leaned forward, trapping his weight on Harry’s back. “Well…now you are.”
Vernon pulled back and watched with a fixated gaze as tears streamed past Harry’s eyelids. He paused, adjusting his legs so that he pushed Harry to his hands and knees. Satisfied, Vernon bent his nephew over and impaled his cock into his hole, driving forward with such force Harry forgot how to breathe. He pulled out and slammed forward again, grunting with each harsh thrust. His hand snaked down and wrapped around Harry’s cock, causing him to yelp in shock.
As Vernon jerked his nephew off, Harry was horrified to feel himself reacting to the touch. He began to weep, pleads blundering past his lips as his uncle’s rhythm continued to grow faster and harder. Sparks flew through his chest from his building orgasm, but this was nothing like usual. His emotions were all over the place and he felt tainted, swallowing down vomit as he was slammed forward with each thrust.
The bed squeaked beneath both man and teenager, headboard clicking against the wall. Harry focused on the sound of sex that permeated the room, nearly passing out from the pain. But as he listened more to the pleasures grunts, hearing Vernon’s balls slap against him, Harry began to drift away. He found himself as a bystander to the horrific ordeal, standing and watching as he was brutally assaulted, violated in the worst way possible.
He imagined his uncle’s face, but it didn’t take much to see that he was close. Harry wanted to stay here, sitting above it all, untouched by the trauma, but a hand gripping his hair and pulling back his neck caused him to fly right back into his body.
“I’m close, boy,” Vernon grunted, licking Harry’s ear. His nephew sobbed when he was let go of, dropping to the mattress, unable to hold his weight any longer. The hand continued to jerk him off but paused as Vernon’s thrusts grew slower and more sensual. Moans blundered past his uncle’s lips and, as he pressed into Harry one final time he exploded, filling his nephew with cum.
Harry couldn’t speak—couldn’t think. But he felt every single touch that lingered against his body, felt the way cum dripped from his hole as Vernon slid out, slapping his ass for good measure. Harry cried out when he was suddenly jerked off again, and in a matter of moments he came as well.
Silence buzzed in the room, filling static in his ears. Harry felt absolutely disgusting, and after a moment he rolled over and tumbled to the floor, vomiting all over himself. He felt his uncle behind him and scrambled away, dry heaving as he pressed himself to the wall. “Leave me—leave me ‘lone,” he rasped, unable to open his eyes.
Vernon seemed hesitant. “Alright.” He heard his uncle stand up straight, and the silence that followed made him realize that Vernon was inspecting the damage. The fucking crime scene. “You need to get this cleaned up tomorrow, before Petunia and Dudley come home. Understand?”
Harry just wanted to be alone. “I understand,” he whispered, smoothing over when he heard Vernon pick up his clothes and leave the room. When the door was shut all Harry heard was a quiet buzz.
It nearly drove him crazy.
He was strong enough to eventually make it to the shower, but seeing the blood pool beneath his feet did nothing to ease his mind. After getting dressed again, Harry passed by his room and slipped down the stairs, walking straight out the front door without another thought.
He breathed in the cold, crisp air, feeling the tears blunder up against his eyelids. Harry walked, letting his feet lead the way—and he was taken to the park, where he slid down beside a bench and began to weep.
Severus Snape was annoyed, to say the least. He stood in front of the Headmaster, a petulant scowl plastered over his features. He could not believe what he was hearing.
“My dear boy,” Albus sighed, “I do not feel good about this. Please, for me, check on Harry? He has left his home in the dead of night and I know Death Eaters have been sighted more and more. Just check on him and return him home, please, Severus.”
Severus scowled even deeper, thinking about the brat. Rousing me from my work at one in the morning just because poor Potter ran away from home? He was not happy about the situation by any means, but felt that Albus was right. Perhaps it was best to check on the boy—at least make sure he wasn’t bleeding out from a Death Eater attack. It’d be his own bloody fault, wandering from home this late.
After another pleading look from Albus, Severus sighed. “Alright,” he said, “but I’ll kill the boy myself if nothing is amiss.”
“I would expect no less,” Albus said humorously, gaze twinkling, although it was wreathed by worry. “Update me on whatever happens, Severus.”
“Of course.” Severus dipped his head and sighed, turning and leaving the Headmaster’s office. He was already thinking of all the insults he could use against the boy. Perhaps this wouldn’t be an entirely useless trip after all.
A scream wrenched from Harry’s throat as he clawed at his face, drawing blood. He felt his shoulders soothe when cool, crimson droplets bled against his cheeks, but it hardly blocked out the pain thrumming through his entire body.
He physically could not stand anymore. His rear hurt more than the Cruciatus Curse and it felt as if he’d been blistered open by a thousand hornets. Harry continued to sob, falling to his side and curling up on himself. He didn’t bother to blink away the tears, too focused on reliving the memories that replayed through his head.
Harry still couldn’t quite grasp what had just happened to him. His own uncle—Vernon Dursley—had assaulted him in his own house, his own bedroom. He nearly vomited once more thinking about the mess he’d left behind; he wasn’t entirely sure he could return back tonight. Harry could always change the sheets tomorrow—Petunia and Dudley wouldn’t be coming home until late, anyway.
Still, the thought of cleaning up his own vomit and looking back at the bedspread was not ideal, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure he could do it without breaking down into hysterics again. He was already on the verge of losing his mind. Giving himself up to Voldemort was nothing compared to this. He’d rather face his rival ten times over than have to look at his uncle ever again.
Sobs continued bubbling through his lips as he laid there, beaten and broken, head still spinning ever-so-slightly from the impact of Vernon’s abuse. But he forced himself to stand on shaking legs, black hair brushing over his face, and began pacing. The only way to regain feeling and end the pain was to walk. Looked like he’d really have to get his steps in tonight.
Darkness shrouded over the street as Severus walked, robes billowing behind him like a black fog. His expression was set but his eyes were narrowed, scanning Little Whinging for any sign of the dreadful boy. Nothing, so far, and it was beginning to worry Severus.
Despite being a Gryffindor, Potter wasn’t entirely stupid. He knew the implications of leaving his home, and especially knew the dangers around the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters—so why on Earth would the boy leave home in the middle of the night?
His chest twisted with concern he’d never be human enough to admit. Perhaps he did secretly care for the boy after all, but Severus had convinced himself that he didn’t. After all, why would he ever care for his rival’s son? That blasted Harry Potter was a carbon copy of his father, but those eyes always reflected Lily—and perhaps the guilt and shame had more to do with Severus’s treatment towards Potter than anything.
Before he could continue on with the thoughts whirling around his head, Severus spotted a shadow in the distance and froze. In the middle of a children’s playground stood a teenager, pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Severus frowned, a flare of anger igniting in his chest. Had Potter really left home to practice marching?
Practically baring his teeth, Severus approached the playground, silent as a moth, but paused when Potter turned his back to him, standing still in the dead of night. Severus said nothing—just watched as the boy limped—limped?—towards the swing set and crumbled to the ground in a limp heap.
Cursing, Severus rushed forward and turned the boy over, placing two fingers against his throat. There was a pulse, but it seemed to skip a beat every few seconds. This was concerning. Even more so were the black bruises swallowing Potter’s face, creeping up the side of his cheek and blending into the black head of hair draped over his head. Suddenly he realized that the boy must’ve been in a fight, and all concern swept out of his body.
“Potter,” Severus said, gripping the boy tight. He did not rouse. “Potter, I demand that you wake up this instant.” Perhaps the beating he’d gained had given him enough incentive to pass out. Still, Severus was not happy by any means. “Potter!”
It took a moment, but the boy’s eyes slowly peeled open. Severus froze. Those usual fiery, determined emeralds had shifted into something dull and clouded. His heart leapt into his throat at the sight. Why in the world did Potter look like he’d just witnessed someone’s death?
“Potter,” Severus said again. No response. He attempted to stand, lifting the boy with him, but Harry was completely limp and simply drooped back to the ground. Severus had never seen Potter like this before, not even after the Triwizard Tournament.
And then something clicked in those eyes, and to Severus’s shock, the boy began kicking and screaming, rearing his head forward to snap his teeth at Snape’s throat. The professor managed to jerk out of the way, attempting to keep Potter still, but nothing seemed to be working. He could feel Potter’s terror like a blanket and wondered if the brat thought he was a Death Eater.
Still, the way he was fighting indicated that something else was going on. Severus was going to figure it out.
Finally, the professor sighed loudly and let go of the boy. “Quite melodramatic, Potter,” he sneered, pushing any and all concern out of his voice. However, his eyes widened when Potter scrambled back and vomited, sobbing as he did so. The boy wept as he curled himself into a fetal position, rocking back and forth. Severus felt like he was completely out of his comfort zone here. “Potter?” Perhaps the Granger girl had broken up with him, if they were even dating, or maybe Weasley had said something loathsome about Potter or his parents. Either way, this was all new, and Severus wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with it.
Potter didn’t even seem to realize that Severus was here. His sobs died down into quiet hiccups, eyes glazing over again. Severus was deeply unsettled.
“Harry Potter, if you do not respond to me at once it will be fifty points from Gryffindor,” he decided on, hoping to retrieve the boy in any way possible. Threats always seemed to work—not today, though. Potter didn’t move. Perhaps his relatives would be able to coddle him back to life. “Alright, then it looks like we’re returning you home.”
When there was no response again, Severus growled and reached forward, fisting his hands through Potter’s shirt. What he did not expect was for the boy to begin hyperventilating, eyes going wide. “No! No! Don’t—don’t take me back there, please, Merlin, no,” he cried, ripping himself out of Severus’s grip. “Please…I can’t…I…”
“Potter!” Severus snarled. This time he couldn’t control the slight wobble in his voice. “What on Earth is wrong with you?”
As Harry pushed himself back against the swing set’s pole, his green gaze sparked with some kind of recognition. Severus’s heart leapt. Potter blinked, eyes growing clearer, until his jaw was hanging open. “Pr—Professor Snape?”
Severus quickly hid his delighted shock, instead replacing it with a dark scowl. He watched in satisfaction as the boy flinched back. “Yes, Potter, you seem to have eyes.”
“What…” Harry swallowed, but his voice was thick and raw, “are you doing here?”
“The Headmaster was worried about his golden boy,” Severus sneered. “It seems he had every right to be, considering you’re acting like a wild animal.”
“I’m not—” Harry bit his tongue, looking suddenly frustrated. For the first time ever Severus’s words seemed to get to the boy, for he burst into tears a moment later.
Severus, uncertain on what to do, relied on his usual coldness. “Come. It’s time for you to go home before you’re caught by a real Death Eater.”
Potter’s tears subsided, but his expression was set into a firm line. “No,” he said, not making eye contact with Severus.
Raising a brow, growing agitated, Severus walked forward, glowering down at the boy. “I would really rather not have to drag you home, but I will if you refuse to cooperate with me.”
No answer.
“Fine, Potter, have it your way.” Growling, Severus reached forward to wrap his hand against Potter’s shoulders, but the boy flinched and scrambled out of the way, eyes wide. “Potter!”
“Don’t—touch me!” the boy said, shaking.
“What in the world has gotten into you?” Severus snarled. “You are acting no better than a petulant child. I’m tempted to bring you back to Hogwarts to start cleaning out cauldrons.”
Something crossed over Harry’s face. Relief. “Professor, yes—yes, please, please I will,” he said urgently. “Please…I’ll come to Hogwarts.”
Severus narrowed his eyes. “That is not the answer I was expecting, Potter. I figured your relatives had pampered you enough that you wouldn’t even know where to begin with a broom.”
Potter laughed, but it was unnerving. It held nothing of its usual bravado—just a cold, disheartened chuckle. “You know nothing about my life,” he spat. Severus bristled. “And I’m not going home—you’ll have to use Petrificus Totalus on me.”
“Perhaps I will.”
Potter glared at him. Severus was beginning to wonder if the boy was more Slytherin than he let on. “Go ahead. I’m sure Dumbledore will be happy with that turn of events.”
Severus scoffed. “He’d never know.”
“He always knows.”
Well, Potter had caught him there. Curling his lip in anger, Severus stepped back. “Fine. For whatever reason you don’t want to return home, but I’m not going to bother asking why.” Perhaps he still had time to slip in a few jabs. He smirked. “What, were you not coddled enough tonight for your liking, Potter?”
Potter laughed again, but it was devoid of any emotion. Severus frowned. “Coddled…that’s right. Is that the term you would use when someone is hit over the head with a pan?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Severus said, but the conversation was beginning to concern him. Why would Potter say such a thing?
“Or—or maybe you’d use coddled when you’re pushed down the stairs for not finishing painting the walls?” Harry’s expression twisted into a sneer, something Severus had never seen on the boy’s face before. “Or being locked in your room, having to feed your last scraps of food to Hedwig? Digging through the bin after cooking dinner but not getting any of it?” Harry glared at Severus and rose to his feet, teeth bared. “So, yes, if that’s your definition of coddled then I certainly am.”
Severus stood before him, eyes wide. “Potter…” He was, for once, lost for words. “These are serious accusations.”
“They’re true. You just never opened your eyes enough to see. After all, I’m just like my father, aren’t I?”
“Potter…”
“I’m—I’m just like James, right? Because I’m sure his uncle did the same thing to him. I’m…I’m sure…” Potter began to weep again.
Severus’s heart was in his throat. “Potter.” No response. “Harry.” The boy blinked. “What are you talking about?” There was a terrible feeling in his gut, like a snake twisting and turning. “What has your uncle done?”
He looked at the bruises and suddenly began to wonder. When everything clicked in his mind, hot, white anger rushed through his chest.
Harry lifted his head and shakily pointed to his face. Rage boiled in the pit of Severus’s stomach and he snarled, whirling around and stomping towards Number 4 Privet Drive. He was going to Crucio the man—and maybe Petunia, as well.
But then there was a hand on his shoulder and Severus paused, whipping his head back. Harry shivered in disgust and the professor felt a stab of resentment. Was he really so revolting Potter couldn’t even touch him?
“Don’t go,” Potter said, and Severus frowned. “Trust me. You don’t…” Tears slipped from the boy’s eyes. “You don’t want to go.”
Severus paused, staring at Harry, before setting his jaw. “We’re going so we can retrieve your belongings.”
Harry seemed slightly confused.
“If what you’ve told me is true…” Severus breathed. “Then you are not staying there any longer.”
“But what about the blood wards?”
Severus narrowed his eyes. “What about them?”
“Don’t I, you know…need them?”
The professor scoffed. “Who on Earth has made you think that you must stay subject to abuse because of the blood wards?”
Harry was quiet.
Severus growled. “We’ll speak about this later. For now, we must go. It is dangerous out here and I know the Headmaster is biting his nails.”
Potter couldn’t seem to respond, so just nodded lightly.
As they made their way to his relatives’ house, Severus looked over the place with a look of fury. He wondered how no one had ever realized the abuse Harry had suffered here. You didn’t, either, a voice reminded him, but Severus shook off the guilt. Looking back, Severus opened his mouth to say something, but Harry’s eyes were wide and focused on the door.
Turning, Severus saw nothing there. He frowned, glancing back at the boy. “What?” Was this some kind of post-traumatic episode? A flashback? The thought sent a shiver down Severus’s spine. If so, it would take a lot of work to mentally heal Harry, and even more to prepare him for his fight against the Dark Lord.
And it was looking very possible that Severus would have to do it himself.
It’s not that he didn’t trust anyone, but he was sure Harry would have doubts on where to go—and he wanted the boy to be in a place where he would actually learn, not be pampered to death. Albus and Minerva certainly would not do, but neither would Remus or Sirius. The last person Severus could think of to heal the boy was himself, but even the thought made him want to run.
Severus Snape, taking care of Harry Potter? What a sight.
Shaking out of his thoughts, Severus frowned. “Come.”
Harry didn’t move.
The professor sighed. “Nothing will happen to you, I swear it. Your uncle—or aunt—will not get their hands on you ever again.”
The boy shivered. “Petunia…isn’t here. Neither is Dudley.”
Severus felt the blood drain from his body. “Just your uncle?”
“Yeah.”
He swallowed bile. Without his wife and son to keep him in check, there was no telling what Vernon had done to his nephew.
Harry seemed to blink out of his trance and slowly limped up next to Severus. The professor frowned. “How did you gain your limp?”
Harry didn’t respond.
We’ll talk about it later, Severus promised himself. “Come on. The sooner we gather your belongings, the better.”
The boy nodded slowly but still seemed to be stuck in a trance. Severus sighed and walked forward, opening the front door and peering inside. The house was dark, but there were enough lamps to illuminate the walls. Turning back, he noticed Harry freeze. “It’s alright,” he tried to soothe, but it sounded awkward coming from his own mouth. “Are you ready?”
Harry shook his head but stepped inside anyway, beginning to tremble. Severus followed, softly shutting the door behind them, examining the pictures he saw hung on the wall.
Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley. Petunia and Dudley. Vernon and Petunia. Dudley.
No Harry.
Severus felt as if he was going to be sick. Had no one ever checked on the house before? Never seen the evidence laid right before their eyes? He was disgusted, and all Severus could imagine was tearing Vernon limb-from-limb until he was screaming for death. Yes. That was a rather welcomed sight.
Whirling around, Severus glowered. “Where is your room, Potter?”
Harry seemed to still be partially stuck in a flashback.
“Merlin,” Severus muttered, turning and trudging up the stairs. “I’ll find the bloody room myself.” He would never admit it, but seeing the boy trapped in such a state unnerved him. But it’s not like he could touch Harry, lest he break down again, and he wasn’t going to harm the boy to bring him back to the present. So, it looked like he’d have to do this himself.
That was fine. It was absolutely fine.
As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, the first thing Severus heard was snoring. He grimaced, having always hated the sound, and opened the first door to his right.
The smell of sex was immediate. Severus froze, eyes wide, bile in his throat as he slowly walked into the room. He glanced near the bed and noticed the puddle of vomit—probably from Harry. When Severus raised his eyes toward the sheets, he could not contain himself.
He rushed to the bathroom and retched. When he was finished he forced himself to enter the room again, shock piercing every inch of his core. Severus walked forward and stared at the crumpled bedspread, raising the back of his hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting again.
He could see two distinct substances—semen and blood. Severus’s jaw quivered and he raised his gaze towards the headboard, noticing the dents and realizing, by the angle, that Harry’s bruises had been caused by it. A rage he had never felt before in his life splashed through his body, so thick and unmistakeable he was sure he was going to burn the entire house down with Vernon inside it.
The act was despicable. Sexual assault was not a minor thing in the wizarding world—people went to Azkaban over it because it could greatly injure the magical core of a person. It was worse than death, because at least in death the person wouldn’t have to live with the trauma. With sexual assault, the victim did live. They did feel it. And suddenly everything made sense—the averse to touch, the disgust at handling Severus, the request to go to Hogwarts—and Snape was sure he was going to kill the Dursley himself.
But Harry was more important than his deplorable uncle. He made quick movements towards Hedwig’s cage, noticing how frail the owl was and how dull her feathers were. So Harry had not been lying about the malnourishment—it was quite obvious with his pet. Feeling even worse, Snape searched the room for anything else and noticed the book he’d assigned during the summer on Harry’s bedside table.
Gripping the book and squeezing his fingers against the handle to Hedwig’s cage, Severus rushed down the stairs and found Harry in the same place, staring forward with a blank look in his eyes. “Harry. Harry,” he said, trying to break the boy from his trance. “Can you hear me?”
It took a moment, but the boy blinked and stared at Severus. “Professor Snape?” he whispered.
“Yes,” Severus said. “I…have been to your room. Here is your owl and book.” He set the belongings next to Harry’s feet then raised his gaze.
The boy looked sick. “You went…into my room,” he echoed softly, tears brimming in his eyes.
“Harry…” What could he possibly say? There was nothing in the world that would make the boy feel better. “Harry, it was not your fault. Do you understand me?”
Harry burst into tears. He crumbled to the ground and began to sob quietly, wrapping his arms around his legs. Severus, unsure of what to do, crouched next to the boy and hesitated. “May I…touch you?”
Harry shook his head.
“Alright.” Severus sighed. “Look, before we go I need to know where the rest of your belongings are.”
The boy looked up, emerald eyes clouded by tears. He glanced towards the hallway and Severus followed his gaze, noticing a cupboard under the stairs. Severus raised himself to his feet and pointed his wand toward the cupboard, destroying the lock. He peeled the door open and immediately noticed Harry’s trunk. It made even more sense, now, why the boy never completed his homework. He couldn’t.
And he’d never said anything.
Feeling sick with himself, Severus levitated the trunk and pulled it out from the cupboard. He closed the door and turned to Harry, pausing. “It’s…time to leave now, Harry. Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” Harry whispered, but didn’t move.
Severus frowned and squatted across from the boy, trying to figure out what to say. “I…”
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Harry interrupted.
Snape was taken aback. “You’re…sorry?”
“Yeah.” More tears blinked from his eyes. “That’s…horrible. I should’ve cleaned up, but I—I just couldn’t. I had to leave. I had to…” He wept again.
“Harry, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Severus shook his head. “What happened is not your fault. If anyone should be apologizing it is your despicable uncle. You did nothing wrong, but you do not have to suffer here anymore. I’ll—” His voice shook. “I’ll take care of you now, Harry.”
He looked at Severus, shocked. “R…Really?”
Severus felt emotion well in his throat. “Yes.”
Harry continued to shiver but finally nodded, blinking slowly. “Okay. Okay…”
Snape held out a hand, giving his best smile. “Are you ready?”
It took a moment, but Harry eventually nodded, eyes shining with tears. “I’m ready,” he whispered. Harry paused, reached forward, and connected his hand with Severus’s.
There was no going back now.