Chapter Text
Severus Snape felt. He knew most people believed he was cold and unfeeling, save for bursts of rage-fueled violence. His reputation as a Death Eater and a dungeon bat whose only joy came from the pain of others was hard-earned. Perfect for a spy.
And yes, at times, it was true.
The first time he insulted Harry Potter, he felt the soothing warmth of vengeance lap at his insides. At last, through this insolent little waif, he could take revenge on James Potter for Severus’ entire horrid school experience, for heading up those insufferable Marauders, and most importantly, for taking Lily Evans from him.
But as those green eyes leveled on him, Severus felt the joy recede and complete and utter shock take its place. Not only were the boy’s eyes an exact match for Lily Potter’s, the expression was the same one she had given him the last time they had spoken.
Censure. Pity. And a world-weary grief that had no business gracing a tiny eleven year old’s face.
Potter did not speak in answer to Severus’ question, merely shook his shaggy head slightly.
Tiny. Shaggy. Neither Lily nor James had been particularly petite. And even though James Potter’s hair had been untameably wild, it was always neatly trimmed.
Odd.
And when Severus considered the ageless sadness in the child’s eyes, Severus moved from feeling odd to deeply unsettled.
He continued to quiz the boy, ignoring the Granger girl’s reaching hand (he could never be seen to favor a muggleborn; ironic, considering a muggleborn was the only person he had truly loved unreservedly in the entirety of his life).
He took points for Potter’s cheek (clearly, Lily’s wit was alive and well in this child).
But when Severus said, “Pity. Clearly, fame isn’t everything.” He could have sworn that Potter mouthed the words along with him.
Now what, in all of Salazar’s ghosts and gremlins, was that?
Severus was a boy, standing under a tree, pushing a young Lily in a wooden swing. Her giggles rang through the air and Severus allowed himself to smile before a sound had him sucking in a breath and opening his eyes.
Severus' wand was in his hand, but the point of another wand was against his throat. He looked up into James Potter’s face set with Lily Evan’s eyes.
“What?” Severus gasped.
“We’re not doing this again.” Harry Potter spoke to him in a bizarrely firm yet gentle manner. “It is enough. I’m certain you’re tired of it, as well.”
“Potter,” Severus tried to summon his wits and his teacher persona, having been yanked violently from a peaceful dream to a student in his private chambers, which had never happened in the course of his career. “You will leave this room at once and have a month’s worth of detention, or you will linger here and I shall be forced to summon your Head of House and the Headmaster, and the two of us will likely both be summarily ejected from these hallowed halls for the remainder of our miserable lives.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Harry Potter sighed, reaching up to rub his scar. “Look, you won’t be summoning anyone.” Severus felt the wand slide from his hand like the loss of a limb. “There will be no detention. We’re not doing all of this again. I just want you to see me smash it, we’ll make a plan, and I’ll leave you be. For now.”
Severus sat up slowly as Harry Potter backed away. “Potter, are you, perhaps, sleepwalking?” He let the ‘or are you utterly mad?’ go unsaid; the child was clearly disturbed in some way; Severus might hate Harry’s father, but he had no desire to exacerbate this child's mental illness. Panic reared in him when he thought of Harry’s famous scar. Did dark magic linger over the child?
His musings ground to a halt as Harry rolled his eyes, flopped to a seat on the floor, and pulled a jeweled tiara from a shoulder bag.
“I’m awake; I just needed you to be.”
With that, Harry Potter pulled a necklace from over his head, gripped what looked like a dragon fang, and drove it into the hapless crown on the floor.
And Severus fell to floor himself as an unholy scream echoed through the room and an oily black smoke poured from the diadem, just as Harry Potter slammed the fang down once more, cutting off both.
The rush of evil dissipated in an instant and Harry’s face relaxed. He met Severus’s eyes and sent him a grim smile. “Well. Didn’t realize this would take so much out of me. I’m going to have to revert. Don’t panic, Severus.”
Severus’s mind was in pieces, but he managed to wonder how a first year would know his given name, much less feel at ease using it. He hadn’t found the wits to speak before Harry Potter transformed into a wide-shouldered, scarred man sitting in Severus’ bedroom floor.
“Right, that’s better,” the intruder said…and yet…
Hell. The voice was James Potter, the cadence Lily Evans.
The man sent him a rueful smile and Severus wished to wake up. There was no way this scarred, weary-souled man was…was…
“Breathe, Severus. Yes. I’m Harry Potter. Yes, I’m thirty-one years old. Give or take. Yes, I just destroyed a horcrux on your floor. And, come to think of it, I’m about to smash another one, if I can. Gonna be rather embarrassing if I can’t, really. Kreacher!”
Severus jerked backward as an ancient and bedraggled house elf popped into existence.
“Master…called?” Kreacher sounded as confused as Severus felt.
“So I am your master. Interesting. Fetch the locket Regulus gave you immediately.”
Before Severus could blink or breathe, the elf was gone and back again, holding a locket out to Harry Potter.
“Set it on the floor Kreacher, and step back. I’m going to destroy it.”
The elf complied immediately and then froze. “Master is…” he began, voice breaking. “Master is going to-”
“Stay well back, Kreacher. Put up a shield between yourself and the locket just in case, alright? Ready?”
“Yes, master,” Kreacher squeaked and stepped back beside Severus, throwing up a wandless silvery shield with enough power crackling off of it to make Albus Dumbledore himself proud.
Severus didn’t know why he was surprised when Potter unceremoniously began to smash the locket, but Severus couldn’t help throwing a wandless shield between the man and the horrible sludge of evil magic that burst from the locket.
Potter steadfastly smashed the fang down on the locket until the magic faded with a scream. Severus needed to process, but it was too much. It was a horcrux.
Potter…Harry…the man, whoever he might be, although there was only one person that he could be, set back on his heels and gathered the fragments of the crown into his bag.
“Kreacher, I need the locket for a while. Will you want it back later?”
The elf bowed deeply and spoke with a broken, cracking voice. “Master has freed Kreacher from the darkness. Master has granted Master Regulus’ final wish. How may Kreacher serve Master? What is the master’s name?”
The young man waved him off. “It’s Harry. And don’t bow to me, Kreacher, please. Severus, can you summon a Hogwarts house elf? I’d like someone to look after Kreacher for a few days.”
“What? Kreacher must serve.” Kreacher muttered, sounding strained.
“If you want, Kreacher, of course. But you’ve had disgusting magic and an impossible order tearing at you for years. The best way you can serve me is to get some rest and healing. Severus?”
“Mazie,” Severus croaked out, and a tiny house elf in a yellow dress and a crisp white apron popped into existence and bowed. “We have a house elf guest. He works for one of our students and has had a difficult chapter. Will you kindly escort him to a guest room and see that he is properly attended? And not report it to the headmaster unless asked? If Kreacher is ill or distressed, please send for me immediately.”
“Yes, Master Potions,” Mazie bowed. She turned, jumping slightly at the sight of Potter and offered a hand to Kreacher. “I is Mazie. What is you name, please?”
“Kreacher of House Black.” Kreacher bowed slightly.
“Very good, Kreacher. If youse will take my hand, I will take youse to a nice place to rest.”
Kreacher looked at Potter, who nodded with a smile. “Thank you for your loyalty, Kreacher. This rest is necessary and deserved. I will call upon you if I need you, and you may send for me at any time.”
Severus’s mouth dropped as Kreacher shook himself, bowed, and took Mazie’s hand, popping from the room.
Potter caught his eye and grinned, though his shoulders were sagging. “What?”
“What?” Severus repeated in disbelief. “You think I have only one question…Potter?”
“Harry,” Harry Potter sighed. “For God’s sake, Severus, call me Harry. You and Malfoy have put enough disdain on Potter to last a thousand years.”
“In…in two days?” Severus asked tentatively.
Potter…Harry…laughed bitterly. “No.” He said at last. “Well…” he started to get up from the floor and then sagged back down. “Well, Hell.” He muttered.
“It appears you are unable to run from my questions.” Severus said, trying to sound smug and superior and having no faith that he succeeded.
“I only wish that were true.” Harry said with such sad defeat that Severus felt his cold dead heart twist in concern.
He took a blanket from the foot of his bed and wandlessly imbued it with a warming charm. “Here,” he tossed it to the young man who stared at it as if it were an alien thing. “It’s a blanket, P… Harry. Wrap it around yourself. You’re magically exhausted from shielding yourself against the darkest of magicks.”
“Fine,” Harry murmured, barely able to wrap the blanket around himself. “It. It’s warm.”
“Warming charms will have that effect. Shockingly, you’ll also find that levitating charms cause objects to rise in the air. Calming draughts are known to produce, can you believe it, calming effects on those who drink them.” Severus groused.
Harry laughed, a short, genuine bark of sound that made Severus smile in spite of himself. “I like this version of you.” He muttered, head drooping.
“What the Hell, Harry?” Severus demanded, touched and baffled.
“I like your sarcasm when it’s not meant to hurt.” Harry mumbled.
“Again, you are speaking as though we have known each other for years…” Severus pressed.
“Yeah, well. That’s not as wrong as it could be.” Harry was bundled to the point of being nearly invisible in the blanket, head drooping until his chin was bumping his chest.
“Alright, enough.” Severus got slowly to his feet, and Harry did not even move. Severus checked the clock on the nightstand, and saw that it was a quarter past one. “You clearly must get some rest, Potter. I’m going to help you to bed for a few hours, and then you are going to explain your age, your house elf, the horcruxes, and your familiarity with me. Agreed?”
“I can’t go back to the tower.” Harry said, somewhere in the folds of the blanket. “I’m too tired, for one thing. For another, It feels dead wrong to sleep in the same room with eleven year olds, especially when they don’t know about me.”
Severus sighed. “I was not suggesting a trek from dungeon to tower at this gods forsaken hour, Harry. I intend for you to sleep here, while I watch over you, and I will wake you before dawn so that we may converse further.”
“Oh.” It was Harry’s turn to sigh deeply, shifting a little so that his head came free of the blanket, green eyes locked onto Severus in an utterly disconcerting way. “Well. I…I can sleep here on the floor, I suppose. I’ve slept in worse places.”
“I am not such a poor host. If you will grant me my wand, I will conjure a separate bed for you. Baring that, you may have mine. I highly doubt I will be able to sleep any more considering the madness the night has wrought.”
Harry blinked rapidly and a shudder ran through him.
“Harry?” Severus asked, moving closer. “Harry, what is it? An aftereffect of the ritual, perhaps? Shall I run diagnostics or fetch Poppy?”
A strangled sob of a laugh burst from Harry. His eyes caught the light of the magical torch and tears were slowly leaking down his face. “That’s not…not necessary, Severus. This, you see, is a very human, very short-lived ailment, called crying. It will pass soon enough, I’m sure.”
“Cheeky brat,” Severus knelt down in front of the man and gripped his shoulder. “Excessive emotion can be a symptom of dark magic exposure, idiot. Give me my wand so I can run diagnostics.”
“I’m crying because you gave me a charm-warmed blanket and offered me your bed. Now who’s an idiot?” Harry quipped, leaning his head to rest against Severus’ hand, shuddering and weeping.
“That…that is common courtesy, Harry. Hardly worth such fuss.” Severus scoffed, but had no ability to stop his other hand from gripping the man’s other shoulder. “Harry Potter, man, what have you been through?”
Harry’s laughter was almost maniacal; it ended quickly as he slumped into Severus, resting his head on Severus’ shoulder. “Please don’t be angry.” He whimpered, still weeping, voice thready.
Severus swore in his head and wrapped his arms around the man. Whatever he may be. An apparition with a fondness for destroying dark artifacts, bonding with house elves, and being entirely too grateful for basic human comforts? In any case, Severus could not help offering him whatever meager comfort he could.
“I am not angry with you.” Severus said, his tone firm. “Whatever hell you have been through has clearly offered you no comfort, and if I can offer some slight respite I am glad to do so.”
“It’s a good start,” Harry muttered, sniffling. “I…I wasn’t expecting such a good start.”
Severus opened his mouth and then closed it again. “My instinct is to launch into an interrogation, but you are clearly not well enough for such a thing.”
“I’d probably talk even crazier than normal.” Harry muttered.
“Yes,” Severus agreed, absently patting at Harry’s back with one hand. “I’m going to help you to bed now, Harry. You may keep my wand for a time if it pleases you, but you are in no condition to remain awake.”
“You’re right,” Harry murmured.
“Very well. Let us go.” Severus got to his feet, helped Harry Potter to bed. And sat on the floor for hours, wondering what in Merlin’s name had he gotten into.