By LastCrazyHorn

Word Count:

Rating: PG-13 for brief language, violence, and depictions of abuse

Summary: A disabled Harry comes to Hogwarts story. Everyone expects him to be like his dad, but how can he be with such a different past? A Slytherin Harry takes on Hogwarts in an unusual way.

 

He was burning.

Harry remembered beating his hand against the window, the very cold hard window. He remembered being watched by his seemingly impassive aunt as he screamed for help. He remembered the very moment that the car exploded; the moment that his nerves screamed white blinding agony as he was thrown outwards from the car into the muddy embankment.

He even remembered what it felt like to be half buried in mud, one side frigid and shaking as the other side burned on unmercifully. He remembered smelling his own flesh cook and being too far gone to even be sick. He remembered what it felt like to see darkness at the edge of his consciousness and being unafraid to walk into it, unaware that they would be the last steps he would ever take as a two legged person.

It had taken a very long time for him to find his way back out of the darkness again. When he finally did, it was into a world where time had ceased; where blinking numbers and low lights and hushed voices pervaded his awareness. It was into a world where everything sat at an agonizing level of open nerve endings and burning sensations; his body scraped raw and ragged and burnt.

He remembered what it felt like to wonder if anyone would even know that he had died; if there would be anyone at his funeral, or anyone that would miss him.

He remembered the touch of a cool nurse’s hand on his left cheek calming him through one of many panic attacks. He remembered her holding out a pad and asking him if he could write his name, and trying to respond that he couldn’t write with his left hand, where was his right hand, why wasn’t she on that side!

That had been before his hearing had been affected by the many infections that had slowly eaten their way through what was left of him. He had felt that cool touch on his cheek as she had hushed him gently through his terror, and he remembered wondering if her touch had felt anything like his mother’s.

The Dursleys had left him for dead. Petunia had left him, her seven year old nephew, for dead in a burning car that her husband had crashed. Dead, dead, dead.

Then one day, he had opened his eyes and found himself with a visitor; a very strange visitor with a long beard and some sort of purple robe. He hadn’t had a visitor in all of the months of his stay, and suddenly there had been this old man staring down at him with a smile; almost as though he looked down on burnt freaks every day and was immune to their horrors. Harry had half expected the man to offer him a lollipop, and had barked with bitter laughter when the man had offered him a lemon drop instead.

He had wanted to forget the Dursleys completely and move on from them silently. He had planned not to ever mention them to another soul; to pretend as though they didn’t exist as easily as they had tried to pretend the same about him.

He had tried to, been desperate to do so, but the man hadn’t let him.

. . .

Severus Snape worriedly watched his Snake toss and turn on the bed beside him. The boy was drenched in sweat, despite having drunk two vials of Severus’ strongest fever reducing potion.

The bed that Harry was in was a mystery, as was the room it was in. When Severus had carried Harry into his quarters, there had been an extra door next to his own bedroom, and inside he had discovered another bed. He knew that the castle was more than just a building, but it still amazed him to find such . . . sentient surprises within her walls.

“You aren’t serious,” Harry suddenly growled aloud; his eye wide and staring at something—or someone—that wasn’t there.

“Harry,” Severus tried to soothe, reaching out and catching hold of the boy’s hands.

“You bastard!” Harry screamed as he pulled against Severus’ hold on him.

Harry was pulling against his arms—well, rather he was throwing himself against them—seemingly desperate to get at whatever horror his hallucination told him was in the room with him.

In an effort to get a better hold on the boy, Severus moved up onto the bed beside Harry and attempted to pull him into the side of his body.

For safekeeping, he thought with no small amount of bitter amusement.

Unfortunately, Harry was having none of it; still trying to fight off his imagined demons with a force seemingly greater than his size would indicate possible.

“Harry, what in Merlin’s name!” Severus huffed, trying to catch his eye.

Harry’s head abruptly swung backwards into his chest, and Severus found himself looking straight down into upside down green orbs. In such an altered state, it was easy to see a difference between the real eye and the magical one. Harry’s real eye was bloodshot and glassy eyed, while the other one only managed to be bloodshot. Likewise, as Severus looked more closely, he could see that there was a difference in the shades of green between them; a difference that typically wasn’t obvious at first glance.

“Anyone . . .” Harry was whispering in a strange voice, and Snape had to drop his head closer to hear.

“Please help me. Please,” Harry begged, his voice cracking on the last word.

“Harry,” Severus started to say, but the rest of his words died on his tongue as Harry reached up and caught his face with one dangerously warm hand.

“I never thought I could hate like this. Never thought . . .” Harry trailed off with a broken laugh that chilled Severus to the core, despite the heat radiating from the boy. “Please,” the Harry said, focusing that green eye on Severus’ gaze with a sudden knife sharp level of clarity.

“Please, see,” Harry begged, that brief period of focus beginning to fade.

Suddenly, Severus felt his consciousness being invaded and realised with a start that Harry was legilimizing him! He tried to push back, trying to keep his backwards force to a minimum in order not to hurt his Snake, but just as his mind teetered on the edge of expelling Harry’s own, something shifted and suddenly everything changed.

No longer was Harry pushing into his mind, but rather he was now pulling Severus into his own! Severus doubted that the boy was even aware of what he was doing. He was also quite certain that Harry didn’t know where he was, and possibly not whom he was with.

That, and a very real desire to help Harry through his current dilemma, kept Severus from taking control of his mind back once again. Harry might have had pure magical force on his side, but Severus knew the intricacies of how such force worked, and if he had wanted to, he could have removed his mind from Harry’s hold on it.

Once he made his decision not to fight, his final progress into Harry’s mind was quick. All too soon, Severus found himself sitting across a muggle hospital bed from none other than Albus Dumbledore. In the bed lay a much younger, much smaller Harry. Covering Harry’s right side was a large mass of gauze; underneath which Severus could see pained flesh that was in various levels of healing.

The boy was thin; his flesh pulled tightly across his thin bones, and Severus had no doubt that had his chest been uncovered, every rib likely would have been visible. He didn’t have a great deal of experience with burn victims—nor did he like thinking of his Snake as a victim, despite the circumstances—but he had a feeling that the child’s current emaciation was not entirely a result of his injuries.

Severus’ attention was drawn back to Dumbledore and his eyes narrowed in distaste at the unaffected facade that the old man was currently sporting in the face of such painful injuries.

“I won’t,” Harry said in a gravelly voice, shaking his head emphatically as Dumbledore continued to smile down at him.

“My dear boy, they are your family. You belong with them,” the old man said, even daring to reach his hand out to pat Harry on the arm. Severus raised an eyebrow as the much younger Harry pulled himself away out of reach.

“They left me to die, you shit eating bastard,” Harry growled back, doing a passable imitation of Severus on one of his worse days.

Severus raised his eyebrows in surprise. As of yet, he had still been unable to get Harry to talk about the cause behind his injuries (regardless of a few suspicions).

“An accident, I feel certain. Why, your aunt adored your mother,” Dumbledore replied in a demeaning, offhand voice.

The younger Harry’s eyes flashed with some of the anger that Severus had seen while Harry had been hallucinating.

“You aren’t listening to me,” the younger Harry’s breath was picking up, and Severus could hear a worrisome wheeze underlying the sound.

“I’m sorry if you feel that way,” Dumbledore answered, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

What in Merlin’s name does he think he’s achieving by treating Harry this way? Severus wondered with no small amount of disbelief.

The younger Harry in front of him was raw, both physically and emotionally. Pain was radiating from his body, as well as anger. In fact, Severus realised, the air was charged with unreleased magical power, and Severus shifted uneasily in his uncomfortable hospital chair. This might only be a memory, but he didn’t relish the idea of seeing his Snake be hurt by an uncaring Dumbledore.

A slight breeze moved past Severus’ face as the younger Harry’s fury continued to increase.

Finally, they arrived at the crux of the situation.

“This conversation is over. You will be sent to your aunt’s house once you are released,” Dumbledore moved to stand. A clatter and a splash and suddenly there was a bright yellow pitcher flying unaided across the room into Dumbledore’s face.

Severus caught a brief look of something that resembled . . . satisfaction? in Dumbledore’s eyes and bit back a curse.

The water pitcher was only the beginning of Harry’s anger. Suddenly the beeping of the monitors surrounding them increased in tempo and volume, just as random items began to pick themselves up and hurl into Dumbledore’s person. Most of the items bounced off uselessly, but a few got through the old man’s defences; in one situation, a syringe sliced a line across one cheek, and then a minute later, Severus watched in fascination as an IV stand flew into his face, breaking his nose with an audible crack.

“Get OUT!” Harry screamed; his eye alight with livid fury.

Without warning, blue fire began streaming out of his hands towards Dumbledore, literally propelling him backwards out the door. Only when the old man was gone did Harry collapse back down onto his pillows. The little boy was white faced and trembling violently.

Before the memory faded, Severus heard a small sob, and then there was only blankness.

. . .

It was another day before Harry’s fever broke. Severus spent most of that time sitting on the bed beside him, only leaving to sleep and eat when Poppy made him. This was his Snake.

He was somewhat relieved that Teddy had agreed to go home for the holidays, or else the boy would have likely been underfoot as well. He only hoped that Nott Sr. stayed in Azkaban until the end of break. Merlin only knew what would happen otherwise. There was no way the older man could have missed hearing that his son was best friends with Harry Potter.

Yet another situation that will require attention sooner than later, he sighed.

“Hey,” a hoarse voice broke through his musings and Severus tried not to jerk against the small body currently using him as a pillow.

He turned the boy’s face towards his and carefully slid his glasses on. “Harry?” He asked tentatively.

“Where—?” Harry tried to ask, breaking off into a coughing fit. Severus quickly summoned a glass of water and held it while his Snake drank from it.

“You took ill during your Transfiguration class. Do you remember?” He asked as his first year slowly sipped the water.

“I . . . I made the desk smoke,” Harry answered in a halting voice. “Where are we?” He added, looking around in carefully veiled confusion.

“The castle decided to add a room onto my quarters,” Severus explained. He smirked lightly at the flabbergasted expression on Harry’s face. “Trust me; I completely understand your reaction.”

“Hogwarts can just do that?” All pretences of remaining calm had left the boy’s face.

“So it would seem,” Severus answered, giving a small real smile this time. “I think I should inform you that it is Christmas.”

Harry blinked and stiffened slightly in response. “Oh?” He asked guardedly, his mask carefully back in place after the brief period of openness.

“If you would care to, I think you are stable enough to open your presents—provided you stay in bed.”

“Presents?” Harry’s face had scrunched in wary disbelief.

“That is typically how one spends Christmas,” Severus reminded him gently. He had no illusions about how his Snake had spent past Christmases. He doubted the boy had ever received very much for the holiday.

“Presents?” Harry repeated in a soft voice, still apparently stuck on the idea of having received anything at all.

“Here,” Severus answered, putting a hand on Harry’s head and turning him in the direction of the small pile of gifts sitting on the chair beside the bed.

“Whose are those?” Harry whispered, not moving except to look back at him.

“Accio Harry’s presents,” Severus answered instead. The small pile flew the short distance through the air and landed in both of their laps.

Harry didn’t move. He could see the brightly wrapped gifts clearly enough, but it wouldn’t be the first time that someone had given him something only to take it back.

But this is Severus, his mind whispered hopefully.

Severus tapped the label of the nearest present and pulled it close enough for Harry to read.

“To Harry – From Teddy,” it said in Teddy’s precisely blocked script.

“It’s for me?” Harry squeaked, his green eyes glancing back at Severus for confirmation.

“Open it,” Severus suggested, his throat having to work harder than usual to make it past the sudden blockage that had formed there.

With trembling fingers, Harry opened the gift slowly, taking great care not to tear the paper. When it was folded off to the side, he was left with a book in his hands.

“A History of Magical People and Their Body Parts,” he read the title aloud, giving a nervous, almost hysterical giggle at the end. Opening the book, he realised there was a note inscribed on the inside, and he read it aloud as well, not caring that Severus was listening.

“Dear Harry, I’m glad Professor Snape sent me an owl letting me know you’re safe with him. I was really worried about you when McGonagall kicked you out, and if Hermione hadn’t gone after you, I would have, to hell with the points. I tried to get her to let me go and check on you, but she wouldn’t let me. She’s a right old bat. I hope someone sticks something nasty in her tea. Hope you like the book. It’s a history of magical prosthetics and their evolution over the past 500 years.”

“Wow,” Harry whispered. He remembered Hermione’s worried face staring down at him—why exactly had it been down?—but no definite memory of what had happened after he had left Transfiguration.

“Sounds as though it will be an interesting read,” Severus remarked after Harry turned back to look at him.

“Would you like to read it?” Harry asked, trying to push the book towards him.

“Perhaps later, after you have already perused it at some length,” Severus answered, raising a hand to push the book back into Harry’s overfilled lap. He didn’t bother to explain that he had been the one to give the suggestion to Teddy to begin with. He rather hoped that the other boy didn’t mention it either.

“Should—Should I open the other ones?” Was Harry’s next hesitantly spoken question.

“Please do,” Severus answered with an encouraging smile.

The next one he opened was from Hermione. Once again, he opened the paper carefully and folded it, placing it on top of the other one. She had given him a large box of Chocolate Frogs, and he shyly grinned up at Severus, already imagining his professor’s response to the large case of sweets.

“I do not have to tell you that you are not to eat any more than two of those a day, yes?” Severus warned, raising an eyebrow and trying to look stern.

“Aye aye,” Harry answered with a small smile, flipping off a mock salute.

“Brat,” Severus said, with a fond grin.

Harry blushed and ducked his head back down towards the remaining presents. The next one he unwrapped was from Severus, and he opened it just as carefully as the others. Unsurprisingly, it was a book, and he read the cover haltingly.

“Occlumency for Beginners?” He questioned softly, squinting at the unfamiliar word. “Did I say that right?”

“You did very well,” Severus answered with an affirming nod. “Occlumency is a branch of mind magic that I think you would do well to learn.”

“All right,” Harry said with a trusting look in his eyes.

The next parcel was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. It had no note on the outside other than his name, but a letter fell out when he finally managed to get it open. He unrolled it and read silently for a few moments before breaking out in a large grin.

“It’s from Moody!” He said, looking uncharacteristically happy. He hadn’t known whether the retired auror would remember him for the holidays, but he was very pleased to find out that he had.

“Oh rapture,” Severus muttered under his breath when Harry turned back towards the letter.

“He says that he wanted to be here, but can’t make it until the New Year,” Harry babbled on happily, not caring if his professor looked less than enthused at the news. If truth be told, he kind of liked how they sniped at each other over his well being. He imagined it was a bit like having parents with wildly differing opinions watching out for him.

“He got me a present too,” Harry added in a surprised voice after finishing the letter. Just knowing he had been remembered would have been a nice enough present.

“Well, open it,” Severus prompted when he regained the boy’s attention.

Harry pulled the plain square box towards himself and did as his professor had instructed. Inside the box was a pair of black gloves, which Severus explained were made out of dragon hide. Harry got a shock as he pulled on the right one. He’d already been wondering whether he could lop off the two unnecessary fingers like he did with his regular cloth gloves, but didn’t know how well that would work with dragon hide.

Now however, it seemed that those worries were for naught.

Where the two empty fingers should have been were instead two fully filled glove covered digits. Blinking in surprise, he pulled the glove off and looked at his three fingered hand with consternation. He put the glove back on and stared dumbfounded at the two fingers that the glove had added. He flexed his right hand and the two fingers moved with the rest of his fingers.

“Magical prosthetics,” Harry breathed, glancing back at Severus for confirmation.

“So it would seem,” Severus answered, eyeing the gloves with a grudging appreciation. Damn it, he thought with annoyance. I’m going to have to write another letter of thanks to the old bastard.

After that surprising gift, the last present in his pile almost seemed blasé—except for the fact that it was nothing of the sort. It was an unusually light parcel, and Harry opened it with a strange feeling. He couldn’t remember what it had felt like to have all of his fingers, but he liked the extra dexterity the glove added to his hands.

Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to his lap where it lay in gleaming folds.

Harry blinked down in open mouthed surprise. His lap was gone!

“Severus?” He squeaked, turning back to his professor nervously.

He watched as Severus opened his mouth and closed it a few times before finally managing to speak. He couldn’t hear the hoarseness of the man’s voice, but he could tell that the rate of speech was much slower than usual.

“That’s an invisibility cloak. I believe your father had one very similar,” Severus said, looking decidedly ill for the admission.

Harry pushed the cloak off of his lap and saw with relief that his lap reappeared. As he moved the silvery cloth, he felt something rustle against his leg and grabbed at the spot, pulling a note out of the bedclothes partially wrapped around them both.

Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you.

It was unsigned. Somewhat unnerved, Harry turned back to his professor with a raised eyebrow of his own.

“Who’s it from? Do you know?”

Severus swallowed once before answering, his Adam’s apple bobbing conspicuously as he did. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, that is Dumbledore’s handwriting.”

Harry instantly felt sick to his stomach.

“Why,” he swallowed, trying to work past the increasing dryness in his throat. “Why would he give me this? Why would he pretend that he wanted me to have a good Christmas?” Harry felt his fists clench in response to the sudden tension he could feel riding through his body. “Why would my father leave this with him? Didn’t he know better? Didn’t he know!” He hissed, suddenly having to blink hard against the welling up of emotion he felt in his left eye.

Severus didn’t have to ask for clarification about what his Snake meant. The memory of the encounter between Dumbledore and the much younger Harry was embedded very fully in his mind.

“Your father was a Gryffindor and from a very old and well to do Pureblood family,” Severus answered slowly, knowing he wouldn’t have to explain much beyond that to his student. Harry was a Slytherin and therefore knew how to understand what he was not saying.

“Never had to try. Never had to think,” Harry finished for him, growling bitterly before suddenly wrapping his hand around Severus’ conveniently placed arm. He slumped backwards into Severus’ chest and turned his face upwards.

“I don’t suppose I can just send the cloak back with a message to sod off, right?”

Severus smiled his own small bitter grin. “An invisibility cloak is a very useful tool to have at your disposal,” he answered instead.

Harry sighed tiredly. He was worn out. His joints still ached from the fever that had raged in his body for the past few days. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to remember. Even with this last unpleasant surprise, this was still the best Christmas he’d ever experienced.

“Can we just sit for a bit? I don’t—,” he broke off, swallowing hard.

“Shh, you don’t need to explain,” Severus hushed him, draping a long arm around his thin shoulders and squeezing gently. “Perhaps a nap and then maybe we’ll try some soft food?”

“Christmas applesauce,” Harry snorted, wiping a quick hand under his glasses.

“Mashed potatoes count as soft food as well,” Severus added, running a long fingered hand through his littlest Snake’s wild hair.

“Yeah,” Harry added softly, burying his face in Severus’ chest.

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