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.

Minerva McGonagall was enjoying a cup of tea a couple of mornings after Christmas when suddenly her floo roared to life. Startled, she looked up just as it glowed green for a moment and then spat out a scroll onto her floor before fading down to nothing again.

With a flick of her wand, she summoned the scroll to her hand and unrolled it.

‘Minerva,’ it read in Severus Snape’s spidery script, causing her eyes to narrow suspiciously.

“Why is that old bat writing to me?” She muttered.

‘Before this year, I would have considered our working relationship to be more than acceptable, minus a few minor incidents scattered throughout. However, with your actions as of late, especially toward one of my snakes in particular, it is clear that our previous relationship can now be considered null and void.’

Minerva’s lips pursed irritably at her colleague’s overly dramatic prose. “You should have been a playwright, Severus,” she said to herself with a disdainful sniff.

‘I find it ironic that for all of your so-called Gryffindor virtues, you were still unable to treat one of my snakes with the respect and concern he deserved. Really Minerva, how difficult would it have been to send Mr. Potter to the infirmary when it was obvious he was in need of healing?’

‘By the time he found his way into my presence, the boy was running a fever of nearly 40 degrees.’

Minerva’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

‘Yes, he was very fortunate this time. Another few hours, and he would have succumbed to magical exhaustion. As it is, he will simply be required to remain under near constant supervision for the rest of the holiday break, in order to stave off any other magical illnesses that may choose to attack his body in its weakened state.’

‘Furthermore, if the tables had been turned, and I had found myself in your shoes, I can tell you that I at least would not have gone so far as to do something to compromise his safety. The wellbeing of every child is important, regardless of how I feel for them personally.’

“Perhaps the physical wellbeing, Severus, but if the same were true for emotional, the children wouldn’t cry at the sight of your shadow,” Minerva harrumphed, trying to ignore the very real feeling of guilt blossoming in her chest at her colleague’s words.

‘I cannot imagine why I am telling you this, since you have already proven your lack of concern for him. In fact, I consider your actions of late to be morally reprehensible, as does my barrister. Perhaps you remember him? His name is Quinton Oliphant.’

Oh, Minerva remembered Quinton quite well. She still blamed their tryst on a failure in judgment on her part. He had been young, freshly graduated from Hogwarts (Ravenclaw), and she had been just a few months short of thirty-five. In terms of wizarding longevity, the age difference was barely noticeable.

Their relationship had only lasted six months. It hadn’t been long before Quinton had found an apprenticeship in the law department of the Ministry, and she’d had her hands full with other students like Sirius Black and James Potter.

‘Oliphant has requested a meeting with you and Dumbledore at the nearest possible date. He has granted my wish to be present, so I will see you there. Expect his owl. Good day Minerva. I hope you can provide a legitimate excuse for your despicable behaviour.’

She could almost imagine his sneer at the end of the letter, and she already knew she would not enjoy their next meeting.

Suddenly her floo flared again, and a second later, Dumbledore’s wizened visage was staring up at her from amidst the flames.

“Minerva, might I have a word with you? I just received the most interesting owl from a Mr. Quinton Oliphant . . .”

She sighed and put her tea aside.

. . .

Severus had sent his missive through the floo system instead of submitting the already bedraggled owls to further abuse from the frigid conditions outside. Scotland’s weather was not designed to easily accommodate owl post.

He had . . . forced himself to hold back from writing the true extent of his anger in the letter. Not only had Quinton suggested he keep things civil between the two of them—especially in the written form—but Severus himself had felt that a face to face . . . confrontation . . . would be much more satisfying, at least for him.

“Severus?” Harry’s hesitant and weakened voice filtered into his awareness.

“Harry? What on earth are you doing up?” Severus asked; walking quickly to the boy’s side and manoeuvring him back into bed easily. He took care not to get his legs tangled in Harry’s crutches, noting that the child had chosen to leave off his prosthetic leg. It wouldn’t do for them both to fall.

“I had a question,” an even weaker sounding Harry answered him; the short trip having clearly tired him greatly.

“And did you bother calling for me?” Severus asked; perching at the edge of the bed as he silently fussed over the bedclothes surrounding his Snake’s small body.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to hear me,” Harry admitted softly.

Severus mentally made the decision to draw a ward around the edge of the bed that would alert him should the boy get up again.

“Well, you have my attention now. What is your question?”

“I was reading in the books I got for Christmas,” Harry answered, grappling with the texts he had hidden underneath the covers on the opposite side of the full sized bed.

Severus leaned over and easily untangled the two books from the sheets and pulled them into the light of the bedside lamp.

“In the ‘Beginning Occlumency’ book, it mentioned that one of the signs of an unsolicited legilimization by an outside party is constant and increasing headaches.”

“Oh?” Severus answered mildly, although a warning bell had begun ringing in his mind.

“I—I thought that my headaches were part of my feeling under the weather, but what if they weren’t? I’ve had a lot of time to think in the last couple of days; you know, since you wouldn’t let me do anything,” Harry shot him a baleful look that Severus only smirked at. “Well, I remembered that I’ve been having these bad headaches for a while.”

“How long precisely is ‘a while?’” Severus asked carefully, his entire attention now focused on his Snake’s troubled face.

“Since the beginning of school?” Harry squeaked shyly, tightly wrapping his hands in the duvet.

“How bad?”

“Um,” Harry answered, clearly uncomfortable with sharing something he likely should have told Severus earlier in the term.

“Harry,” Severus said slowly, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder for emphasis.

He watched as Harry’s defiance melted away under his touch and a pale pink shade flush through his cheeks.

“I would have told you, honestly Severus. I do—I do trust you,” the boy admitted quietly, his green eyes staring back at Severus with a rare openness in them.

“I know Harry,” Severus answered, completely serious as he wrapped his hands around Harry’s still twisting ones. “Tell me the severity of your headaches, so I might be able to help. Please.”

Swallowing hard at Severus’ plea, Harry admitted that some of the headaches had caused nausea and piercing pain in various parts of his cranium.

“Have you ever vomited?” Severus’ eye moved over his Snake’s overly thin frame with a practised, yet worried air.

“No . . .” Harry said, swallowing again before adding, “But sometimes I can’t eat afterwards.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed in thoughtfulness.

“Afterwards? There is a specific time that you have been experiencing these headaches?”

Harry nodded, looking frighteningly young and small within the large bed that surrounded him.

“When?”

“During Defence,” was Harry’s hesitantly spoken response.

“With Quirrell?” Severus asked.

Harry nodded, looking worriedly up at him.

Severus breathed deeply with the new knowledge, more than aware of how perceptive the boy in front of him was.

“Well, then it is rather propitious that you are going to begin learning how to occlude,” Severus said at last, giving Harry the slightest of encouraging smiles.

Some of the fear drained from the boy’s face as he looked at him, and Severus nodded. “Yes, Harry. You are not alone. Not this time.”

. . .

“Thank you for agreeing to have this meeting so soon,” Quinton Oliphant said, looking back at Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore from where they sat across from him. Severus was to his right, his mouth upturned in the smallest of sneers as he stared back at the other two.

“Of course of course,” Dumbledore answered amicably, sucking on his third lemon drop since his arrival, less than ten minutes ago.

Quinton had a feeling that Dumbledore’s brightly shining teeth were nothing more than a mere glamour, and he wondered, not for the first time, if the lemon drops were simply a cover for something more outrageous.

“I’m sure we can make this quick and relatively painless, and then return you to your regular schedule. I do hate to remove people from their holidays, particularly professors,” Quinton responded with a smile.

“Less talk, Qui-Mr. Oliphant. More point,” Minerva interjected, giving a very passable sneer of her own.

“Of course, Minerva,” Quinton answered, having no problem with calling her by her given name. After all, they had once been close—very close. “I have asked you here to discuss one of Severus Snape’s students.”

He ignored her less than subtle eye roll and continued on. “In refusing to address Mr. Potter’s clearly ill physical state, both through your actions towards him in class—as well as not letting anyone check up on him after you removed him—you have caused him to be placed in unnecessary risk; potentially causing him not only harm to his person, but also to his magical core.”

Minerva pursed her lips tightly and narrowed her eyes at him, but did not deign to say anything.

“And your point, Quinton?” There was Dumbledore, pretending that he was still the schoolboy he had been those many years before.

“On the behalf of my client, Professor Snape, we are asking that reparations be made,” Quinton replied easily.

“Reparations?” Minerva spluttered, looking uncharacteristically out of control.

“As you know, during the school year, a head of house acts in loco parentis; that is, in the place of the parent. I’m sure you know this, Minerva, Headmaster,” he nodded in their direction again. “Not only have you placed one of your own students in harm’s way, but under this standard of care, you have also placed Professor Snape’s own child in harm’s way. Reparations are required to make this correct, should you want to keep this from going out to the public,” he answered, restraining himself from smiling.

In this sense, he and Severus got along perfectly.

“What sorts of reparations?” Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes suddenly ceasing their previous bright foolishness.

“A formal apology to both Mr. Potter and his class, a discussion with Mr. Potter with Professor Snape present, a signed promise of intent not to harm, a refresher course on childhood illnesses, and increased supervision for the rest of the term,” Quinton reeled off, relishing the expressions in the two adults opposite him.

“And Mr. Potter’s class?” Dumbledore asked in a mild voice at the end of his recitation. “Is that truly necessary?”

“Yes,” Severus answered, interjecting for the first time. Privately, Quinton was impressed that the man had managed to keep his silence for that long.

“Do you take me for some kind of fool?” Minerva hissed, leaning forwards with barely hidden fury.

You should have seen Severus’ initial list, Quinton thought with mild irritation; forced resignation being the first of many requirements. He had balked at that. She would not be the first teacher to miss a fever, although she should have known better—especially with one of Severus’ students.

Especially with Harry Potter as one of those students.

“I do not,” Quinton answered after a moment’s silence. “But I do think our suggestions are very reasonable, especially considering the student in question.”

As if you did not expect us to bring up Potter’s status in the wizarding world. It was bad enough a situation as it was, but considering that this was the Boy-Who-Lived made it all the worse. Yes, it would be very unfortunate press indeed for the school of Hogwarts to be the thing that caused the child to suddenly be the Boy-Who-Died-Through-Unnecessary-Negligence. Very unfortunate indeed.

“If you’ll allow us to discuss this then, Quinton?” Dumbledore asked, standing up and motioning Minerva to the floo with a significant glance.

“Of course,” Quinton answered graciously, standing up as well.

He noticed that Severus did not stand, choosing instead to sit and stare back towards his co-workers with a frightening glare that Quinton was very glad not to be at the receiving end of.

“I would ask that you give us your decision by the beginning of term?” Quinton called out just as Dumbledore threw his pinch of floo powder into the grating.

“As you wish,” Dumbledore said, stepping forwards into the green flames after a quietly voiced, “Hogwarts, Headmaster’s office!”

“Minerva,” Quinton added, nodding his head pleasantly at the older woman.

She only narrowed her eyes at him, her face pinched as though she had bitten into a lemon. Then she too was gone and he was left alone with Severus.

“Have you started the paperwork?” Severus asked, changing his glare to something less painful looking as he gazed up at Quinton.

“I have,” Quinton answered gravely. “But you might prepare the potion nonetheless. I don’t expect this to be an easy fight.”

“And when are they ever?” Severus asked; raising an eyebrow as he finally deigned to stand.

“Certainly not the interesting ones,” Quinton answered softly.

Severus’ lips quirked briefly at that. “I might add,” Severus continued after a second, “Should you need an auror’s presence, Moody will do.”

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Quinton responded with, “Indeed? My, but times have changed.”

“Do not ask,” Severus warned.

“I will try and restrain myself,” Quinton said. “And my daughter? She’s well?”

“She is performing quite adequately in her classes this term,” Severus said, giving him a nod.

Quinton was impressed. For Severus, that was high praise indeed.

“And Harry? Is he better?” Quinton asked.

“Moody is with him now,” Severus answered, not going into detail.

“You left him alone in your quarters!” Quinton was very surprised.

His eyes narrowing, Severus said, “Don’t remind me. I believe I was just leaving to do something about that, in fact.”

“Please then,” Quinton said, shooing him towards the floo.

. . .

Harry had awoken with the feeling that something was different in the air around him. Perhaps it was a smell or a vibration along the wall, but something was definitely off from before.

A moment later, he learned why. Instead of the expected figure of his professor coming into the room, he looked up at saw Moody. Instantly a bout of shyness overcame him and he slunk down in his covers a bit.

Moody thankfully did not speak to him until he was close enough for Harry to see, and even then he waited until sitting down on the side of the bed next to him before opening his mouth.

“Yeh feelin’ better?” Moody asked, looking closely into his eyes as though trying to look for infirmity.

“Mostly,” Harry answered, shifting back up again.

“Did yeh get my present?”

Harry’s cheeks blossomed with warmth but he managed to stutter out a quiet thanks nonetheless.

“Thought yeh might find it a bit useful,” was Moody’s nonchalant answer.

“They’re brilliant,” Harry added in a breathy voice. He glanced upwards and saw Moody give him a rough smile, and relaxed at the sight.

“Good,” Moody said.

Their conversation had moved from there into discussion of what else Harry had gotten for Christmas, and then Moody had regaled him with a few tales of some of his past unfortunate presents, intentional and not.

“I mean, who the bloody hell needs a teapot shaped and enchanted to move like a dragon?” Moody was saying when something flickered green out in the main room of Snape’s quarters.

“Is that?” Harry pointed out in that direction.

“Likely enough,” Moody grunted. “Anyway, as I was saying, the damn thing even had wings. It’d fly away anytime I wanted to use it, and then it’d go and dump hot tea on my head when it was unhappy—which was most of the time, I’d say,” Moody added with a frown.

Harry felt something touch his leg, drawing his attention away from Moody to the sudden figure of Severus. “Enjoying yourselves?”

Harry broke into a smile, surprising himself as well as the other two men quietly watching him. “Yes sir,” he managed to say, glad when Moody began harping on Severus to get him some decorations for his drab room.

“Take it up with Hogwarts,” Snape snapped, speaking almost too fast for Harry to follow. “She provided it, after all.”

“Well, why should Hogwarts have to do all the work?” Moody grumped, glaring back at Severus. “She’s given you the parchment, now you supply the paints.”

“As though I should take decorating advice from a man who only changes his robes twice a month,” Severus sneered back.

Harry snickered and leaned back against his pillows comfortably. He watched as the argument continued to spiral out of control, getting more and more ludicrous as it did, until finally his eyelids began drifting shut of their own accord.

He registered Severus’ warm hand on his forehead and he pulled his eyelids open slowly. “Harry?”

“Good night child,” slightly chapped lips touched his forehead and then Harry knew no more.

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