By LastCrazyHorn

Word Count: 105891

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.

Quirrell’s aura was black with rot and replete with festering, oozing sores. Severus quickly found his appetite for his coffee gone, and vaguely wondered why the others in the room didn’t feel the same.

Abandoning his cup, he stood up and edged toward the door, pressing himself against the wall furthest from Quirrell in order to get there.

Moody, must get Moody, his thoughts yammered at him in careless disarray as he strode quickly down the hall back toward his quarters.

Harry was not going back to Defence, even if he had to bring up the illicit adoption ceremony to make it happen. Harry could not go back in the presence of a man that Severus could barely stand to look at. How could Dumbledore not see it?

What if he had?

The thought stopped him cold just outside the portrait to his quarters, and he was forced to lean against the cold stone wall lest he topple onto the floor.

What if he had seen through the disguise that Quirrell wore and still allowed him inside the school?

The sound of increasingly jagged footsteps, and then, “Snape? Yeh look sick.” Moody’s hand on his arm, and he could barely work up the energy and focus to sneer back at the man. He felt himself being led into his quarters and then deposited none too gently on the sofa within.

The memory of the rotting mess that was left of Quirrell’s soul assaulted Severus’ mental eye and he grimaced, feeling bile rising in his throat unbidden. He swallowed hard and turned toward Moody, who was still standing in front of him, eyeing him with what could almost be an air of concern.

“Yeh look as though yeh’ve seen an inferi, Snape,” Moody remarked.

He suddenly became aware that he was trembling. There was sweat on beading on his forehead and under his arms and even between his toes, but it was a cold sweat, and it wasn’t dissipating, even with the distance.

Have we really been allowing that monster access to our children? Did Dumbledore truly think he could get away with it? But what was he really trying to get away with?

“The blanket, Moody,” Severus quickly gestured toward the blanket that was draped over the back of a nearby chair and was pleased to see the other man physically hobble over to it, instead of simply summoning it.

The blanket around his shoulders was followed by a cup of steaming tea with a healthy dollop of something from Moody’s hip flask, and suddenly Severus felt himself unwinding and his insides unclenching.

“Thank you,” he said softly when he could finally reach for the cup without his fingers visibly shaking.

Moody, who had taken the chair opposite him with a similarly made cuppa, nodded in return and then leaned forward. “Here?”

Severus nodded and took another healthy gulp of his drink. “Quirrell,” he managed.

“That little bastard of a professor?”

In an earlier time, Severus might have snorted, but it wasn’t that sort of situation now.

“He is . . . tainted,” Severus answered slowly, his brow furrowed as he tried to explain what he had seen.

“How could yeh tell?”

“My hair is not the only thing that has changed since the ceremony. I have also begun seeing what I can only assume are auras.”

Moody’s eye took on a distant look at his words. Severus leaned back more comfortably against the cushions behind him, and took another healthy sip of his alcohol-laced tea as he waited for a response.

“My granny could see somethin’ like that. She called ’em her ‘colours,’ but I s’pect they’re the same thing. She was a damned fine judge of character and knew—she knew, Snape—when someone was to be trusted and when they weren’t.” Abruptly, Moody shifted and shook his head; an action which served to bring his expression back to the present.

“Dumbledore had to have known about Quirrell when he hired him. Why would he have left something, something like that on the school grounds around the children?”

Moody’s face creased into a dark frown and didn’t answer. There was no good response for something that shouldn’t have happened to begin with.

. . .

The next morning after Charms, Teddy and Harry were met outside their classroom by none other than Hermione Granger—a glaring Hermione Granger.

“It’s not my fault,” was the first thing Harry said upon sighting the disgruntled Gryffindor female.

“I need a word with you,” she snapped, before grabbing his arm and pulling him in the direction of the library.

“What am I?” Teddy called out after them, only slightly disgruntled. “Chopped liver?”

Interestingly enough, Harry had been able to hear enough to know that his friend had said something, though he had been forced to ask Hermione precisely what it had been.

Other than that, Hermione had been strangely tight lipped as they walked toward the library, and it wasn’t until they were ensconced in a private corner in the back that she finally did open her mouth.

“Explain.”

He raised an eyebrow in a manner very much reminiscent of Professor Snape, but only got an exaggerated eye roll for his efforts.

“What do you want to know?” He offered, leaning back in his armchair and stretching out his real leg comfortably.

“The ears?” Hermione asked, jabbing her finger at him sharply with the question. “Your sudden ability to hear new ranges of sound? Either of these ring a bell?”

Harry cracked a real smile back at her, and mentally patted himself on the back for picking such a good friend.

“Stop grinning at me and answer the damn question,” she hissed back, no longer truly intimidated by him.

“You know what Hermione? I like you.”

“I know that,” Hermione answered waspishly, her expression softening only slightly.

“How?” Harry blinked questioningly at her. He knew she was smart, but he still wanted to know how she knew.

“Because you put up with me, that’s how. Now answer my question!” Hermione shot back, clearly exasperated.

Harry looked at her calculatingly for another moment before nodding and standing up. Putting his left hand up, he silenced her protests with a single look.

“I will answer your question, but I can’t do it here. The walls have ears,” he said simply, glancing at the large number of portraits that surrounded them, even in the back of the library.

. . .

They made it back to Snape’s quarters in record time. Harry showed Hermione several secret pathways that Moody had taught him and Hermione promised to show him a few that she had come across on her own. It was a fair trade off.

“Professor Snape?” He asked in surprise when he found his father and Moody talking in a surprisingly civil and serious manner.

“Harry,” Severus greeted him softly and he could see a brief flash of what looked like concern in his father’s eyes.

“What’s going on?” He asked, leaning on his crutch as he watched the silent interplay between the two men in the room.

“The same could be asked about yeh too, lad,” Moody countered, turning toward him so that he could see what the older man was saying.

Harry shrugged and figuratively laid his cards on the table. “Hermione noticed the ears. I told her I couldn’t tell her how they came about unless we were somewhere safe. You don’t mind, right?”

You don’t mind that I tell her how I managed to find a family? Was what he didn’t say.

Instead, his father took the choice from him and stated, “Miss Granger. I recently adopted Harry through an ancient blood magic potion that is now considered illegal in our day and age. Harry’s ears and senses have been augmented thanks to various magical creature ties in my familial history.”

Harry would cherish the memory of the look on Hermione’s face for the rest of his life. She was completely gobsmacked at his father’s openness and was briefly without words.

“Is it safe?” She finally asked in a voice not much above a whisper.

“The adoption? Quite so,” was Severus’ curt answer.

“No, I mean, is it safe to tell me?” Was Hermione’s astute question.

Harry noted with some interest the discrete nod that his father sent in his direction. Clearly the man agreed with him on the merits of having a friend such as her.

“As a matter of fact, it is not; which is why I shall be insisting that you agree to a magical oath of silence on the subject before you leave our quarters.”

Harry could tell that Hermione had caught onto Severus’ use of the word, “our” and he very nearly blushed as she smiled happily at him.

“I’m so very happy for you, Harry,” was all she said.

“Thank you,” he answered, drawing himself up into a posture more like his father’s.

. . .

It wasn’t until Severus had gotten her to agree to the magical oath and then sent her on her way that Harry was able to find out what they had been discussing prior to his and Hermione’s arrival.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, not liking the way his father’s eyes flicked over to Moody’s face at his question.

“Take a seat, Harry,” Severus gestured at the sofa cushion next to his own and Harry swiftly made his way across the room.

There was a rumble of indiscernible sound beside him and he looked up in time to see Moody grinning back at his father.

“What?” He demanded, looking every bit the arrogant Slytherin, but with an uncomfortable sensation inside his chest.

“Don’t get yeh pants in a twist, lad,” Moody warned, seeing through his behaviour easily. “Snape was just pointin’ out how different your limp is when you’re alone with us.”

Harry stiffened. He hadn’t realised that he had been walking differently.

“Worse or better?” He asked, turning to father.

“Better,” Severus answered, reaching out a hand and wrapping it around Harry’s. “It is only when you are surrounded by the masses does it get worse. I had thought you were doing it on purpose, but as your latest reaction shows, that clearly is not the case.”

Harry shook his head. It was yet another thing that bore thought, but not at the moment.

“Why were you and Moody so serious when we walked in?” He asked directly, not wanting to be at the centre of any more discussions.

“Quirrell,” his father responded, briefly squeezing his hand tighter with the omission.

Something cold dropped in his gut and he openly grimaced. “I don’t like him,” he managed to admit.

“That’s a good thing,” Severus answered calmly. “Because we do not like him either.”

“You two finally managed to agree on something?” Harry asked, letting a bit of incredulity creep into his expression.

Moody shifted impatiently on the seat in front of them, and Harry glanced at him in time for the older to make a comment. “We agreed on you too, lad.”

He briefly ducked his head at Moody’s candid words and ruthlessly suppressed a wave of fresh emotion. He wasn’t used to getting such undiluted attention from one adult, let alone two. It was far too close to being overwhelming, and he didn’t like the out of control feeling that came with that.

“Yeah well, can’t help it if you two were both out of your minds at the same time,” he finally said, staring off into the space between Moody and Severus.

A sharp poke in his shoulder brought his attention back to his now scowling father and he crumpled a bit at the sight.

“You were one of the best decisions I have ever allowed myself to make, and you will not dissuade me of that opinion. Understood?” Severus asked, still staring unblinkingly at him.

Harry swallowed hard and then nodded.

“So, what’s wrong with Quirrell?”

According to Severus, Harry soon found out, there wasn’t much that wasn’t wrong with Quirrell. His father’s description of an old, decrepit, rotting husk of a soul had Harry’s stomach turning as he was reminded of his physical state directly following the “accident.”

Luckily, Severus correctly interpreted his look of distaste and intervened in Harry’s thought process before he could spiral any more out of control.

“I can see your aura as well, son, and as much as you may consider yourself broken, your soul is anything but.”

Harry blinked hard, his left eye threatening to spill tears as he watched his father speak. There was no deceit in Severus’ face, and he knew the man wasn’t one for making overly sentimental comments, regardless of the situation.

“Thank you,” he managed in a voice that he imagined was quieter than his usual.

Severus merely nodded and squeezed his hand again. In turn, Harry scooted slightly closer to his father and leaned against his arm, soaking in the warmth that seemed to radiate outward from the man’s body. Though unable to see auras like his adopted father, he didn’t have to think very hard to envision what Severus’ might look like.

Strong, loyal, smart and snarky; just like a Hogwarts professor should be, was his amusing thought.

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