Chapter Text
Severus added several comments to a first year Ravenclaw's essay--supposedly twelve inches on the effects of ingredient preparation in potions--striking out the additional eight inches he hadn't asked for, and waved a hand negligently at the soft knock on his office door. Generally, no one came to his office hours but seventh years and they knew to enter when the door swung open. He looked up to see Granger hovering in his doorway.
"No," he waved his hand again, intent on slamming the door in her face.
Granger shoved her overfilled bag between the door and jamb before the door slammed.
"You can take as many points as you like, Professor, but I'm not leaving until you listen to me."
"If this is about your last essay, Miss Granger--" he started, sighing.
"I don't care about that, sir." She barely avoided stomping into his office and sat heavily in the chair across from his desk, dumping her bag on the floor.
Severus stared. He'd never thought he'd ever hear that from the scholastically obsessed little witch.
"Headmaster Dumbledoor is ignoring my owls and Professor McGonagal is always busy and I heard a couple of Slytherin first years saying that you would actually do something and--"
She practically quivered with determination, hair roughly three times its usual size. He wondered if...no, remain on topic.
"Explain the issue at hand, Miss Granger, concisely." He rubbed his forehead, a headache definitely forming.
"There's a student in Gryffindor who only goes home at the end of the year and never receives anything, except for 50 pence at Christmas attached to a note telling them to stay for Easter hols, too, and to see if they can stay over the summer. Their clothing is in terrible shape and is at least three sizes too big, and their shoes are out at the soles. They came in very small for their age, oddly so, with some bruises...they didn't know anyone saw...and they came back this year even thinner. And they're not a picky eater, at all, sir. I'm worried, especially when they said their family would be happy if they could manage to die when they were badly injured." Granger stopped, swallowing hard.
One or two items from her list would be mildly concerning, but taken in aggregate…and damn Dumbledore and Minerva for ignoring a student's concerns. Again. Mostly because it meant he had to be civil to the puffed up little twit.
"Who, Miss Granger?"
"It's Harry, sir." She lifted her chin and gave him a Look that wouldn't be out of place in a Pureblood family's drawing room. "And I know you don't like him, but I'm coming to you as a student with sincere concerns over another student's home life."
And how Miss Granger had learned those sorts of looks and mannerisms was a question for another day. Of course it was bloody Potter.
"Is there anything concrete, Miss Granger? Aside from your little observations?"
"The Weasley twins and Ron went to get him as he hadn't answered any letters and they were worried. There were bars on his window, five or six locks on the outside of his door, and a cat flap at the bottom. His school things were all locked in the cupboard under the stairs and...they had to break him out, sir. His uncle tried to drag him back through the window, yelling about how he wasn't going back to that freak school. And they'd locked up his owl, as well, not that she could have got through the bars."
"Was there, perchance, a flying car involved in this escapade?" He couldn't help the question.
"I'm sure I couldn't say one way or the other, sir."
The nerve of the chit.
"Harry said his Aunt Petunia would be livid about her flower beds and he knew what he'd be doing next summer."
Severus left off rubbing his forehead and glared at her so suddenly she squeaked.
"Did you say his Aunt Petunia?" Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have...he had more sense than that, surely.
"Yes, sir."
Did Lily have a great aunt Petunia somewhere? Flower names were a family mania. She had to...Dumbledore wouldn't have...he couldn't have.
"He said his mother's sister, once, sir, if that helps in narrowing it down."
Was she cheeking him?
"Thank you, Miss Granger. I will bring this to the Headmaster and take the appropriate next steps." He had to concede the need.
"If an adult perspective would help, sir, Mrs. Weasley might have noticed something. The twins said he went from looking starved to half-starved while he was with them. He came back with practically an entire wardrobe of jumpers Mrs. Weasley knitted."
Her mouth twisted and Severus nearly jumped from his seat. He would listen to her, but no one could force him to dry her tears. He went to the door and opened it, mostly for the distance.
"Thank you, Miss Granger. I will make some inquiries." There, a clear dismissal. She could go and weep elsewhere.
He had a momentary and unflattering thought that he never got to wail over the injustices of his life. Like being compelled to speak to the Weasley matriarch, who fussed over everything.
And who still hadn't forgiven him for the advice he'd given her twin terrors on stabilizing certain brews.
Breathing deeply, Severus opened the front door of his home, stepped into the dim entryway, and snapped it shut behind him. He slumped back against the door, reveling in the dim quiet of his home. Once, there were raised voices and fists and the creeping miasma of his mother's depression.
Now, despite the ever present industrial dust (he would have to check the wards...he knew he'd warded against it), it served as his haven. He'd spent all afternoon fervently wanting the dim quiet of low lamplight and comfortably worn in chairs. There was one that fit him perfectly and a new journal waiting. He had one more or less free weekend a month, and he intended to spend it as indulgently as possible.
And after his afternoon, he certainly deserved his small indulgences. Petunia's voice had, unfortunately, not grown less shrill with age. Nor had she mellowed, not in the slightest. Nor was she of a temperament to see that treating her nephew like a house elf was most inappropriate.
"Oh, yes, Severus, you knew her as a child! I'm certain she will relish the reunion!"
Sometimes, Severus held that the constant miasma of sugared lemon hovering about Albus Dumbledore had rotted his brain.
Near needless to say, Petunia had not relished their reunion. He pinched the bridge of his nose, pulling the headache reliever from an inner pocket of his robes by feel. He downed it, shuddered, and followed it up with a Calming Draught. It only delayed the inevitable, but putting off the shakes for a few hours...he'd never reacted well to thrown crockery. Or adults abusing their authority, no matter how much of a hypocrite it made him in regards to Gryffindors.
And he'd have to somehow convince bloody Dumbledore that the bloody Boy Who Lived to Annoy Snapes In Particular needed to be moved lest he perish due to neglect. No properly run household included a room with that many locks on the outside of a bedroom. Or a bedroom that looked like that.
"Sssssseverusssss."
He nearly dropped the vial. That voice...he hadn't heard it since...no.
No.
Fuck no!
There was no possible way the Dark Lord was in his sitting room. Potter had reduced him back to a wraith not six months ago.
Ergo, the only reasonable conclusion was that he'd gone utterly and completely barking mad. Given his proximity to Petunia that afternoon, it remained the strongest possibility.
"Ssssssseverusssss, sssstop lurking in your foyer and do not even think of running off, young man."
Severus froze with his hand on the doorknob.
What the actual bloody fucking hell?
The Dark Lord did not scold like a peeved Top. He Crucioed first and potentially asked a question once the writhing stopped.
"Do not make me come get you."
Right. Severus mentally pulled his socks up and strode into his sitting room, face as implacable as he could manage. He folded his hands, allowing the long sleeves on his outer robe to hide their shaking.
And that was definitely the Dark Lord on his settee, snake-faced in all his bastardy glory.
Severus pulled himself up to his full height and stared down his nose.
"My Lord," he began.
"Oh, sssstuff it, Sssssseverusssss. I'm not entirely clear on what happened, but I went from being a perfectly happy Sssssslytherin houssssemassster to being ssssurrounded by a bunch of panicking Purebloodsssss, looking like thisssss, and hisssssing every sssssss."
Severus blinked for a moment, decoding the irritated sibilance.
"Pardon?" he managed, finally, fingers twisting in his designation band.
He didn't have a Top's plate to click, and his own had been replaced with a Hogwarts blank when he started working there. So the band, a bit ragged with age now, had to suffice.
"I think I may have had a heart attack."
That made things not a whit clearer.
"I wasss in my quartersss and felt a pain radiating from my arm. All went black, and next thing I wassss sssssurrounded by a bunch of Pureblooded idiotsssss in a panic. All sssscreaming 'It'ssss gone! Gone!'. I booked it ssssssoon assssss I could, and…apparated here. Had to come after you once, when you ran off..." he trailed off, raising his hands as he shrugged. "It wassss the one place I could think of and you generally keep your head in a crisssisss."
Severus took a moment to look at the inside of his left forearm. He coughed, wheezing at the unblemished skin where once a scarred Dark Mark lay. His knees buckled, and he locked them, reaching blindly for the back of the closest chair. He gripped it convulsively, carved wood groaning under his spasming fingers.
"Merlin, lad!"
And the figure that haunted his nightmares stood and crossed to him, prised his hand off the chair, and took him gently by the arms to lead him to the settee.
"Breathe, lad, breathe." He soothed.
Severus dragged air into his shock-constricted lungs, the spots dancing before his eyes clearing as he finally got enough oxygen. His foggy brain simply wouldn't comprehend concern creasing the Dark Lord's reptilian features. He looked down at his clenched hands instead and tried to steady his breathing.
Merlin, he was just so tired. He rubbed a trembling hand over his face.
He massaged his aching temples; headache potions were no match for the sheer number of shocks he'd absorbed, from the truth of Potter's home life to a disturbingly affectionate Dark Lord waiting for him.
Or not the Dark Lord. He needed several hours in a dark, quiet room so he could gibber to his heart's content.
Because some stupid sod had obviously meddled in magic beyond their ken, leaving him the clean up the mess.
Again.
He took a few moments to compose himself. No use in having hysterics. And he might as well go along with it, just to cover all possible angles. He thought, a bit mournfully, of peace and quiet and solitude, and wished, not for the first time, that he hadn't been such a colossally bigoted idiot of a teenager.
"Have you any idea what happened to pull you here?" he asked, finally.
"A ritual, I believe." He pulled a bundle of parchment from the sleeve of his robe. "I, er, nicked the parchment on my way out."
Severus took the bundle and flicked through it, eyes widening in disbelief as he read.
"They created a new body for you?"
The complexity of the ritual...they'd have had to spend hours working in concert...although the visualization portion of the ritual explained the appearance.
"They created an abomination. I mossst sssssertainly do not look like thissss." He sounded like a sulking third year.
"And it looks like an intense period of meditation on your part can correct your appearance." Severus handed the relevant section over. "And...oh, bloody fuck! "
"Language!"
Severus cringed at the immediate scold.
"I apologize for my intemperate language, my Lord." And how long had it been since...well, never, really, but the words still fell automatically from his lips. "It appears that the wraith's mind was so shattered that they went on to attempt a Gathering Ritual."
"And with a consciousnessss sssso shattered, Magic reached for the next available...version, for lack of a better term." Voldemort concluded.
"It seems the most likely interpretation for your sudden personality change." Severus rubbed a hand over his forehead again. "You're not the you who existed here. You're a you who had a completely different life."
"Sssstill know what done looksss like on you, lad, different life or no. Do you have a room I can ussse for meditation?"
"Yes, my Lord. Upstairs." Severus rose and crossed the small sitting room to one of the bookcases lining the walls.
He found the carved runes and pressed on them in the correct pattern. A section of shelving swung open, revealing a narrow staircase. He rarely allowed anyone beyond the sitting room, but instinct screamed trust at him, an unfamiliar sensation.
"I'd recommend ssssleep, Sssssseverusssss. Your headache never resssolvesss until you give in and ressst."
Severus jerked to a stop halfway up the stairs, unused to anyone knowing him so intimately. He swallowed on a sharp retort, curiosity burning in his veins.
"Of course, my Lord."
He practically felt the eyes rolled at his back, but led the Dark Lord upstairs. He'd converted his childhood bedroom into a study, but it held a daybed and nothing terribly personal. He gestured, opening the door.
"Will this suffice?"
"Thank you, Ssssseverusss. The room will work well."
"The w.c. is the next door. I'm at the end of the hall." He hovered uncertainly, hating himself for a moment. Why wait to be dismissed in his own home?
"Thank you. Pleassse go ssssleep, lad. You look done in. Lock me in here if it helpsss."
Severus blinked for a moment. "I don't believe I need to, my Lord. I shall take my leave."
He wasn't retreating, he told himself as he shut the door to his bedchamber. He simply needed rest. It wasn't that the unusual concern for his well being had him flustered.
But perhaps he should ask one of his questions?
As Severus settled under his eiderdown fifteen minutes later, he mourned the loss of his quiet weekend. He had so wanted two days of reading while toasting his feet on the fender of his stove. He wanted to sup on a full English at midnight, stirring beans on the hob in his shirtsleeves, and in general behave like an unsociable gremlin. But, as with most of what he'd wanted, it went to hell in a handcart.
He drifted into sleep, the last words from the Dark Lord echoing in his brain.
"Who was I to you, my Lord, that you would come here for shelter?"
"You were mine, Sssssseverussss. You were mine."