Harry Potter 1. Prologue: Godric's Hollow

Prologue: Godric's Hollow

The door to the little home in Godric's Hollow blasted open and Severus Snape looked down at the woman he loved lying lifeless down on the polished floor. His black eyes normally so cold and sharp like that of a shark swam with unshed tears. Even in death the hat muggle-born looked so beautiful. Red hair splayed out, eyes closed, lips curved and slightly smiling, if one hadn't known what had just happened here she might have been asleep by her son after playing a game. But sadly that was not the case, pale and gaunt she was not asleep but dead. He had seen the flash of pale green light before he could get there and knew all was lost.

He had heard her cry of, "not Harry, please not Harry! Take me; kill me, but not Harry!"

Severus heard nothing after that save for one word no. That was all he heard after that, the repeated denial and the pounding of his heart. He had burst through the door into the house when the light had died down, looking frantically about the room. He ran through the house, knocking down the furniture as he went on his way. The wizard smirked as the wedding photo of James and her toppled to the ground. His mind screamed at him as he picked up the picture and stared at the fractured glass and sliced his finger painfully, the blood dripping over Lilly's beautiful face as his beloved's image became tainted.

His smile faded as he called out, "Lilly! Lilly!" but it was to no avail. Then in one broken shout, "Rosebud!" still no answer, he ran on, "Lilly! Rosebud! Please!" he tried again.

He had always called her that, his rosebud the only woman he had ever truly felt anything for. The one woman he would die for, if he found her hurt but that was impossible because he had been promised by Dumbledore that, in return for his betraying Voldemort he would keep them safe. Dumbledore was a man of his word and so nothing would happen to her, he had hoped. But that was too good to last, for it seemed that even a promise meant nothing to him. Dumbledore was not a man of his word for here lying before him was the love of his life. She was dead as a doornail and he had given up his place in the world order for nothing.

Severus dropped to his knees and gathered her close, "oh no, no…rosebud not my rosebud." He cried out, "Open your eyes Lilly… please…"

Her hand twitched in his from a reflex movement and for a moment he looked down at her with hope in his black eyes. He shook her in his embrace, desperate to wake the woman he loved, praying that the old wizard had kept his promise. But nothing happened save for the opening of her lifeless eyes from the movement. Severus tried every form of resuscitation that he could think of whether it be muggle or wizardry, anything to revive her. It was no use; his love was as lifeless as the people he himself had helped the Dark Lord kill.

"Gone…dead…" the wizard stole a kiss from her lifeless lips, "Lilly my lovely Lilly…" his grief turned to anger, "He promised you would be safe!" he shouted.

The beauty was limp in his arms, looking at him through her sightless emerald eyes; he had always loved those eyes. So charming and beautiful, so alight with the warmth of a heart too big for her, he remembered her husband had often called her Lilly-flower, or Lil and it made him sick to the stomach. That man had no concept of the beauty that his wife beheld, her innocence, her purity everything that she was. Rosebud was the only name that suited the beautiful redhead and Potter should know that! Hell that stupid git did not have the brains to realize how much she should have been loved!

Speaking of Potter, where was he anyway? Didn't the bloody fool know that his wife was lying here dead in the arms of his arch-rival? He did not want to go look for him; he hated Potter with every fiber of his being. That bloody git tormented him in school and took his rosebud from him and married her to boot so that he had nary a chance with her. Snape sighed and released her, going over towards the door he stumbled over something thick and heavy and entirely stiff.

He took out his wand, the black stick of wood shaky in his hand as he raised it to point down at the object he had stepped on. "Lumos," He whispered and the tip lit up.

The man let out a cry of terror as he looked down at the once-handsome James Potter. The antagonists of his boyhood years, dead just like his wife. He was bloody and his face was twisted, it seemed like the Dark Lord had used a sectumsempra curse on him. His shirt was cut up and blood flowed everywhere, some had dried already and was powdered and grainy. It seemed that someone had used the torture-curse on him too and Merlin what a mess! Snape grimaced at the gruesome sight, true he had hated the man but still this was just brutal.

Severus pulled the blanket from the double bed and draped it over him out of respect for the dead. Sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his long nose as he bent down and began to clean up just to have something to do. Just so that he could think of something else besides Lilly, he cleaned by the muggle method, summoning a mop and bucket. He knew it would take more time than if he did it by magic, so he kept his mind blank as he cleaned. The wizard worked until the next morning when the greying son peaked over the horizon.

By the time he had finished he was so tired that he slumped down against the wall, the mop clattered to the floor and his eyes closed. The wall was soft to him, obviously covered in a thick smooth owl-wallpaper. He was breathing deeply in no time and when he woke again, the sound of a baby crying pierced his eardrums. Snape sat up and looked at the crib where a one-year old toddler was standing in his crib. Harry James he remembered his name, he remembered the day when Lilly had invited him to see the boy. Snape remembered well how proud she was and how tearful when James denied her allowing him to be Godfather.

The Potions Master sneered at the memory as he closed his eyes and for a moment was back at St. Mungo's in a room with the three Potters. Hiding in the shadows until Lilly motioned for him to come over to the bed and make a cradle with his arms. He did and she placed little Harry in his arms, much to the annoyance of his father. James had never liked Severus and he really did not like that his son was so comfortable in his arms, but that was just it Snape loved to tork the stupid git off. He had held the little green-eyed boy tightly in his hands but not tight enough to harm him, James Potter scowled at him not liking how comfy the child was.

When he closed his eyes it flashed before him, the last time he had seen his beloved alive in the summer exactly one year ago. He could see the day her child was born, the memory was sharp and clear as a bell. The room the baby and the realization that his world had changed forever in a way she had forbidden him to speak of. Their secret, the secret her marriage forbid and one that only the two of them knew and the one that must have haunted Potter to the core of his being. Because he and his Lilly knew that no matter how beautiful James Potter was Snape would always have one thing he would not.

He had a son and he remembered the day he was born perfectly…

Severus had appeared in the pristine white room of St. Mongo's hospital in a puff of smoke that sunny day in July. The nurse telling his rosebud that she must do exactly what she is told—**exactly** or else there would be trouble. Lilly was agreeing of course, because really what woman in that state wanted trouble of any sort? James for his part was muttering the encouraging words that were required of the male spouse as his wife lay tired, weepy and pale against the pillows of her bed gripping her husband's hand and screaming as another pain hit her.

"You can do it Lilly honey, you can." Said her husband .and glared when Snape came out of the shadows.

"Potter…" he acknowledged with a curt nod.

"What you doing here Snivellus?" sneered the handsome wizard.

"I am here at Lilly's request." He told him coldly, "Not that it's any concern of yours."

"Bollix!" he snarled, "Get out before I…" but Lilly interrupted him.

"Sev…You came…" Lilly sounded relieved and reached for his hand with a watery smile that tugged at his heart.

"Wouldn't miss it…" he told her gently.

She smiled and hugged him weakly before giving him her other hand. Snape smirked at her husband a little smugly he had to admit and gripped her hand in his long crooked fingers. The birth went on for what felt like an eternity with both men telling her what a wonderful job she was doing and that she needed to keep pushing for a little while longer. Always a little while longer until at last with a great cry and one final shove the little boy was in the arms of the nurse who was grinning and held him up to the light in joy and pride at doing her job well and successfully.

"It's a little boy!" she said proudly, and then handed him to a rather stunned Severus assuming by her relief that he was the father.

"Harry James Potter…"James boasted proudly.

Little Harry curled up in his long slender arms and sucked on his thumb closing his eyes, he had not had even a hint of the Potter hair and the good-looks but then he had that beguiling charm his mother possessed. Severus had to smile at the baby as he dropped slowly off to sleep and made tiny noises at him. Lilly smiled and placed a companionable hand on his arm, causing her husband to growl irritably. Snape held the baby to his chest his heart skipping a beat as he looked down at the child in his arms.

"He's beautiful." She said sleepily.

Her husband may have missed the note of realization in her voice but Snape did not and he gave her a nod and she paled. Shaking her head rapidly she pleaded with him to be silent with her eyes and he nodded allowing Potter to kiss her and revel in stolen joy. He had half a mind to shout that it was his baby and to hell with the consequences of his actions. No he couldn't do that he promised Lilly so he had to settle for the lamest most generic response he could think of.

"Indeed he is." Snape replied, sadness at the situation abating his joy he felt all to quickly..

He placed the little boy back in his mother's arms and he started to wail, refusing to be quiet until she asked Snape to hold him again. The other not being able to deny her anything nodded and picked him up again and then the child was quiet. He smiled again and James stepped into the room looking positively flustered as he yanked Harry from his hold, causing the child to whimper. Snape made shushing sounds, feeling envious at the man for giving Lilly the husband he always felt he should have been.

"Hands off my son, Snivellus!" he fumed.

_My son,_ thought the other but said nothing as the child was torn from his arms and held by the other man. Snape laughed when the boy cried, not because he enjoyed the sound of children crying but because he had been quiet when he had been holding him. Now in his father's arms he wailed and whimpered. Snape knew why and the pain in his heart shot like a torture-curse, because that was his son not James'_ his _and he had only just gotten to hold the boy for the first time.

"But Jamie, he's my best friend." Lilly protested, "And Godfather to my son."

"No, Padfoot is!" James shouted, "Snivelly will not be Harry's Godfather! "James turned to him, "Stay away from my family Snivellus!" he said and coldly punched him.

"James!" Lilly snapped.

"No Mrs. Potter, I'm leaving. Goodbye." He said and left.

She had wanted him to be Godfather but not father to her child; she wanted to pretend what they had done one night meant nothing. But he knew otherwise, he knew the reason Harry's father was so defensive. Severus knew as he walked into the nursery that he was not looking at James Potter…but at himself. James must've known too when he looked at Harry's long nose and slender form when James himself was built like a Greek god but of course he did not question his wife because what man would want to think of that.

He wouldn't, that was for sure and the thought that there certainly was a chance that she might have birthed the Potter boy was painful as it was. Snape knew that the night she had come to say goodbye to him before her wedding day was just one time…one encounter her first though it might have been. That was another thing he had that his rival did not, the woman's innocence. But that meant nothing because she had not meant to, or so she said but he had known she was trying to convince herself.

But the fact that he would see his son grow up as Harry James Potter and never know him was just too much. She had called after him but he had been too angry at the time to even say goodbye to her in a gentle way and God he wished he had. The last thing he had said was out of anger and now he had to live with it for the rest of his days. All he could do was know that he had a son and someday maybe she would tell him the truth, about who he was and then maybe the boy would come home to him someday.

Because despite their denials Severus was sure that he and Lilly had not been able to ignore the reality as it stared them straight in the face. Harry was no Potter and now as painful as it was he could claim what was rightfully his. It had only been once but that boy was his, and par Lilly's wishes he had kept it quiet but now he could do what he had longed to since that one night a year ago. He, Severus Snape could claim his flesh and blood and that was exactly what he intended to do.

He went into the room and picked up the boy who had soiled himself and was weeping and calling for mama as little boys were wont to do. Snape noticed that the boy sported a lightning scar on his forehead, but when the child buried his head in the man's neck Snape felt tears coming. His son, his and Lily's son knew that daddy had come to take him home and so he kissed the child on his head. The baby gurgled and shut his beautiful green eyes, beginning to snore even at his age. Snape reached down and pulled off his beloved's cloak, wrapping the baby in it to keep him warm and sitting down in the rocking chair.

Despite the urgency of escaping before his former master saw him he just wanted one moment with the child he had brought into the world. The only child he would ever bring into the world and so he watched Harry sleep. Marveling at both his beauty and his resemblance to his birthfather, the skinniness, the long nose and the greasy, messy black hair and how pale he was besides. But those striking emerald eyes, the eyes of his mother that had at one time looked at him so adoringly and now had been given to his son. Of course, that name would have to be changed; no son of his would be named after James the lazy arrogant swine.

He leaned down over the boy one hand behind his head the other under his chin in thought. The first name was fine, Lilly had often talked about wanting a son named Harry but the middle name no... His son would have his name, middle namesake and last name to match. The wizard bent down and kissed the boy again and this time little Harry woke and blinked up at him making a soft gurgling sound as all babies did and the man slowly swept to his feet. Holding the child close he leaned down into the crib and picked up the stuffed owl laying in the crib.

Harry squeaked happily and reached up for the toy with the eager curiosity of infants causing Snape to smile as he handed it over and the child nursed on its head drooling. Gathering the child close he allowed the world to fade around them and the two faded into the night sky and then to spinners end where he lived. As he stepped inside he transfigured one of the four couches to a baby bassinet, complete with rocker. He laid the infant down and covered him; putting his owl in beside him before making sure his mother's cloak was snug he kissed his flesh and blood again.

"Good night Harry Severus Snape."

**This is my first story so tell me if I should keep going...**


	2. Chapter 1 Eleven years later

**Chapter one**

**Eleven years later**

The light was blinding and a heavy thud resounded in his ears as a man fell heavily on the floor. The redhead was lifting him into her arms and there was a man lying lifeless on the floor at her feet. He felt safe in the woman's arms but it was not to last because this horrifying figure in a black cloak came in and poked something in her back. He ordered something in a horrible hissing voice and then she screamed, dropping to the floor. Whoever he was, the man was the man was terrifying and then he looked at Harry with burning red eyes.

Eyes devoid of human emotion as though all the goodness in his soul had long since abandoned his countenance. He was smiling, in an absolutely predatory way as though he enjoyed the pain he inflicted. He pointed the black stick at him and then the bright neon green light blasted him in the face. It was hot, burningly so like a smoldering flame scorching against his skin. Harry felt a horrible pain searing his forehead yet he did not reach to try to soothe the pain. Then there was another dazzle of sickly light and the man let out a piercing howl like a wounded animal.

The man in the cloak seemed to evaporate there and his ebony cloak crumpled to the floor disintegrating into dust and floating into nothingness… Harry stared at the spot where his would-be assailant was and felt himself sitting up and his eyes slightly open. The boy found he was safe in his large bedroom, wrapped snugly in his blankets and safe from another nightmare. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and closed his eyes again, the nightmare having bothered his sleeping habits and made him sleepy. But he had no time to sleep because he has no sooner closed his eyes then it started to reoccur… thankfully interrupted.

The alarm clock howled, startling Harry from his usual dream of that odd flash of green light. He touched his forehead where his lightning scar felt rough beneath his fingers and he pushed his black hair out of his eyes and blinked around the room dazedly. The young boy looked at the clock, a werewolf howling at a glowing full moon. The cloud passing it read that it was nine o'clock in the morning on the thirty-first of July 1991. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep but it was no use the wolf just kept howling.

Harry groaned and pressed the cloud in front of the moon to hide the glow activating the snooze function and rolling over. The moment he shut his eyes he was back in that dream in some odd little home where a man lay dead on the floor and blood was everywhere. There was a woman lying lifeless beside him and he had this nagging feeling he should have known who she was but just could not put his finger on it. She had been screaming something, but no matter how hard he tried he never caught what she was saying before she fell to the ground.

He was in her arms…the light…then his father came , he was crying for some reason as he lifted him up and then…_AWOOO! _The alarm clock went off again and his eyes popped open. Groaning he rolled over and stroked the werewolf on the neck for it to go back to its human form and the little yellow sun popped up. The human was a skinny prisoner in black and white zebra stripes with a ball and chain, the word escaped painted in crimson across his chest. He made little white floating z's come out of his mouth as though the transformation was exhausting.

Harry did not doubt that it was because whenever he set the alarm it looked incredibly painful. All that fur sprouting all over and then the teeth growing out past his lip into sharp jagged fangs no doubt had to be hard on the gums. Much less the retracting of it when it comes to becoming human again, not only did it look gross and painful but monumentally tiring. Of course being a preteen boy he found that sort of thing wonderfully intriguing. He sat up on his huge feathery bed and threw back his astronomy covers sitting up groggily.

"Open…" he moaned groggily to the drapes and the flung themselves open wide to let in the light of the cerulean sky.

He then got up and made his bed for the day, doing this by hand of course even though there was really no reason to. He just did it because he liked watching the stars shoot across the black fabric and connect into various constellations as he did so. His pillow was enchanted so that did not require much work, because it always stayed just right anyway. And even when the bed covers were laid out all neat and proper assumed the picture of a yellowy half-moon on its front to go with the other bedclothes.

Harry knuckled his eyes as everything lit up in his bedroom, it was his eleventh birthday and the bright sunny day blasted his green eyes blindingly. The smell of bacon and eggs frying wafted enticingly to his nose. He grinned, green eyes smiling as he realized that today was his eleventh birthday and that meant that his father had a special surprise for him. This was an almost guarantee for him that he would either get special gifts or some kind of great trip sometimes both. His birthday was always an occasion at Spinner's End where his father was concerned and the walls of his upstairs hall proved it.

From top to bottom the walls were lined almost completely with moving pictures of everything under Merlin's blue sky. There were pictures of everything from when he was two up to now of him doing everything a young boy should do with his father. There were pictures of him playing with a toy broomstick, opening hundreds of stuffed toys and other things at Christmas and other moments like his favorite one when he was five and his father had bought him a junior potions kit complete with black plastic caldron and smoke paints to make color blends and pretty colored smoke.

He had been so excited with it that he had not followed the directions and the camera enchanted to snap a picture took it at the wrong time. The ingredients were not dangerous thank goodness because they exploded in a rainbow splatter that decorated the walls in sticky gooey gobbledy-gook reminiscent of rainbow vomit. Harry had been frightened because his father was a very severe man to the point of where he hardly ever smiled and even looked mad at happy occasions but he had been nice about it telling Harry that practice made perfect or something like that.

Harry looked around his room at the wall paper of a shoreline enchanted to slosh against the sand peacefully. It made that rushing whooshing sound that the waves were known for making on calm days. It really was a fun addition to the room and soothing besides, helping Harry go back to sleep on those nights when his dreams caused him to have some bouts of insomnia. Like the night he had just had, but the difference was that today he didn't mind that he had not slept well last night. Today was his special day and sleeplessness was not going to ruin it for him.

Harry climbed out of his bed, itching and nearly jumping with barely quelled excitement born of anticipation of today's events. The boy could hardly wait to see what his father had in store for him. Harry had somewhat of a lazy streak his father announced always that he must've inherited from his late mother when she was a child. Apparently they had gone to school together and she was obsessed with being popular. Her grades had been fair while he had been an exceptional pupil, solitary and studious with an endless thirst to prove his power and perfect his magic to the best of his ability.

Harry took after him more and more as he got older especially in the last year or so at least in the solitude department. He had friends when he was little but they grew apart and the last two birthdays had been just him and his father. It made Harry sad, because he was so young but then he did not mind having his father all to himself because the man was always so busy. Not that he was some kind of spoiled brat mooching off the guilt of a workaholic father he wasn't but his father's work kept him away.

Snape did his best to make up for the time he was home by taking his son everywhere with him and giving him whatever he needed. And despite his stern no nonsense approach Harry had no doubt that he was loved especially because when he was a little bit of a child his father had sung him a special song. Harry began to hum his old lullaby, wishing his father would sing it to him as he had not done so in quite some time believing him to be too old for that sort of thing. But Harry had always felt a strange sense of comfort at the words and it crept in even when he sang it to himself.

_"Your mother rest her soul__  
would be so proud of you  
though you cannot see her  
she is here with you  
we will always be there for you  
in your time of need  
Harry you're the world to me…"_

But then Harry hadn't been able to attend school yet as wizards under the age of eleven is never permitted to study magic. Because they were unable to control it and it could be rather dangerous and even the ministry of Magic could not regulate the minds and instabilities of a childlike mind when the imagination could ignite the power within and create great fantasy worlds out of thin air. Not that they could help it if they did and it was up to their parents to mind that sort of thing, which his father was very good at to be sure.

One time Harry had taken a fancy to reading muggle stories when he was a little boy, especially ones having to do with or revolving around sweets. There was this one about a boy winning an entire chocolate factory all for winning some crazy muggle tournament taking place inside. Harry being eight at the time had possessed a rather tenacious sweet tooth and had been so enraptured by the descriptions that he had somehow managed to turn his whole bedroom into the man's candy room where everything was edible. Harry had been delighted of course, his father on the other hand not so much.

But because it was his birthday at the time he had allowed Harry to keep the sugary room until his party was over. Much to the joy of his friends who proclaimed Harry to have the greatest father in the world and even privately to the happiness of his father who spoiled him dreadful on his birthday taking him wherever he wanted and gave him whatever he wanted to match. Although his father was not a particularly loving man but he did love him and showed it the most on his birthday.

He stood in his sleeping robes, a royal blue shade as deep as the night sky and his stuffed owl hooted the way it always did when he touched it. He remember naming it Hedwig when he was three and his father using a repairing spell on it so much that he had lost count of ow many times he had done it and had promised Harry that when he was old enough he would get him a real snowy owl just like her. Harry had always wanted a real owl of his very own and hoped that he might get one every year but his father had said he was too young.

He then got his toy wand and whipped it down. It made a popping noise and multicolored changing light sparked at the tip, he held his hand over it to see the light better in the bright summer day. Against his hand the paleness of his skin to all kinds of interesting colors, a deep blue and a golden and then yellow and black. Hitting a little button on the handle turned it to brighter gold and then crimson finally turning silver and then green. The toy had an odd shield printed on the handle; it had eight colors all of which came out of his stick.

On the handle of the toy wand was a coat of arms with four different animals, a badger, a lion a serpent and an eagle. Along with the colors projected their corresponding animal's dong the typical things that their species did. The badger was scurrying and licking his paws, the lion roaring as it tossed his great head to the sky. The eagle soared against his shield with the blueness of his crest as though it were the sky. And lastly, the serpent stuck out his forked tongue and struck powerfully at the air. Underneath them were the words Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

Harry did not know what these meant but he knew that his father was the head of one of them at some school for wizards that he attended nine months out of the year. Only coming home to spend the holidays with his son, making the holidays some of his favorite times in the year. Harry missed his father terribly during term months and although he tried to make it up to him it still got lonely. He wanted to attend where his father worked but he had always been told that he was too young and he had to wait till he was older.

He got up and dressed in his black robes for the day when he heard the creeping of someone on the stairs. "Come in!" he called.

"Young Master Snape…" came a hoarse scraggly voice from his doorway.

"Oh Fangleton come in!" Harry greeted the newcomer happily.

"Thank you master…" said the other and crept into the room.

Fangleton, their house elf was a skinny creature with bones protruding and keen yellow eyes like that of a feline both brilliant and bright and mischievous. His walk was the shuffling one of a servant for indeed he had been there since Harry could remember. His arms were long and gangly but Harry knew they were strong because he had often been seen lifting heavy objects. He had been assigned to his caretaking while his father was away and they had become close friends. Although the elf still did the obligatory servant things with him and that really bothered the boy.

He did not like when the elf kissed the hem of his robe or his hands and called him master or anything formal and had told him so many times over the years. But he was an elderly creature who had served his father's parents and would never even dream of referring to the boy by his first name and even punished himself brutally if he upset him in some way. This had of course, upset Harry so much to see him in pain that he had burst into tears and after comforting him his father had ordered Fangleton to never hurt himself again. The elf would never disobey his master and had privately hated seeing the child sad.

Harry smiled at him when the elf asked, "May Fangleton speak freely young Master."

"Course," Harry replied.

"Fangleton wishes to tell the young master he wishes him a very happy birthday and that his father awaits him with a special surprise downstairs." Harry smiled and picked the elf up in a hug bounding down the stairs happily to where his father sat reading a copy of the _Daily Prophet. _

_"Ah _Harry…" said Snape putting down his paper.

"Hey dad," he said hugging him.

"Eat and then we will have your gift." He had an uncharacteristic sparkle in his obsidian eyes.

Harry did as he was told, so excited that he wolfed down his food without even tasting it while his father shook his head muttering about the impatience of youth. He then guided Harry to the drawing room were on a stand was a cloak and underneath the cloak was a curiously dome-shaped object. Snape pressed his son into a chair and with a flick of his wand the cloak came off to reveal a fat, fluffy snowy owl. Snape offered a closed mouth smile and flew the cage into his lap with another flick of his wand.

"Dad is she… mine?" Harry asked in awe, poking his finger through the bars to touch her downy feathers.

"Indeed she is…I promised you did I not?" he had to smile at the joy in his child's eyes.

Harry said nothing but leapt up and hugged him tightly around the waist, Snape could not help himself then he wrapped his arms around him and kissed the top of his head. Just then the tenderness of the moment was interrupted by a rapping at the door and Snape took his time releasing Harry from his arms to turn his attention to the door, not bothering to greet Fangleton but instead glaring at him with absolute disgust at the creature for breaking their moment.

Harry however was more than happy to see his friend, and shouted gleefully, "Look Fangleton I have my very own owl!"

"Yes young master very good…" he croaked and then to his father said, " Sir, the young master has been accepted."


	3. Chapter two The Letter

**Chapter two **

**The Letter**

Fangleton looked at Snape with fear in his yellow eyes because his master was a severe man who did not like his father-son time interrupted. He was usually punished for this but nothing that bad because his son had a delicacy about him that was almost purely innocent. Harry did not like to see any living creature in pain and especially not his only friend. His father was traditional wizard and accustomed to the usual practice of strict discipline in his house. Still, he respected his son's wishes not to see his caretaker in any physical pain for which Fangleton was very thankful as the role of a house elf was a dismal one.

They never got anything without their master's permission, had to wear rag sacks and if they were presented with clothes it was a sign of freedom. Freedom was a gift that most of them never got and those that did suffered. They struggled terribly, knowing nothing else but servitude and ending up right back where they were in the first place. That was nothing compared to the brutality that many of them suffered, things like their wizards putting fire charms to their hands. Or using hot muggle objects like a fire clamp with a hot coal in between the pinchers.

Some of them even have brands on them that burned for an awfully long time and looked painful enough to kill. Harry had seen some elves that were all marked up on literally every inch of their bodies. Their arms, legs and faces, and even their eyes were blind from the painful tattoos over the pupils of their eyes. As well as other various body parts, the cruelest of them using torture curses despite the illegality of that spell. Even in certain private areas to make anyone cringe in agony at the mere sight of the angry red injuries and the black scars.

The red ones were fresh and the black ones were those that had badly healed and were all different shapes and sizes. Some taking up more than half their bodies to boot, some of them on the face even, sometimes they were locked in dark rooms for days. The masters were even considered merciful if all they did was leave little burns or larger ones even on their flesh. For good reason as it got even worse for them if that was possible. Some were whipped some were injured with enchanted objects like magic knives that closed the wound no matter how deep they were.

It also continued stabbing them deeper and deeper like some muggle Chinese torture used to punish prisoners of war. Leaving nothing but a bloody mess on the floor for which they were punished even though they were guiltless. But the bloody mess stained the carpet and so they were beaten further but never died because they were too valuable to waist on death, while they were young at least. Older elves were killed from the torture or even for the offence of growing old, and 'outliving' the usefulness for which the current master kept them about and in the home.

When they were too old to live as far as their employers were concerned they simply used an unforgivable killing curse on them and no one did anything about it. Apparently, the murder of house elves, unlike wizards was acceptable in the eyes of the Ministry of Magic. They were not considered human beings and therefore were expendable. House elves were not even allowed to own any kind of personal property and if they did it was taken away. The only thing they were allowed to own was the sack, and a little book entitled _House Elves- Duties of the Dutiful Household Servant. _

By a grim looking old miser of a wizard named Bartholomew Plottinger a tiny little brown book bound in leather. On the cover of Fangleton's tattered copy was a black and white photograph of a scraggly-bearded wizard. He was standing hunchbacked and bent with his hand on the wrinkly head of a timid trembling elf. The poor little creature was holding a tray with a glass of fire-whisky in his shaky hands. The man nodded as though he were some benevolent God taking pity on a poor ugly creature that should be thankful for the indentured servitude that they were imprisoned in.

Harry had heard about these punishments and such when he had asked Fangleton to call him by his name rather than the young master Snape. When they were so close and lived with one another more than his parent did. He had been about eight years old and grew tired of the formality between the two of them were so close. Fangleton had come in and kissed him on the head as he did every morning, which his father allowed because he had expected him to become attached to the boy. After all, it was no secret that the servant spent –regrettably as far as his father was concerned- but it cannot be helped.

His work kept him away from the boy, something that had always caused the child great pain. It was always a painful time when his father was not at home and he was only allowed to communicate through letters. There were times when he just wanted to hug his father but could not. A painful issue for a little motherless boy whose only parent was seldom home and he was too young to read the letters his father sent. Severus was a brilliant man and although he was one of the most intelligent people in the world he had not yet mastered the art of dumbing down his speech.

He simply could not lower his mind to that of a childlike level; it was –through no fault of his own- utterly impossible. As much as he tried doing that kind of thing felt like a pure insult to his intelligence. He even bemoaned the fact that a little boy seemed to have the average intelligence of a child. Not that this was unusual as little children, even wizarding children were not known to exhibit magical abilities till the age of six. For some reason Snape had conveniently forgotten this little fact where his son was concerned expecting him to be some kind of supernatural protégée.

Harry of course _tried _to please his father to no end and for the most part succeeded for the simple fact that well…he was him. The boy just had to be around and it seemed to brighten his day but it was still a sad occasion when he went away to Hogwarts for the nine months. This was of course not only hard on the boy but hard on the father as the first three to five years he could neither write nor speak properly. So he could not dictate to the enchanted quill very well and his letters were either illegible or unreadable due to lack of understandability.

Therefore he had to rely on the service of the elf for updates on his boy for all the things he missed. He had missed out on the littlest moments of childhood that people cherished. Everything from Harry's first steps, first words and other important moment, which thanks to the magical movements of pictures he got to witness but did not get to experience due to his schedule. His father never showed it but it broke his heart privately that he did not get to share the smile on Harry's face. Lift him up into his arms and hug him when he ran to him for the first time and other things like that.

That was why when he came home he spoiled the boy. But during the long periods when he was away it was a rather dismal time and he would never see his mother which made it even worse. Still he dreamt of her all the time, she had a sweet voice and she was always holding him close to her. She was beautiful and warm and smiled at him when she held him close to her; he knew she was his mother because she had the same eyes. Those eyes that his father had loved so much in her life and as a small child he had often woke wondering where she was.

One night when he was little he had climbed into bed beside his father who had been awake in bed for the man never slept. Harry had curled up in his arms and laid there in silence, looking pained for some reason or other that the little boy had not understood at the time. But he seemed to hold him closer and then the memories started to fade from his mind. Just like that, they were blurry and fading and they were replaced with warm memories that made Harry feel all fuzzy inside and go to sleep, and when he was young this had happened often.

Harry had learned when he was older that his father had been removing the memories through a process called _legilimency. _A powerful sort of magic where someone can go into the mind and manipulate it for better or for worse, Harry was not allowed to learn that kind of thing. His father said it was a delicate thing far too delicate for a little boy and when and if he did learn it, that sort of thing was dangerous. To be used only in the most extreme circumstances and even then it was to be used in the direst situations. The human mind was not to be tampered with in any fashion and that kind of magic was a dangerous one.

His father had used it to remove the memories from his boy when he was small up to eight years old. When he was too small to deal with the pain and torment of the nightmares twisting in his mind and his father did not see fit to allow him to come to grips with reality. But when he was eight for some reason, Snape had seen fit to allow the dreams to come. Harry had asked him why and he told him that the dreams were only memories and that he had best learn to deal with them in time.

That and the fact that they were the one memory of his mother he actually had. This had not made Harry feel any better, despite the initial excitement of going to see his mother at night. He still saw the night-terror and remembered the first time he really woke from the nightmare for the first time. He had been just coming up on his eighth holiday with his father and Fangleton when he had felt all the pain and the burn of that too-realistic dream for the first time…

It had been a snowy December day when Harry, that eight year old boy had woken up to the sound of the elf cleaning up the toys scattered all over the floor. He kept the room ship shape and made sure Harry was nice and warm tucking him in on this chilly morning. The boy had been having a nightmare about that flash of light and the woman. He tossed and turned in his bed, his messy black hair fell in his face and he screamed out loud as he remembered the sharp pain of that burning spell. Even though it was only a dream he still felt the pain and screamed in agony.

"No…no..." he moaned, turning his head as the pained wail was torn from his lips.

The next thing he knew the nightmare was swimming around him, like watercolor paints being washed away by so much rain. He felt someone shaking him but the hands felt smaller than his shoulders. Their nails felt like claws getting hooked on the fabric of his robes his green eyes opened suddenly and he was looking at Fangleton. Little Harry then began to cry and then he hugged the elf tightly, causing him to gag from lack of oxygen. He patted him on the back in a feeble gesture of comfort. Harry squeezed him tightly like he was one of his stuffed animals rather than a living breathing creature.

"Does the young master want his father…" the elf asked him in a sympathetic hiss.

Little Harry nodded and sniffed loudly, causing the elf to smile and he hopped off the bed. Harry however was not ready to let him leave just yet, being a small child at the time he was still shaken by fears of things going bump in the night. He lifted the little boy's head and because he was now bigger than his caretaker he crawled into his arms and sat on his lap. The elf snuggled the crying child and allowed the child to hold him like he was some plushy toy meant for that sort of thing. He wrapped his boney, clawed hands around Harry's arm as he was squeezed tightly to the point of choking.

Fangleton made a gagging noise and scrunched up his wrinkled face as he was covered in the residue of left-over spit. Made to cuddle the child who he was too big to hold and be nuzzled by this otherwise giant creature who he had known since infancy. He squinted in distaste as he did not like to be snuggled in this way, hugs were fine and even a little cuddling but this was too much for him being the traditional elf-servant and not being used to this kind of affection from those who are seen as his superiors. But if the boy wanted a h

When he at last let go of the elf he felt a little better and offered him a charming but weak gap-toothed smile. It brought out the dimples that his father had oft told him belonged to his mother and apart from her eyes, which Harry had also inherited was his favorite part of her. Harry looked at hi face in the mirror and saw that even then he bore the most striking resemblance to his father. This was something he was very proud of at that tender age and grinned with a sorrowful watered-down smile and wiped his snotty nose on the back of his sleeve.

Of course this did not matter as the clothing was enchanted to magically keep itself clean from any sort of mess. And good thing too, because being a small boy he was naturally messy and would have cost his father a fortune in clothing. The sleeve sparkled as though it had been splattered with muggle glittered by a four year old with the artistic skills of an ill-coordinated baby monkey. Just seconds later the slime seemed to pool into a puddle of slimy fluid and then evaporated into thin air. This cheered Harry up a little as gross-out humor and being a typical boy he found this rather amusing.

He always did, but the elf broke his thoughts croaking, "Fangleton will go fetch Master and he will make the young master all better." He then smiled with his scraggly yellow fangs and patted Harry's knee gently.

"Thank you Fundleton," Harry replied, the words slightly slurred by the gap in his teeth, "I'm naw master, call me Harry."

"Fangleton cannot do that young master, or he will be punished." Fangleton said sadly.

Harry had then been shown the book and broke into tears at the thought of his friend being tortured in such a brutal way. His father had come in and held him close assuring him that no harm would come to his friend, but that punishment was sometimes needed. It was also an unspoken law in the wizarding community that house-elves be treated like servants and not equals where their masters were concerned. Word traveled fast and if his father had been found pampering the elves then the others of elven kind would come to expect it and then riots would most certainly ensue.

To appease his child however, he had taken away physical punishments and replaced them with things like a double work-load or missing one meal if it got really bad. Although Fangleton now had nothing to fear he still did not want to displease the master. More so now with the boy getting older and more indoctrinated in the wizarding world, for all Fangleton knew Harry might one day turn on him and see it as okay to hurt him because he was (by society's standards) inferior to the boy he had been made to half raise and it would be all too easy for the man he would become to loathe him in the end.

So, even with a lighter consequence load and an affectionate younger master Fangleton treaded carefully at the end of the day. But in this case his obsidian eyes to glimmer with pride as he took in the sight of his servant bowing with what seemed a hint of a smile on his crinkly face. He reached into his pillow-sack and pulled the manila envelope with green writing on the flap. He held it out to his employer but Snape made no move to take it. Instead he smiled and braced one long-fingered hand on Harry's shoulder, looking down at him with a smile curving the hard lines of his mouth.

"Accepted into what…" Harry asked puzzled.

"Give it to him Fang," His father told him.

Harry was then handed the envelope, which felt that it was packed with far more than one bit of parchment. On the front of it, was green lettering _Mr. H. Snape, the last house on Spinner's End. _Harry looked at the back of the slip and saw the shield from his toy wand with all four animals on it and everything. Heartbeat quickening as His pulse raced, fingers trembling a little as he heard his father whisper in his ear.

"Hogwarts…"


End file.

Harry Potter, Family, Hurt-Comfort