Chapter Text
Of all the people in the world that would be expected to love summer, Severus Snape was not one of them. People took one look at him, with his black clothes and pale skin, and assumed he dwelled the bowels of the worst part of January. Not that he minded, really. The less people that knew that he enjoyed his summer holidays, the less of them would try to visit his house during them. Three months of blissful solitude. No irritating children. Only rare calls from Dumbledore, and rarer summons for Death Eater meetings. The hot days could be filled with nothing endless, mind-numbing brewing.
For all that he complained about teaching children potions, Severus truly did enjoy his craft. It was calming. Slice an ingredient. Stir the simmering brew so many times. It never changed, never shifted. Not unless he wanted it to. Severus prided himself on his ability to improve potions and would often publish them in journals. It wasn’t really for the glory, or the money he was often sent, but because he felt as if it was a small part of his atonement. If he could heal one more illness, or make the transformation of one werewolf easier, it would clear away some of the deep, black dirt covering his soul.
At the thought of werewolves, his mind drifted back to the wolfsbane that he really needed to stock up on, and the man that it would be going to. What was Albus thinking, hiring Lupin? A fully grown werewolf, in a school of hundreds of children. It was unbelievably dangerous. One slip up, one forgotten potion, and there could be many deaths, and many infections. Then, to cap it off, the man himself would be executed. He shook his head. As much as he disliked Lupin, mostly for the crime of being part of the Marauders, and a little for being the weapon Black had used on his attempt on his life, he could never bring himself to wish death on him. Every time the professor saw the werewolf, he looked so worn. Most werewolves looked ragged, but Severus rarely saw one that looked as sad as Lupin. He never bothered to approach him about it, though. It was not his problem. He would brew the potion, and he would force the wolf to take them. For the safety of the children.
Albus was a fool when it came to many things, like the hiring of a dangerous beast as a professor, but the old man had been smart to appoint Severus as a Head of House. No matter how much he couldn’t stand children when they were blowing things up in his classroom, he would never, ever wish harm upon them. A lifetime of cruel adults and professors that never seemed to notice when something was wrong had turned Severus into a bitter man. Bitter, but observant. He had easily accepted the position when it was offered to him because he knew that, in the case that any child in his house was having trouble at home, he could easily spot and report it. Unfortunately, he had failed to recall that his position also meant that he had to deal with the emotional wellbeing of the children, not just the physical. It had been hard, getting used to comforting sniffling first years, and learning how to convince strong-willed fifth years to go to the Hospital Wing when they were hurt, but Severus was glad for it in the end. He was still horribly awkward, and he never truly stopped feeling dread when a sobbing 11-year-old entered his office, but it was worth it to do something good for the most despised children at Hogwarts. He felt that that, too, helped sweep away a little gunk from his soul.
One child he could never, ever stand, however, was that foolish Potter brat. No matter what he did, it made Severus angry. Death-defying stunts. Fights with the Dark Lord with nothing but luck on his side. The boy was clearly an attention seeker, and Severus often had to get him out of whatever predicaments he found himself in. The little wretch probably went off and bragged about his survival afterwards as well. That particular child infuriated him to no end, which is why he almost put out the fire when the flames turned green and Albus’ head emerged from them. Albus only ever called to ask him to do something that would directly benefit the brat, and Severus really wasn’t in the mood.
“Severus? A moment of your time, please.” The Headmaster said in that voice that allowed for no disagreement.
Severus huffed, but put his potion under stasis nonetheless. After a short walk over to his fireplace, he spoke.
“What is it, Albus? I’m attempting to get ahead on my work.”
“I’m afraid it has to do with Harry-”
“I’m aware. You scarcely call me for anything else. Get to the point, please.”
Severus knew he shouldn’t be so short with the only person in his life who had given him a second chance, but he really, really didn’t want to deal with the latest Potter Disaster, and needed to know what had happened in order to tell Albus to send someone else. Albus sighed.
“The blood wards are shrinking. At a rate of about a foot a day. We…we didn’t realize until today, when I was alerted to the fact that Harry is outside of them. The wards are now barely the size of the house.”
“Well? Surely you’ve told him to just stay inside then. What could you possibly need me for? If he won’t even listen to you, I’m afraid he doesn’t ever listen to me.”
“Well, it seems…we can’t find Harry. Any attempts to see if he is in the house have been met with hostility from the Dursleys, who say that he isn’t there. No one can find him. We would have enlisted the help of our werewolf friend, but I’m afraid he is still recovering from last night’s full moon.” Albus said in a voice that was dangerously close to uncertain.
“So, you need me to find the brat.” Severus said in a flat voice.
“Yes. Please go to Number 4, Privet Drive and look for him. Contact me if you find anything.”
With that, Albus’ face vanished from his fireplace. Severus groaned. Of bloody course. Of course his blissful vacation had to be interrupted by a hunt for a boy who probably ran from home because he didn’t get the newest video game or some other drivel. Well, that boy could wait until after Severus was done brewing his potion. It was expensive, and he held much more care for it than for the spoiled Prince Potter.
— — — — — — — —
Harry Potter lay on the dirty floor of the shed, trying not to move much. His eyes blurred as he watched through a small crack in the wall as the breeze swayed the stems of the bushes along the fence. Oh, how he longed for that breeze. It was hot in the shed, unbearably so. Every breath felt like inhaling water. Every heartbeat felt like someone was pounding on his chest. Every pore was leaking precious water he could not afford to waste. The dripping hose tap only filled his small water jar after several hours, so he was sure that he was not consuming as much water as his small, thin body was releasing. For the millionth time in the four days he had been in the shed, Harry closed his eyes and wished desperately that he were anywhere else.
Four days ago, Aunt Marge had insulted Harry’s parents to his face. Four days ago, Harry had accidentally turned her into a human balloon. Four days ago, magical police had come and went, fixing the woman and wiping her memories. They refrained from wiping the Dursleys’ though. And so, four days ago, Uncle Vernon had ruthlessly introduced Harry to his new belt, then locked him in the shed. Said that he didn’t want a stupid little freak anywhere near his dear, sweet sister. Harry had almost laughed, but he didn’t particularly want to die that night.
Four days later, he regretted all of it. The sweltering heat made the wounds and bruises on his back and arms throb with worse pain than it usually would in the cool, damp cupboard. Or his drafty room. Merlin, he missed air conditioning.
Harry was imagining stepping onto the cool tiled floor of the kitchen when something dark and black blocked his view out of the crack. Harry startled and let out a tiny yelp. A moment later, the thing backed up, revealing the head of a starved-looking dog. It listened for a moment, then stuck its snout right up against the hole. After it sniffed the crack for a whole ten seconds, it raised its head to look in on him with a large, grey eye. Harry held very still. What should he do? His first instinct was to shoo it away. He’d had nothing but bad experiences with Marge’s dogs, after all, and he wasn’t excited to see how some stray would act. But… when the creature let out a pathetic-sounding whine, Harry couldn’t feel anything but sadness for it. Maybe it was just looking for food?
The boy had just opened his mouth to speak when the head of the dog disappeared. A moment later, the creature trotted through his line of sight, looking alert, off to the side of the house. Harry hoped that the dog wouldn’t get caught by Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon. He really hoped that it wouldn’t get into a fight with Ripper. He didn’t think he could handle watching an innocent animal get hurt in front of him right then. He was too tired. Exhaustion had started to creep in again, the oppressive heat helping it along. Well, who was Harry to fight it? Sleep meant a short time away from the heat, the thirst, the hunger, and the pain. It meant reprieve. So, the boy let his eyes drift closed and hoped for dreams of cool water.