Scarred Souls

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Title: Scarred Souls



Author: Misty Moonlight/Co-author: QueenBoadicea



Beta: QueenBoadicea



Pairings: Severus/Harry



Published: 12/10/2008



Summary: A widowed Harry must bond with Snape in order to save his daughter’s life. Sev gains a family, for better or worse, and the hearts of two scarred souls will be changed forever.



Warnings: Romance, Drama, Angst, Alternate Universe, Sexual Situations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, Anal, Language, Humor, possible MPreg, Bonding, Original Characters, Family, OOC-ness,

non-canon, WIP



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Chapter 38: Pensieve





“Daddy?”



“Um. Yes, Albus?” Harry muttered absently. He was searching for his favorite green shirt. Ginny used to pretend to complain about the Slytherin color. Hermione, however, had told him it brought out his eyes and, the few times he’d worn it with Ginny, she had been properly appreciative.



But now he couldn’t find it. He sighed. Oh wait. He was a wizard, wasn’t he? “Accio Green Shirt!” From underneath his pillow, a flash of green winged through the air. He caught the wrinkled shirt and grimaced. Kreacher must have missed this one when he was doing the laundry.



“Daddy?”



“What?” He hit it with a Scourgify and sniffed again. Passable. The orphans weren’t picky about his appearance but Harry wanted to make a good impression on any potential adoptive parents.



“Are you and Snape fighting again?”



Fighting? That didn’t quite cover what he and Severus had done—almost done. Whenever he thought about it, he could still feel the heat of the man scorching his flesh.



It didn’t make sense. He used to have dreams about Ginny after she died. But they were nothing like the ones he had about Severus. Those got more passionate and erotic with every passing night. Had the man laid a spell on him?



“Daddy! You’re not listening to me!”



“Oh! No, we’re not fighting, Albus.”



“Then why aren’t you talking to each other?”



“Severus is carrying a baby and that makes him a little—tetchy.”



Albus scratched his head. “What’s ‘tetchy’?”



“Crotchety. Moody. Nervy. Just…tetchy.”



“Mummy wasn’t like that.”



No, she wasn’t. Harry didn’t like lying to his children. But he wasn’t sure how to explain this. “Severus is very different from Mummy. So he’s going to act differently. Understand?”



“Oh.” Albus still didn’t look quite satisfied. “Should we stay away from him?”



“No, no. He’s not angry with you. It’s just… What he’s going through is hard for him.” Harry pulled the shirt over his sleeveless tee.



Albus was still staring at him. It was unnerving the way the boy seemed to pick up on things. James was the clever one, quick to make plans and schemes. But it was Albus who seemed to get to the heart of the matter, understanding people just by observing them. Compared to his older twin, he was eerily knowing at times.



“Well, I’m off, Albus. Hermione is coming here with Timothy to spend a little time with you, James and Lily until I get back home.”



The boy brightened. “Timmy’s coming? Yay!”



Harry ruffled his son’s hair. “You two take care of Lily. If there are any problems…”



“I know. Ask Kreacher to get you.”



“And don’t bother Severus,” Harry added sternly.



“We won’t.” Albus watched his father leave through the floo. If Timmy was coming, they were going to have a great time. But first he wanted to talk to his brother about their new father. Something told Al all was not well and it was up to them to fix it.



He marched down the hall, hoping his brother would come up with a plan.



********************************************************************



Severus settled down in his armchair to read, safely ensconced in his bedroom. His private floo was blocked and the wards surrounding his rooms were of such a strength he doubted even Harry could get through them, at least not without considerable effort.



Not that the man would try. Harry had steadfastly avoided him since that charged scene from four nights ago. They met for the occasional odd meal, during which they kept conversation to a bare minimum and avoided eye contact, but that was it. Sometimes it seemed like the early days of their handfasting, when both men assiduously steered clear of each other.



True, they hadn’t been getting along well lately, what with the unpredictable surges of emotion caused by his enceinte condition. But he hadn’t meant to repel the man completely.



His sanctuary in Black’s manor had become more of a prison. Harry never intruded here. Indeed, no one did, even when Harry’s friends occasionally came to visit. The house itself held no happy memories for Severus save the hours spent in its library but his room remained an ideal location to avoiding—unwelcome company.



Unfortunately, it gave him far too much time and isolation to think about recent events.



Merlin, what had he been thinking, kissing Harry like that? Harry had been horrified. That yielding Severus had imagined must have been merely surprise from being caught off guard. He’d shoved Severus off soon enough once he realized what the man was about. The disgust on the man’s face afterwards had been undeniable, probably not just from the kiss but also the rampant erection jabbing Harry in his stomach.



But when Harry had hissed at him—it had been like hearing Parseltongue all over again. He’d lost control of himself completely and attacked the man like a lovesick adolescent. And the reality had been so much better than his erotic fantasies: the feel of Harry’s lips; the pliant, warm body in his arms; the taste of the man’s skin, strong and spicy. Even the last fading traces of that rank cologne hadn’t been enough to stop Severus from touching Harry, from wanting Harry to touch him…



Severus grimaced when he realized he had been staring at the same page of the book on his lap for the last 20 minutes without taking in a single word of it. He slammed it shut and began pacing up and down his tiny living room.



Ever the intellectual, Severus had looked up everything he could lay his hands on in the last few weeks about pregnancy and its effects. Since he had made the decision to keep this baby, intimate knowledge of his condition was absolutely vital. He didn’t want a single thing left to chance. At this point, he would have bet he knew more about the subject than Poppy did. After all, how many Hogwarts students actually carried through pregnancy and childbirth during her tenure?



What had occurred between him and Harry were hormones, that’s all. Pregnant women were subject to it; apparently the phenomenon affected him as well. Just because those delectable lips had hissed at him, the man’s body so close its heat practically scorched him and that face had been tilted up at just the right angle for a kiss, didn’t mean that Severus wanted Harry…again.



But he did want—something. No matter how he tried to deny it, his body heated and his groin stirred like any other red-blooded wizard. He woke up with damp sheets and sticky smalls from maddeningly vague dreams far too often lately. He had needs and desires just as much as the next man. Dammit, why should he deny himself?



He narrowed his eyes, considering. Perhaps he could get himself another partner. The Vow made it impossible for Harry to take another mate but there was no such restriction on himself. He could go to the whores of Knockturn Alley, find one with shaggy black hair and green eyes and shag him until he went blind.



There were whores who could manage cheap glamours that made them look like the Boy Who Lived; such imposters were very popular among certain segments of the Wizarding World. He had never stooped to taking one; his pride wouldn’t allow it. But now that he’d had a taste of what the Chosen One could do in bed, the ache in his thighs grew harder to ignore with each passing day.



Yes, he’d find a warm luscious body to sate this thwarted passion—right now.



Buoyed by the resolution as he hadn’t been by the potions book he’d been blindly holding, Severus decided to get dressed. Briefly, he considered using a glamour to make him look like someone else. But who would see him? Only other denizens and customers of Knockturn who were there for the same purpose as he and what would they see except Severus Snape with Harry Potter, or at least a reasonable facsimile of him? It was unlikely any news would get back to Harry and, if it did, he could point out with malicious satisfaction the exact terms of the Vow.



Let Harry fume. After all, he had rejected his bond mate’s advances. Was it Severus’s fault if he had to get his jollies elsewhere?



Gathering his cloak, he dressed himself and Summoned a purse filled with Galleons and Sickles. He was about to open the door when he heard stealthy footsteps and furtive whispers.



He paused. It couldn’t be Harry; the man had left for work hours before. It couldn’t be the house-elf. It’s small stature meant it moved almost soundlessly; it seemed to know every creaking floorboard in the looming manor and steered clear of each one.



The voices sounded high. The children then—however, he could make out not just two voices but three. Treading lightly, he cast a Disillusionment Charm, opened the door soundlessly and slid down the hall with all the predatory skill that had made him such a superb spy.



********************************************************************



“James, what if we can’t get through your dad’s wards?” Timothy whispered.



“We can ask Kreacher,” the older twin stated with more confidence than authority.



“Can Kreacher get us past Daddy’s wards?” Albus said doubtfully.



“We can always ask him.”



“I don’t know if this is a good idea, James,” Albus murmured.



“Oi, don’t back out now,” James hissed. “We’ll just get Kreacher to help us.”



Realizing they were about to call the house-elf, Severus dropped the charm. “What do you three think you’re doing?”



Timothy jumped, Albus let out a squeak and James went pale. However, the hazel-eyed twin recovered with amazing swiftness. “Nothing.”



“Why do I never believe you when you say that?” A furtive movement on Timothy’s part caught his attention. “What do you have behind your back?”



“It’s—”



“Don’t you dare tell me it’s nothing, little boy, or I’m going to have a little talk with your parents about your sneaking around here,” Severus threatened.



“I wasn’t going to… It belongs to my Dad,” the boy answered, his voice sullen with dislike.



“Then what is it doing here? And what are you doing here?”



The three boys looked guiltily at each other. “It’s…something Daddy took from Harry and I was just bringing it back,” Timothy muttered.



“It’s got nothing to do with you,” Albus added defiantly.



“I’ll be the judge of that. Hand it over.” Timothy reluctantly held forth the object and Severus snatched it from him.



It looked to be nothing more than an ordinary flask. But Severus felt the faint tingle of Transfiguration. When he concentrated, he realized it was indeed Mr. Weasley’s magic, familiar to him from the many hours he had spent watching the teenager duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.



He shook the flask and heard the liquid sloshing around inside it. “What is this? Some potion Harry needs to take?”



“I don’t know. I heard Daddy saying to Mummy it’s got something to do with a Pen-pen-pen…”



“Pensieve,” Severus said absently. So these were Pensieve memories that belonged to Harry. How fascinating. Suddenly the evening was looking to provide a lot more entertainment than a couple of hours spent rolling in soiled sheets with an anonymous hooker.



“The three of you are dismissed.”



“Wait! If I don’t bring that back, Dad’ll know that I took it!” Timothy wailed.



“If Harry learns about his memories being in Mr. Weasley’s possession, I imagine your father will have explaining of his own to do. Now stand aside.” He pointed his wand at Harry’s wards and threw as much of his power against them as he could.



Harry’s power was great; the wards held against his initial attack. But he persevered and they fell before him. Satisfied, he let the door slam shut behind him and erected his own wards against the inquisitive children outside.



Timothy looked at the others. The twins looked back at him. “Thanks for helping, Tim,” James offered.



“Do you think he’ll fall for it?” whispered Albus as they crept away.



“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Timothy whispered back. “Mum said it would work and Dad says she’s the smartest witch he knows.”



Albus hoped so. He also hoped that a smart witch could outwitch his stepdaddy.



********************************************************************



The Pensieve was still where Harry had left it. This was a perfect time to see what little secrets that ginger-haired Weasley had ferreted out from Harry’s brain. He poured the silvery liquid into the bowl and thrust his head into it.



Darkness descended over him.



He looked around quickly, assessing the situation. Where was he? It was bright sunlight but the surroundings were unrecognizable. A row of houses, all looking depressingly the same, were arranged in neat, unvarying rows. He was standing in the garden of someone’s house, the place looking as uninteresting as the rest.



A loud horn blared and he spun around, his years as a spy making him sensitive to every unusual sound. He froze as he recognized a familiar figure.



Crouched in the garden rows was the young Harry Potter. He looked to be about nine years old, though it was hard to tell for certain considering his diminutive size. He was wearing a baggy Muggle shirt with holes in it, clearly three sizes too large for him. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his hands were covered with dirt. His face also seemed far too thin. The boy had the appearance like a starveling waif not the heroic Boy Who Lived.



“Boy! Aren’t you finished in the garden yet?” The shrill voice came from behind and he turned, seeking its source.



Standing framed in the back door was Petunia Evans. It had been over 20 years since he’d seen her last but he would recognize that pinched horseface anywhere.



Harry got to his feet. It didn’t help; the woman towered over him. “Aunt Petunia? I’m thirsty. Can’t I have a drink of water?”



“Not until you’ve finished in the garden, you lazy little freak. When you’ve done that, you can come in the kitchen and clean the floor,” she snapped, slamming the door.



Harry’s head lowered and his fists clenched. His mouth pinched tight, not with anger, but with resignation. He sighed and turned back to his thankless task.



Harry renewed his attack on the weeds. He lowered his head to sniff at the blossoms but didn’t do so too often, his eye trained towards the back door. Doubtless, Petunia was watching to see that he didn’t skive off.



He finished the job and neatly too—a surprise, given Harry’s general clumsiness in class. But, no, Harry wasn’t awkward in handling plants, Severus grudgingly admitted. He merely had trouble cutting them to size and putting them in their proper order in a cauldron.



When it was all done, the boy stood up once more. He swayed a little on his feet and Severus was disturbed to see him grow pale underneath his sunburned skin. The boy staggered towards the door and barely made it inside before sitting down abruptly on the floor.



Severus stood over him, watching as the boy struggled upright again. Breathing heavily, Harry made it to the kitchen sink and poured himself two glasses of water, both of which he gulped down in swift succession. All the while, he had his eyes on the door, as though afraid that someone would catch him at the business. He acted more like a furtive thief than someone quenching a raging thirst.



The Potions master found himself a helpless spectator as Harry washed the floor, polished the furniture and cooked a large meal for Petunia; her husband, a porker of a blond nearly bulging out of his clothes and a blubbery son who could have passed for his father in miniature. His ungrateful relatives sat down without so much as a thank you and gave Harry a plate of scraps not fit for a dog before telling him to clear off.



Severus followed the boy to a narrow enclosure underneath a staircase. The door opened and Severus ducked his head, nearly treading on Harry’s heels. Severus was annoyed but not surprised to hear the door locked after them.



Inside he saw what looked to be nothing more than a storage cupboard, the kind of cramped space meant to hold folded linen or odd tools. Instead, there was a low bed covered with a tattered sheet, a thin duvet and a battered trunk that he knew all too well. Against the wall was a neat pile of broken toys, objects so pathetic the orphanage would have rejected them.



Harry sat on the bed and mechanically ate his meal, his face expressionless. He gobbled it down with graceless haste, something Severus could recall him doing at Hogwarts meals at the beginning of first term until he slowed down after two months. Why? Did he think anyone would want to take that offal he was swallowing away from him?



Abruptly there was a rattling at the door. Harry bolted down the last of his repast and placed the plate on top of the trunk. He’d barely sprung to his feet when the door was unlocked and swung open to bang against the wall.



Inside the doorway stood the fat man, Vernon Dursley. “Where did you put it?” he roared.



Harry stood his ground, incredible given the man’s obvious rage. “Where’d I put what?”



“Dudley’s video game, you little freak! He says it’s gone missing. You stole it out of his bedroom, didn’t you?”



“No, I didn’t! You keep me locked up in here. How could I get into Dudley’s bedroom?” Harry yelled back.



“I don’t know. But it’s gone and you’re the only one who could have taken it.” Vernon surged into the room, his large size made even more terrifying because of the narrow space.



Harry shrank back but he couldn’t escape the man. A meaty fist came flying out and caught Harry on the side of his head before he could duck. The boy’s head swung around and he collapsed to the floor.



For a moment, Severus feared the man would kick him. Instead, he pulled Harry up by his hair and started smacking him around the face. After a few hard whacks, he evidently tired of it and began searching the room.



It didn’t take long; with such a small enclosure how could it? Bruised and bleeding at the corners of his lips, Harry cowered in the corner while the man pulled up the bedding, tossed around the broken toys and flung Harry’s clothes out of the battered trunk, until the room looked like a whirlwind had hit it.



After he was finished, he had found nothing. Harry muttered, “See? I told you I didn’t take it.”



Vernon Dursley turned menacingly to his nephew. “You’ve hidden it somewhere else, haven’t you?” He advanced on Harry, who shrank away even though there was nowhere else to go.



Suddenly the piggy son lumbered to the thin slatted door. “Oi, dad. I found it! It had dropped behind the bed.” The boy sounded unbearably smug. All at once Severus knew the miserable urchin had known where his silly game was all along; he had falsely accused his cousin to get him in trouble. By the miserable expression on Harry’s face, the Boy Who Lived knew it too.



Vernon sniffed, panting and red in the face from his exertions. “Is that so? Well, you really should take better care of your things in future, Dudley. And you,” he bellowed at Harry “clean up this mess!” The two left the room, banging the door shut behind them. Once again, Severus heard the key turn in the lock.



Severus let out a shuddering exhalation, only now realizing that he’d been holding his breath. Harry came slowly to his feet. To the resignation of earlier was added a terrible sadness. He blinked hard, like one forcing back tears. Sighing, he bent and straightened his room.



The memory came to an end. More followed it: scenes of Harry picking food out of the trashbins; Harry spending endless days locked in the cupboard when company came over; blurred images of Harry running from Dudley and his bullies; Harry peeking through the slats of his cage, listening while his so-called family watched telly together or played games or talked of the days’ events.



There wasn’t a single image of a friend, visitor, gift, meals with the family or even a kind word. The rare peaceful moments Harry spent away from his horrid relatives involved him keeping lengthy hours with a certain Arabella Figg, a dotty cat owner, who bored the poor lad to near tears prattling on about her pets.



Things got little better as Harry grew older. His accommodations improved; the treatment from his relatives did not. They feared his power therefore they hated him. He was forbidden to practice magic spells in the house. The slightest infraction caused missed meals. His trunk was locked up when he came home from school so that he couldn’t study or practice the lessons learned in school. Even his poor owl was locked into her cage, free only to fly about at night just as all “proper owls were supposed to”.



The images spooled to a halt and Severus pulled his head from the formless gray swirl. Despite the fact that he was severely shaken by what he’d seen, he had enough self possession to direct the memories back into the flask and conceal it within his robes.



God, this was appalling. Was this what Harry’s life had been before coming to Hogwarts? Was this what he had to endure all those years? Why had Harry never told him about any of this?



Likely because you wouldn’t have listened, Snivellus.



That voice sounded horribly like the second head. Now that he thought about it, certain hints that they’d dropped about Harry’s past became painfully clear.



Had Albus been aware of Harry’s misfortunes at home? The man had seemed to know everything and yet… How could the ancient wizard have been privy to this and left the boy in the clutches of these terrible people?



Why hadn’t he known? He was supposed to be a spy, dammit. How could this have been hidden from him all these years?



Because I never bothered to find out. Shame, sharper than a serpent’s fangs, bit at him.



Harry had suffered in his youth, much as he had done. Until he came to Hogwarts, he had had no friends to cheer his miserable hours. Ah, but Severus had had a friend, hadn’t he? He had known a beautiful, smart, funny, witty, charming, courageous and sweet red-haired girl who had opened her heart to befriend a lonely, ugly misfit.



He had failed Lily. He had let her die. Then he’d turned his bitter fury on her only surviving child, one who desperately needed kindness, understanding and nurturing after her death.



Severus stared gloomily at the Pensieve, perched with misleading innocence on its pedestal. What to do next? An apology to Harry was out of the question. He had always despised meaningless apologies and wasn’t going to make one now.



But it was not too late. He had bungled things badly with Harry but there was still time to make amends. He had tried bridging the gap between himself and the Gryffindor before now. However, those had been merely attempts to make himself feel better or out of selfish desire. This was going to be different.



Severus felt remarkably light now, energized really, in a way the potion had never left him. Anticipation coursed through him as he considered ways and means for winning over his bond mate.



He strode towards the door only to see it swing open. He froze as he met a cold accusing stare.



“Snape. What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?”





TBC