Dearest Harry - Eileen's Story

A/N Sorry to have taken so long to update but I have not been well. Should be back to the normal schedule any day now though! Thanks to Kim for the betaing ~ Lucie


Potter had fainted again after he had been sick. Curling his mouth in disgust, Severus had cast a quick scourgify and had bent over to pick up the boy. But it was just too cramped in the cupboard and there was absolutely no room to manoeuvre. In the end he had had to vanish the wall to get the boy out. The odious relatives had objected until he offered to vanish them too.

“Where is his bedroom?” he asked. He had just carried Potter, rather than levitating him, since he weighed so little. Such a scrap of a boy now that he was unconscious, and Severus realised that the spirit that burned brightly within him made him seem much larger than he truly was. He followed the thin woman up the stairs to a poky little room that smelt dusty and unused. The woman, his cousin Petunia, had stood aside to let him past and Malfoy, who as always these days, was right behind him

So, Severus was the first to enter the room that he had imagined to be stuffed with treasures, only to find that it was barely larger than a cupboard itself. The sheets on the cheap divan were thin and worn, almost transparent with age, and a rather nasty peach colour. There was a particularly scrappy chipboard wardrobe shoved into a corner and an equally cheap and tatty bedside table. This was Potter’s room?

Draco let out a gasp of astonishment.

And Snape turned to look at him. This cramped squalor was a long way from what they had both expected for Potter.

He turned to the woman who still stood waiting outside the door. “Get me some clean bedding,” he snarled, “something that is fit for him to sleep on. Something other than dust-sheets, and hurry up about it!”

“Now see here, I’m not having Petunia run around after that freak. Those sheets are good enough for him. If we give him anything else, then we’ll only end up burning them,” Dursley growled, coming up the stairs behind his wife.

Snape was sure his jaw dropped open at that point. He had thought earlier, for a moment, that Harry had just had a little row with his family, which would account for any unusual behaviour on their part. However, it was becoming more and more obvious that he was sadly mistaken. If he were honest with himself, he was not as surprised at what he had found as he should be. He had had inklings occasionally that Potter’s childhood had not been all it should have.

He was very good at spotting the signs, perhaps better than any other teacher at the school. After all, there were far more children in Slytherin who had difficult childhoods and had suffered abuse, than in any other house. But he had dismissed these signs when it came to this boy; ignored them, as they had not fitted with his image of James Potter’s son and the golden childhood that Severus had created for him in his own mind. This room did not belong to a golden child. It belonged to someone who was not wanted, someone who was very much despised.

Looking round the shabby room, he absorbed the fat man’s dismissal of Potter as some sort of un-natural thing and, just for a second, he felt the weight of the oppressive existence that Potter must have lead. But there was no time right now to think about any of this. He had to revive the boy so that he could send for help, because, when the wards fell, the Death Eaters would attack and there was no way that he would be able to get everyone out of here on his own.

He could, of course, just leave the Muggles to die, but, notwithstanding the popular belief to the contrary, Severus Snape was an honourable man and despite the fact that he was finding them increasingly odious he was not about to let them suffer. If the Death Eaters got to them, they would indeed die messy and painful deaths and he really did not need any more misery on his conscience.

He was not about stand there to argue with an armful of Potter though so instead he deposited the boy on the pitiful excuse for a bed that they had allowed him to have and turned to face the red faced man and his skinny, horse faced wife.

“You listen to me, you ignorant fool! I really don’t care what you think about Potter. I don’t like the brat very much myself. But the reality is that those men out there are killers, they are bloodthirsty and vicious and would quite happily torture your entire family to death.

“At midnight the blood wards fall; the sacrifice that his mother made expires then, at his majority. I can get him and the other boy out of here alive, but not you as well. This boy is your only hope of survival, do you understand? And if you are not prepared to help, then get out of my way and we’ll leave you to your fate.

“Now, do you have any analgesics? We need to get his temperature down so that he can help us. Oh, and fetch me some water too. The boy seems to be seriously dehydrated. And two spoons.”

Petunia scrambled off then, obviously the threat of imminent death and torture was all that was needed to galvanise her into action.

“What makes you think he’ll be any use?” The fat uncle asked scathingly, gesturing at Potter’s prone form. “He has never been any good for anything as far as I can see.”

Severus was sure he had said something similar to Albus only a month or so before, but he at least had known that he was being disingenuous. This man truly believed what he was saying.

“Oh, trust me,” Severus drawled, “He does have a talent for getting out of very tricky situations. But keep annoying me, Mr Dursley, as you are doing right now, and I will leave you to your fate.”

“They won’t touch us.” Dursley blustered. “The army will be along in a minute, or the police, they will get rid of that gang of hoodlums.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better,” Severus sneered, “but keep out of my way.” He had then given the man a none too gentle shove, and closed the door on his fat, ugly features.

Malfoy came in soon after; he had left with the woman to get the pills and the water. She had apparently gone to find some clean bed linen.

Severus took the pills, without thanks, and placed them in the bowl of one of the spoons. He used the other one to crush them to the finest powder he could manage in the circumstances. He added just a little water to create a paste then turned his attention to the boy lying on the bed. Somehow he had to wake him up to give him the drug. Severus thought that Potter seemed to have a dangerously high temperature and he was very worried that, if they did not cool him down soon, he would start to fit.

He was muttering a little now and Severus worried that the boy was becoming delirious. Severus signalled for Draco to join them and he leaned over to prop Potter up so that they could get the medicine inside him. It obviously hurt his damaged shoulder quite considerably, because the boy groaned and then murmured, “Please Uncle Vernon, it hurts. Don’t hit me again.”

Draco, who had situated himself behind Potter as directed, gasped at this. “Do you think they hit him, Professor?” he asked in a tight, shocked voice.

Severus was about to answer with a sarcastic comment, but then he looked up at Draco’s pale, frightened face and thought better of it. The boy had truly been through an awful lot in the last few weeks and had his whole world turned upside down. He was obviously shocked at Potter’s home circumstances. But then so was he, come to that. Two years ago, during Occlumency, Snape had seen something of this; glimpses of a less than perfect childhood, but he had dismissed them. After all, Potter was such an attention seeking little prick, wasn’t he?

But now he knew that was obviously not the case. Potter had never said a word about this after all, had he?

“Professor?” Draco asked, interrupting his musings.

“I think they have and indeed, a great deal more I suspect. But there is no time for that now. Now we have to get him to wake up, we need him.”

He began to give Malfoy instructions. “Lift him up, hold his chin.” Potter groaned and winced. He must have been in quite a lot of pain from the broken shoulder but there was nothing that Snape could do about it right now. Since he had gone on the run from both sides of the war, he could hardly claim a well-stocked lab any more. Severus forced down a pang of regret. What did his mother always say? “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.” Bloody stupid saying, but it fitted his current situation, he thought wryly.

Bit by bit, between them, they managed to get the unconscious boy to swallow Severus’ concoction. There was a bit of coughing and spluttering, but, on the whole, he managed to keep the medicine down, even if he did pull the most comical faces at the taste.

“I’m going downstairs to get some damp towels. We need to cool him down quickly. Just stay there, I’ll be back in a moment.” Then without caring if Draco was comfortable or not, Severus swept off in search of clean sheets and a towel or two.


Harry felt like he was swimming through mud. Hot, sticky mud. He couldn’t breathe properly and he was sure he was feverish. His mouth felt dry, he was so thirsty again. He drifted slowly back to consciousness. He was in someone’s arms! That caused Harry to start with shock. He was never held by anyone, not at any time in his life that he could remember, really. Oh sure, there had been a few hugs with Ginny last term, but this person was holding him gently, just because he was ill. It felt really, really nice.

He opened his eyes, tentatively because his head was so sore, but he couldn’t see whoever it was because they were behind him. He could see robes, dark robes and slim elegant hands He tried to lift his head, but it hurt so much. Whoever was behind him shushed him then, laid a cool hand on his hot head and oh it felt so good that Harry just closed his eyes and enjoyed it for a moment. He leaned back into the firm, warm solidness behind him and just luxuriated in the feeling of being held.

Was this what other people felt when they were ill? This tenderness? This care? He knew he had to get up, he vaguely remembered something about Death Eaters and Snape, had he been here? But just for now, he wasn’t going to think about anything else he was just going to live for the moment. Because Harry was good at that, not asking questions, not wondering why something was the way it was. Just enjoying affection however it came, because he hadn’t had a whole lot of it in his life, had he?

But just then, just as Harry began to wish that this safe warm floaty feeling would go on forever, his bedroom door was flung open and in came Severus Snape, closely followed by Uncle Vernon. Harry couldn’t help himself he groaned.

“M’sorry Uncle Vernon,” he muttered, “I didn’t mean to be sick, I’ll clean it up.”

“It’s alright boy, you’re not well. No harm done. Petunia sorted it.”

Harry nearly fell off the bed with shock, but the person behind him just held him more firmly and said, “Steady Potter, you don’t want to hurt that shoulder any more than you already have.”

Malfoy? He had been held by Malfoy, Malfoy had stroked his hair and mopped his brow? Harry decided he had almost certainly gone completely insane with the fever. Yes, that was it. Because there was no way that Malfoy would do anything for Harry other than hex him into mush. His Uncle had not clouted him, or even shouted at him in fact he had been civil and those black wizarding robes were definitely topped by the sneering, sallow face of Severus Snape.

Harry threw himself of the bed and retreated to the corner of his room. If these three individuals, who had spent the majority of his existence trying to make him as miserable as possible, had decided to team up, how the hell was he going to defend himself from all of them, especially in his decidedly weakened state?

“W..what’s going on?” he asked, pulling himself to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. And then more strongly, “What are you doing here, Professor? …. Are there Death Eaters?”

“I am not going to hurt you, Potter. If I were going to do so I could have managed it far better when you were unconscious.” Snape said calmly and coolly. Harry nearly laughed as his uncle stared at the man with astonishment.

“You really don’t like him do you?” Vernon said.

“Didn’t you realise, Uncle? They are quite a few people out there who hate me almost as much as you do?” Harry didn’t notice the slightly bitter tone that had crept into his voice, or the glimmer of sympathy that shone in Snape’s eyes. “Is this the first meeting of the ‘The Hate Potter Club’? How nice of you to hold it in my room. So that I could be a part of the proceedings.”

Malfoy’s jaw had dropped. He was still sitting on Harry’s bed and Harry thought with a pang that he really wanted to go back there and lean against him, just like he had been doing, but then he ruthlessly slapped that thought back down and tried concentrate on stopping his legs from wobbling.

“Potter, we do not have time for this, we need to get a message to the Order. There are about fifty Death Eaters out there and we are hopelessly outnumbered.”

Harry looked at his ex potions professor steadily. He hated the man, always would, but he also knew now that Snape was not with Voldemort. For a long time, he had hated him more than he hated Voldemort even. He had gone over Dumbledore’s death time and time again in his head and slowly came to believe that Snape had killed Dumbledore because Dumbledore had asked him to.

When he changed his approach to that night, he realised that it all fit; Dumbledore wasn’t begging for life. After all, hadn’t he once said that death was but the next great adventure? He had trusted Snape and asked him to kill him. Harry didn’t understand it completely yet but he knew, just knew, that Snape was still, well, if not exactly on his side, then opposed to Voldemort and he was still, Harry was sure, as loyal to Dumbledore as he had always been.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, sagging against the wall with pain.

Snape gave him a look that was completely unfathomable to Harry.

“Send a Patronus,” was all he said.

“How do I do it, Professor? How do I send a message?”

“Just think about what you want to say, and conjure it in the normal way.”

“Can you pass me my wand?” Harry asked, “I don’t think I can move. It is under that floorboard.”

Harry really did not like giving up his secrets to Snape, and he didn’t like Uncle Vernon seeing where he had hidden his precious things, but what choice did he have? He knew he would not make it across the room right now, he was feeling sick again and dizzy and the pain was becoming worse. He thought he must have wrenched his shoulder when he had thrown himself from his bed, and Harry had had more than enough broken bones in his life to know what was wrong with his shoulder.

Snape knelt down, and lifted the loose board. He spoke not a word as he gently moved Harry’s cloak and album aside and retrieved the wand. Vernon started spluttering again when he saw Harry’s secrets. About freaks and hocus pocus and how he knew the boy was no good.

Harry ignored him. It wasn’t like the man was saying anything that he hadn’t already heard many times before. He ignored the gasp that Malfoy gave when his Uncle set off the stream of invective and the even louder one that Malfoy and Vernon let out when, having taken his wand from Snape’s outstretched hand, he cast Expecto Patronum and his dull and dreary room lit up with the silvery glow of Harry’s Patronus.