Dearest Harry - Eileen's Story

Just a short chapter this time, thanks to Kim and Juno for betaing. Happy Hogmanay! Lucie


The whirling journey of the Portkey deposited them in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. So violent was their arrival that even Severus stumbled and nearly fell. A second later, the stunned occupants who witnessed their appearance sprang into action at the sight of the new arrivals. There were shouts and whispers and swishes as countless wands were produced and pointed at himself and Draco. But Severus was ignoring them. There was simply no time to explain. If he didn’t get Potter cooled down quickly, they might well end up losing him.

He let the chaos carry on unabated around him and crouched down, hurriedly stripping the boy as fast as he could, whilst simultaneously casting cooling charms. The shouts around him grew louder and more insistent and all the while his back was guarded by Lupin and Arthur Weasley, who were scrupulously keeping their word to Potter and protecting him. Snape the enemy, the traitor, the man who killed Dumbledore. They steadfastly defended him from all comers, from all those who were jostling to get to him, shouting dire threats and warning of his treachery.

“That’s Snape, Arthur. Get him away from Harry!”

“Oh, by Merlin, Harry, what’s going on?”

“Harry, Harry, what’s he doing? It’s Snape, save Harry.”

“It’s the traitor, he killed Dumbledore!”

“He’ll be sorry when I get my hands on him.”

“I am going to kill the bastard!”

Finally, after struggling with the convulsing boy, Severus got Potter down to nothing but his boxer shorts and the room fell completely silent. The boy had obviously been severely beaten and not just once, he was covered in bruises. Dark purple marks spread over his ribs. Yellowing finger-shaped ones decorated his upper arms, a testament to earlier cruelty. There were stripes across his thighs that told of a recent whipping and his shoulder was swelling rapidly and already puffy in appearance.

“Cold water, quickly,” Severus shouted, “and a clean cloth. He’s having a seizure. I have to cool him down.” Seconds later a bowl of clean water and a small towel were pressed into his hands and he proceeded to gently mop the boy’s face and torso, removing the sweat that formed a sheen coating his limbs, continuing to try to reduce Potter’s soaring temperature.

No one spoke. The room was almost completely silent as everyone watched Severus working, desperately, frantically trying to save Potter’s life. The only sound was the rasping, juddering breaths that Potter was producing. He was delirious and obviously in pain. If Severus couldn’t calm him down, make him cooler, Harry Potter was going to die right here on the cold, stone floor of his godfather’s house.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Potter stopped thrashing. His breathing slowed, his eyes flickered open and the bright green irises rolled back until only white could be seen. Then, all at once, the boy, who had been so violently animated only seconds before, sagged into utter stillness.

Every single person in the room seemed to still their breathing in sympathy with the boy, but for a few seconds Potter laid crumpled and oh so small in Severus’ arms. Finally, after an eternity, the boy drew in a trembling breath and everyone else sighed in relief.

Then the questions flew thick and fast.

“What’s going on?”

“Was Harry tortured?”

“Was it Death Eaters?”

Malfoy spoke for the first time, “It was them,” he said. “They did it.”

Severus looked up for the first time since he had arrived and saw that the room was full of people: Moody, Shacklebolt, Minerva, Granger, the odious Fletcher and about 15,000 Weasleys. Draco was pointing at the Dursleys and the gathered throng was staring at the cowering family in shock. Tonks was standing close to them. She had her wand pointed in their direction, and had obviously cast a silencing spell, because Vernon Dursley was gesticulating and opening and closing his mouth, surprised at the lack of sound.

Potter had slumped against Severus and now that the fever had broken, the boy was rapidly becoming chilled. Severus tore off his cloak, startling everyone again, and wrapped it round Potter. “We need to get him to bed. He is still very unwell,” he said, standing up awkwardly with the boy still held in his arms. Molly Weasley came forward. She put her hand on his arm and said in a soft voice,

“Come on Severus, follow me.” And she led him upstairs towards one of the many shabby bedrooms in this accursed house.

Only it wasn’t so shabby anymore, was it? Someone had obviously been working on the place, brightening it up with paint and new flooring; Severus wondered who had bothered with a frippery such as decorating, at a time when their lives hung in the balance. But the boy he was carrying groaned and then Severus focused his attention on him instead and, momentarily, they were in the bedroom. Molly had pulled back the covers on an ornately carved single bed, gesturing for Severus to lower Potter to the mattress, so Severus did just that.

He was strangely reluctant to leave the boy. He could tolerate him quite well, he thought, when he spent so much time unconscious. Then he shook himself, and found that he almost felt ashamed. Harry Potter had nearly died tonight and Severus needed him alive, they all did. He had a date with the Dark Lord after all, and Eileen would kill him herself if he came back without her eagerly awaited grandson. For a moment he almost felt resentful, and then he thought back to earlier today when he had not yet reached the house at which Potter had endured his childhood. He had felt jealous then, of all that he imagined had been showered on the boy. However, an awful lot of Severus’ assumptions had died that day, hadn’t they? He now realised that, compared to the Boy-Who-Lived, he, Severus, was actually blessed. Eileen had loved him, always. Supported him through the little sorrows and the few joys and didn’t even turn away when he had become a Death Eater. Whatever happened, he was her son and she cherished him.

Molly was clucking and cooing like the mother hen she was and finally she shooed him from the room.

“I think you have some explaining to do downstairs, don’t you Severus?” she said in her usual bossy tone, edging him towards the door. But she softened her words with a gentle smile, “Send Ginny up, won’t you? I’ll need some things brought along,” She lifted her hand to his face and cupped his cheek gently. “Thank you for saving him,” she said and firmly shut the door in his face.

He walked back downstairs like a condemned man heading for execution. He could hear raised voices but, when he opened the kitchen door, the room once more fell silent. Every single eye in the room was trained on him, demanding explanation, seeking reassurance.

“I think he will be alright now, he is sleeping. Miss Weasley, I do believe your mother requires your assistance if you would be so kind.”

The red headed girl gave a squeak and hurried from the room, obviously delighted to be able to minister to her beloved hero. Then the werewolf addressed him. “Severus, I think we have a lot to discuss.”


It was now after 2am, and the evening had been one of the longest and most tiring that Severus had ever endured. The house was finally quiet. He sat in a chair by the dying fire, finally, blessedly alone. The questioning had gone on for hours. Accusations had been thrown, sharp words exchanged but, in a way, it had all been cathartic and Severus had found a strange sort of peace.

The Dursleys had been apoplectic about their treatment. Vernon Dursley had charged around like an enraged bull and thin, scrawny Petunia had screeched and wailed like one of the Sorrows. Slowly every thing, every little detail of the past few months had been discussed.

Potter’s treatment had merited seemingly endless discussion. Dumbledore had known about the boy’s childhood situation, so Petunia had insisted. She’d pointed out that his first letter from Hogwarts had even been addressed to ‘The Cupboard Under the Stairs.’ She further suggested that Dumbledore’s chastisement the previous summer had served to inflame her husband’s temper. Molly had been in the kitchen by then. She had finally been dragged away from Potter’s bedside when Poppy Pomfrey arrived, and had proceeded to make dinner for the gathered throng. Potter’s peculiar house elf had appeared from nowhere and insisted on helping. The Weasley matriarch had had to be forcibly restrained as she threatened to hex Potter’s aunt into oblivion.

Severus had been tempted to point out that she wasn’t actually his aunt, but had thought that enough revelations had been thrust upon them for one night and, after all, Potter should the first know about their relationship. Well apart from Malfoy, that was.

Molly had ended her diatribe against the Dursley family by suggesting that if Albus had still been alive, she may well have killed him herself for allowing her surrogate son to endure such treatment as the Dursleys meted out.

But everyone had been shocked, really, by the extent of the abuse that the boy had suffered, for that is surely what it was. Each of them had seen little things over the years, or been told things by Potter, but had dismissed or ignored these clues. The twins had torn bars from his window. Granger and Ron Weasley had sent him food. Severus had seen his memories and he shuddered anew at the thought of the worn mattress he had seen in the cupboard under the stairs. This would need to be discussed at length when the boy awoke.

More speculation was useless right now, Severus decided. At least he and Malfoy were safe for the moment. The Order were still not sure whether or not to believe him when he told them of Albus’ plan to get Severus closer to the Dark Lord, but his revelation about what had happened to Malfoy made them realise that Severus was sincerely on their side, even if they did remove his and Malfoy’s wands, ‘just as a precaution’.

So much depended on the reactions of a child, a boy who had suffered abuse and hatred, who had repeatedly been pitted against evil and who may or may not have suffered brain damage whilst enduring those convulsions earlier.

Severus drained his tea. It seemed that he was sharing a room with Malfoy and Lupin. The house was full to bursting with people, and every room, except for the kitchen, was filled with makeshift beds of one sort or another. He stood up, feeling sore and stiff and bone-achingly tired. As to what was going to happen next, that would be revealed soon enough and Severus headed upstairs knowing that whatever tomorrow would bring, he, Severus, would have no more say in matters than he had ever had.