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The moon was just a few hours away from reaching its peak when a stoned faced professor clad in black entered the castle. His robes billowing behind him in a dramatic fashion that was customary with this particular man.
It was the turn of a new month and the final one of that year which meant that the cold had seeped in through the old castle walls, this unfortunately meant that the stone walled rooms without a fireplace remained bitterly cold.
Professor Snape having just braved the outdoors was now on his way up through the castle to Professor McGonagall’s office to report the no doubt Weasley twin lit fireworks coming from the Gryffindor common room window.
He was only halfway through his journey when he heard the tell-tale sound of running judging by the volume and regularly of the steps, he would guess a first year. There weren’t any common rooms on this floor only classrooms and for them to being running at Severus the only logical destination was the ground floor.
Scowling to himself, Severus decided to stand still just hidden round the corner on the running student. He was betting the student was either a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor, who else would make the illogical decision of sprinting through the corridors past curfew at a time were all the teachers were still awake.
It wasn’t long before the little black clad student came careening round the corner and collided with Severus knocking themselves back onto their bottom. The child’s head faced the floor in obvious shock for his sudden change in view point. He was pleased to notice that this student was certainly small enough to be a first year and most amusedly he saw that the lining of this boy’s robes was red.
Severus was about to start reprimanding the boy when he noticed something else, something a lot more concerning. As hunched over as the boy currently sat, it was clear that his boy’s uniform was significantly ruffled, as if the boy had been manhandled ruffly.
Severus was instantly less amused, having been a victim of bully himself for a number of years he had an absolute zero tolerance for bullying. If he saw it happening, he tried to put an immediate stop to it no matter the house of the student, despite what other people may think.
Severus was once again about to address the boy when he stopped himself again at the sound of significantly larger footsteps coming in their direction at a hurried pace. Severus’ fury was ignited once more at the presumably older student who had given chase, he could only hope that this was instead a prefect who had found the dishevelled boy and accidentally frightened him in an attempt to help.
He however, was not the only one to have heard, the boys head whipped round in the direction of the sound then quickly got himself clumsily to his feet backing away into Severus. At the unexpected contact the small boy whipped back round to face him allowing Severus to finally identify the boy to be non-other than Harry Potter.
Severus’ shocked silence continued at the pure fear displayed on the boy’s ashen face. His eyes were blown wide, full body shivers racked his whole body as he stood before him unsteadily. It was now that Severus understood a bit more about what might have happened. Now that he boy was standing it was clear to see the boy’s belt had been unbuckled and his trousers undone.
Severus hated that after all his years as a spy he had become very perceptive, which in some cases was a blessing but, in this case it seemed more like a curse for this ability allowed him to notice that the button on his trousers was missing but the remains of the thread remained so it had most likely been forcefully pulled off.
He hadn’t been looking purposefully at that region, he had in fact got all this information in a glance, but it still made he feel disgusted with himself to have looked at all.
Harry made eye contact with Severus and blinked in a moment of clarity recognising who was stood in front of him.
Severus didn’t have time to react before the boy bolted underneath his outdoor over-cloak and huddled in close to his back, hands fisting the back of his teaching robes. He continued to tremble, but this time Severus was able to feel the full weight of his fear.
He had no time to react to this new development when suddenly the owner of the hurried footsteps rounded the corner, and the situation got a whole lot worse.
“Ah, Severus, good evening and what a surprise it is to see you this high up the castle.” The overly joyous man by the name of Gilderoy Lockhart announced. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen young Harry run by, have you?” Harry flinched harshly at the mention of his name, cementing Severus’ assumption that this was the person that had hurt him. “I’m afraid in his rush to get back to his common room after he was helping me to answer my fan mail, that he forgot his bag.” He gestured to the leather satchel draped over his left shoulder.
“Don’t you think that if I had seen any student out at this hour, I would have apprehended them?” Severus drawled.
“Ah, yes, well of course. How silly of me. I-uh only wanted to catch up to him and return it to him before tomorrow.” Lockhart replied merrily but he was unable to hide the nervousness he so clearly felt.
“Hm, I will take it to him.” Severus said in a matter-of-fact way.
“Ah, there is no need for that Professor, I am more than capable of delivering it to him.”
“Hff, I have no doubt. However, at this hour you would have to hand it over to Professor McGonagall as she is the only member of staff able to get into the Gryffindor common room, besides Headmaster Dumbledore of course, and as I have an urgent matter that I must discuss with Minerva tonight, I would rather take foolish boys bag so that you are not there to disrupt us.” He drawled utterly done with this conversation.
“Oh, um—well, um—okay then.” Was Lockhart’s intelligent response. “Well then, I best be on my way. Have a good evening, Professor.” He concluded, while handing over the Gryffindor’s bag which Severus took with as little amount of disgust as he could manage.
Lockhart then turned swiftly on his toes, causing his outer robes to billow slightly in a pathetically flamboyant exit, walking away in a poor imitation of Severus’ own dramatic exit.
Severus waited until his footsteps disappeared into the background before he reached a hand beneath his outer robe to rest his hand on the still trembling boys back, in a rare gesture of comfort for the usually stony-faced man.
Severus Snape felt the small figure under his cloak stiffen as his hand made contact, but Harry did not pull away. Instead, the trembling continued, more subdued now, as if the boy was drawing some measure of comfort from the unexpected gesture.
“Come with me, Potter,” Snape murmured, his voice low and steady. He could feel the boy’s grip tighten on his robes, a clear indication of Harry’s reluctance to let go. The situation demanded immediate action, but Severus knew that rushing would only worsen the boy’s evident distress. He guided Harry slowly, keeping his movements deliberate and calm, as they began to make their way through the castle’s dimly lit corridors.
The silence between them was heavy, punctuated only by the faint echoes of their footsteps against the cold stone floor. As they ascended the winding staircases, Severus’s mind raced, trying to piece together the events that had led to this moment. Lockhart’s presence, the missing button on Harry’s trousers, the boy’s fear—it all painted a disturbing picture that Severus couldn’t ignore. His anger, usually simmering beneath the surface, now threatened to boil over. But he held it in check, knowing that his fury would do nothing to help the boy now clinging to him.
Finally, they reached the door to Professor McGonagall’s office. Severus paused, taking a deep breath before he gently disengaged Harry’s hands from his robes. The boy’s eyes, still wide and fearful, looked up at him with an expression that Severus recognised all too well—one of desperate pleading. He knelt down to Harry’s level, his usually cold eyes softened by a rare flicker of empathy.
“Potter,” he said quietly, his tone firm yet oddly gentle. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you. But we need to inform Professor McGonagall. She’ll know how to handle this properly.”
Harry’s lip trembled, and for a moment, Severus thought the boy might start crying. But instead, Harry nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. Severus gave a brief nod in return, before straightening up and knocking on the door.
There was a shuffling sound from within, and a moment later, the door creaked open to reveal Professor McGonagall, her sharp eyes widening in surprise at the sight of Severus and Harry. “Severus? Potter? What is going on?”
Severus stepped aside, allowing McGonagall to see the state Harry was in. Her expression shifted from confusion to concern in an instant. “Merlin’s beard, Harry,” she breathed, quickly ushering them both inside. She closed the door behind them, sealing off the outside world.
Severus handed her the satchel, his voice devoid of its usual sarcasm. “Lockhart. I found Potter fleeing from him in the corridors. His clothes are… damaged.”
McGonagall’s face paled as she took in the full extent of what Severus was implying. She knelt beside Harry, her hands hovering uncertainly before she settled one on his shoulder. “Harry, dear, can you tell me what happened?”
Harry’s response was a choked sound, barely a whisper. “He… he tried to—” But he couldn’t finish. The words were too much, too heavy for him to bear.
McGonagall looked up at Severus, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow. “We need to get to the headmaster, immediately.”
Severus nodded, already anticipating her thoughts. “Agreed—”
“No!” Shouted Harry before he slaps his hands over his mouth just as shocked as the professors at his exclamation.
The shock in the room was palpable as Harry’s exclamation hung in the air, echoing off the stone walls. His small frame seemed to shrink even further, as if trying to disappear. His hands stayed up to cover his mouth, as though he could somehow take back the word, his wide eyes mirroring the disbelief that mirrored in the faces of the two professors standing before him.
“No?” McGonagall’s voice trembled with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “Why ever not, child? Dumbledore would be able to rid us of that horrid man.”
But Harry couldn’t meet her eyes. His gaze dropped to the floor, his voice barely a whisper as he mumbled into his chest, “He wouldn’t.”
The anxiety and fear in Harry’s voice twisted something deep in Severus’s chest. He knelt down, bringing himself to Harry’s level, trying to make his presence less intimidating. “What do you mean, Harry?” he asked, his tone soft but insistent.
“It doesn’t matter,” Harry muttered, but the way he hugged himself, as if trying to protect some fragile part of himself, said otherwise.
Severus exchanged a quick glance with McGonagall, whose face had softened with concern. He turned back to Harry, his voice gentle but firm. “Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. If you thought it was important enough to ask Dumbledore, then it does matter. Please, tell us. I promise you, we will listen.”
Harry’s eyes flicked up to Severus’s face, searching, as if trying to detect any hint of insincerity. The moment stretched out, tense and uncertain, before Harry finally spoke, his voice small and filled with a vulnerability that made Severus’s heart clench. “You promise?”
Severus met Harry’s gaze, holding it with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “I promise,” he said, the words carrying a weight that felt as binding as an Unbreakable Vow.
Harry hesitated, then took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “At the end of last year… I asked Dumbledore if I could stay at Hogwarts over the summer.”
McGonagall’s brow furrowed, her concern deepening. “Why, Harry?” she asked softly, her tone as gentle as she could manage.
“Because I didn’t want to go back,” Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Back home?” Severus probed, though he already suspected the answer. “Why not?”
Harry’s lip trembled, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “Because I was scared,” he confessed, and Severus felt a pang of empathy that he hadn’t expected.
“Scared of what, Harry?” Severus asked, his voice steady, though he could sense the precariousness of Harry’s emotional state. The boy was on the verge of breaking down, and Severus knew that one wrong word could push him over the edge.
Harry bit his lip, fighting to keep his emotions in check. He was clearly torn, wrestling with the decision of whether or not to trust them. Severus could see the fear and doubt in Harry’s eyes, and he could almost hear the boy’s internal battle.
“Of what they would do,” Harry finally whispered, his voice so quiet that Severus had to strain to hear him.
“Who’s ‘they,’ Harry?” Severus asked gently, though he was almost certain of the answer. “Your guardians?”
Harry nodded, his small frame trembling as he finally began to open up. “They—they hate magic. They hate me. They told me that my parents were drunks who got themselves killed. They locked me away at night, sometimes for days, without food and water. And my cupboard would get really warm, and it made it hard to breathe, but if I started breathing harder, they would hear me and yell at me to stop breathing like a dog, so I’d cover my mouth to stop breathing so loudly until I’d fall asleep, even if it was the middle of the day.”
Severus felt his breath catch in his throat as Harry’s words hit him like a physical blow. He could barely comprehend what he was hearing—the idea that this small, fragile child had endured such cruelty, such unimaginable neglect. His mind raced, filled with memories of his own dark childhood, and for the first time, he truly saw Harry not as James Potter’s son, but as a boy who had been forced to grow up too fast, just as he had.
McGonagall’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. She looked as though she might be sick. “And… you—you told all of this to Dumbledore?” Severus asked, struggling to keep his voice steady, though it trembled with barely suppressed anger.
“Yes,” Harry whispered, the word heavy with despair.
“What did he do?” Severus’s voice was low, almost dangerous, as he forced the words out.
“Nothing,” Harry choked out, his small body wracked with silent sobs.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence in the room, a silence so thick and oppressive that it seemed to press down on all of them. Severus felt his hands clench into fists, his nails digging into his palms as a dark, murderous rage welled up inside him. How could Dumbledore, the man who was supposed to protect the boy, have turned a blind eye to such suffering?
Harry's words hit Severus like a punch to the gut. The boy’s voice, though trembling, carried an unmistakable conviction—he had tried to seek help before and had been cruelly dismissed. For a fleeting moment, Severus’s mind reeled back to his own childhood, to the times he had sought refuge or understanding and found none. He pushed the memory aside, but the similarity between himself and Harry clawed at him, unsettling and unwelcome.
McGonagall, visibly shaken, knelt in front of Harry, her face etched with guilt and sorrow. “Harry,” she said softly, her voice cracking, “I—I never knew. I should have insisted—fought harder. I trusted Albus… he said you were safe, loved.” She hesitated, a deep pain in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Harry bit his lip, tears brimming but unshed, his small frame still trembling. He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes was enough to convey his distrust, his hurt.
Severus swallowed hard, the bitter taste of regret rising in his throat. He had always dismissed Harry as an arrogant, pampered brat, too much like his father, but standing before the boy now—seeing the vulnerability, the fear—he realised just how wrong he had been. The boy wasn’t spoiled; he was scared. The signs had been there, but Severus had been too blinded by his own prejudice to see them.
He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of both McGonagall and Harry. “Harry,” Severus began, his voice quieter than usual, devoid of its typical sharpness, “I… understand your reluctance to involve the headmaster. But know this: you will not be sent back to those Muggles. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Harry looked up at Severus, a mixture of surprise and wariness in his eyes. The boy was clearly struggling to process the sudden shift in tone from the man who had always treated him with cold disdain. Severus felt an unfamiliar tug of empathy, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.
McGonagall rose to her feet, her expression a mix of anger and sorrow. “Severus is right, Harry,” she said firmly, though her voice trembled with emotion. “You will not return to the Dursleys. This should have never been allowed to happen in the first place.”
Severus could see the guilt weighing heavily on McGonagall. She had always been fiercely protective of her students, and it was clear that she was blaming herself for trusting Dumbledore’s judgment. He, too, felt a gnawing sense of guilt—guilt for the assumptions he had made about Harry, for the cruel words he had spoken, for failing to see the truth sooner.
“Harry,” Snape said, choosing his words carefully, “you should not have been treated that way—by them or by anyone else. We will ensure that you are placed somewhere safe, where you are treated with the respect and care you deserve.”
Harry’s lower lip quivered slightly, and he blinked rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears. “But Dumbledore… he’s the headmaster. He’ll just—” He cut himself off, his voice trailing into uncertainty.
“No,” McGonagall interrupted gently but firmly, stepping closer to Harry. “I will not allow him to send you back there. We’ll find another way. I should have fought harder for you before, but I won’t fail you again.”
Severus nodded in agreement, though he kept most of his thoughts to himself. He knew what it was like to be powerless, to have no one listen. And he could see now that Harry had been enduring far more than he had ever realized—more than anyone had realized. The similarities between their situations were unsettling, and for the first time, Severus felt a deep, begrudging respect for the boy, who had survived so much with so little support.
“There are protections in place,” Snape said carefully, “which is why the headmaster has been insistent on your living situation. But there are other ways to protect you that do not involve returning to those… people.” He couldn’t quite mask the contempt in his voice, when he referred to the Dursleys. The very thought of them made his blood boil. “We will speak to the headmaster, but not to ask permission—to inform him of our decision.”
McGonagall nodded. “You can stay with one of us until we’ve sorted out something permanent,” she offered, her voice kind but firm. “You’re not alone, Harry.”
Harry looked between the two professors, the fight seeming to drain out of him. The boy was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Finally, he nodded, albeit hesitantly, his eyes still filled with uncertainty but also with the faintest glimmer of hope.
“Thank you,” Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. It was clear he didn’t fully trust them yet, but it was a start—a fragile beginning to something that Severus realised would require time and patience to build.
“But Harry, you must trust us on this,” Severus said, his voice steady yet laced with an unspoken promise. “We need to tell Dumbledore what Lockhart tried to do. He must be held accountable and punished for his crimes.”
“I will not allow that vile man to remain in this castle, surrounded by children he can prey on,” McGonagall hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Who knows how many others he’s harmed?”
At her words, fear flashed across Harry’s face, his head shaking violently as panic overtook him. It was painfully clear to both professors that Harry distrusted Dumbledore more than they had realised.
“Harry, try not to panic. Shh, it’s okay,” Severus soothed, gently cupping the boy’s face to still his frantic movements. “Calm yourself—deep breaths, now.”
He waited patiently as Harry fought to regain control, his breathing slowly evening out. Once the boy had calmed, Severus continued, his voice soft but firm. “We can report it anonymously. Do you know what that means? It means no one will know it was you—not even Dumbledore. We’ll tell him that someone came to us in confidence about what happened with Lockhart. Only the people in this room will know the truth. Is that all right with you?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Harry nodded, a small measure of relief washing over his troubled features.
Severus watched as Harry nodded, the tension in his small frame slowly ebbing away. The boy was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and it was evident that the weight of the evening’s events was beginning to take its toll. Harry’s eyelids drooped, and his posture slumped, as if the mere act of agreeing to report Lockhart had drained the last of his energy.
McGonagall stepped closer, her stern expression softening as she observed the boy’s struggle to stay awake. “It’s all right, Harry,” she said gently. “You’ve been through enough tonight. Rest now.”
Harry tried to protest, but the words died on his lips as his eyes fluttered shut. Within moments, exhaustion overtook him completely, and he sank back into the leather chair, his breathing evening out as sleep claimed him.
Severus and McGonagall exchanged a silent look, the gravity of the situation hanging heavily between them. McGonagall’s gaze then shifted to Harry, and her expression hardened, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “If that loathsome creature ever lays a hand on another student, I swear, Severus, I will make him regret the day he set foot in this castle.”
Severus’s lips curled into a thin, cold smile. “Minerva, believe me, if I find that he’s so much as looked at another student the wrong way, I’ll do more than make him regret it.” His eyes flicked to Harry’s peaceful form, then back to McGonagall. “Castration comes to mind. Slowly and painfully.”
McGonagall gave a curt nod, her usual composure slipping just enough to reveal the fury simmering beneath. “He won’t get away with this. We’ll make sure of it.”
Severus turned his attention back to Harry, who was now deep in sleep, his small body finally at rest after the turmoil he had endured. There was a vulnerability to the boy that Severus had never allowed himself to see before—a vulnerability that made him silently vow to protect him in ways he had failed to before.
“We’ll keep him safe,” Severus murmured, more to himself than to McGonagall. He moved to pull a blanket from a nearby shelf, draping it over Harry with uncharacteristic care. “Lockhart will pay for what he’s done. The Dursleys too.”
As the room fell into a quiet stillness, the two professors stood guard over the sleeping boy, united in their determination to ensure that Harry would never have to face such horrors again.