Harry Potter: Sectumsempra Chapter 07 | Seven Years of Chaos Book 2

A Sunday morning in Snape’s office starts with coffee, stolen pastries, and an impossible sight: Harry Potter casually summoning a house-elf who should not exist in Hogwarts at all. What looks like cheeky rule-breaking turns out to be something far stranger, and far more deliberate. Harry has been learning. Planning. Making deals.

Then he asks for something that changes the temperature in the room instantly: a Pensieve.

Harry is holding a prophecy about himself, and he wants to hear it. But the request detonates a truth Snape has spent his entire life running from, and the fragile trust between them shatters in seconds. When Harry flees, Snape finds him in the owlery, not angry, not vengeful, just devastated.

What follows is not a lecture or a punishment. It is confession, memory, and the kind of honesty that hurts on the way out. Harry shows Snape the moment that made him believe he was a monster. Snape answers with the story of how he became one.

And by the end of the night, something new forms between them: not teacher and student, not spy and target, but two broken people making a deal to keep each other human.

Transcript

**Chapter 7: Potter’s Request**

“If that’s yet another damned owl, I swear I’m going to quit,” Severus grumbled as he heard a knock followed by a hoot at his office door at six o’clock on a Sunday morning. He had received so many owls this week that Albus had started sending students to deliver them during the day.

He flung open the door, intending to send the unfortunate student back to bed, but paused when he saw who was standing there. “Morning, Professor,” Potter greeted him cheerfully.

“We’re still on for today?”

Severus had completely forgotten he had asked Potter to come early on Sunday to discuss his ‘favor.’ In his defense, it had been the worst first week at Hogwarts he had experienced since his first year of teaching, and it was, of course, Potter’s fault. “Yes.

Come in,” he said, trying to mask his irritation. Potter sauntered into the office and settled comfortably into a chair in front of Severus’s desk.

“Do you drink coffee?” he asked as soon as he sat down. Severus slumped into his own seat, too exhausted to keep up with Potter’s usual chaos this morning.

“I do,” he replied tersely. Potter flashed him a relaxed smile, seemingly at ease in his presence.

“Brill! Wanna see a cool trick?”

Before Severus could refuse, Potter cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Mavis!”

A young house elf appeared in Severus’s office, wringing an odd green garment it wore across its chest.

Its large yellow eyes squinted, giving the impression of happiness. “Master Potter is calling for Mavis!

And Mavis is responding! Is Mavis doing it correctly for Master?”

“You’re doing great,” Potter reassured the elf.

“Could you bring us coffee? And those weird breakfast pastries that Professor Snape eats?”

“Mavis will!

And Mavis will bring Master Potter his favorite crumpets!” 

Severus watched, shocked into silence. The room fell silent as the little elf popped away, only to reappear moments later, carrying trays filled with a coffee service and an assortment of pastries.

“Can Mavis do anything else for Master Potter?” 

“Nope,” Potter replied, pouring two cups of steaming coffee. “This is great.” The elf bowed low to Potter and then vanished again.

“This is for you, sir,” Potter said, nudging a mug toward Severus. Severus took a fortifying sip, wishing he had any idea how to handle Potter when he was in what seemed to be such a cheerful mood.

“Potter,” he sighed, “students cannot call on the Hogwarts house-elves.” 

“Right.” 

“So you cannot call Mavis to bring you coffee and food.” 

“Yes, I can,” Potter said simply, snagging a crumpet from the tray. Severus grimaced at his arrogance.

“Why?” he sneered. “Because you’re famous Harry Potter?” 

Potter glanced up at him, narrowing his eyes in irritation.

“No,” he replied slowly. “Because Mavis isn’t a Hogwarts elf, is he?

He’s mine, kind of.” 

“Accio Pain Reliever,” Severus murmured, flicking his wand with a quick motion. The gesture caused Potter to twitch slightly.

Severus might have apologized for startling him—though Potter would never admit to being startled—if it weren’t for the fact that it was the boy's fault he needed the potion in the first place. Potter watched calmly as Severus swallowed the potion, sighing in relief as his building migraine began to dissipate.

“Why do you have a house-elf?” Severus asked tersely. The foolish boy didn’t even have a proper home, which made having a house-elf rather pointless.

“His name is Mavis,” Potter replied coolly, seemingly offended on behalf of the elf. “Apologies,” Severus rolled his eyes.

“Why do you have Mavis?” 

“Bought him, didn’t I?” Potter said, leaning back in his chair with a bright smile. “And then I freed him.” 

Severus swallowed his reprimand for interrupting Harry and raised his brows incredulously.

“You bought Mavis... then you freed him?

Why?”

Potter leaned forward, his eyes wide with excitement, as if he were on the verge of a remarkable revelation. “Because, sir, I needed to learn more about elves, right?

Madame Bones suggested I talk to a house-elf, but I didn’t know any, did I? So, I wrote to Draco’s dad, since they have a ton of elves, and he sold me Mavis.

But I didn’t want to own anyone, so I gave him clothes right away. I needed somewhere for him to go, and Mister Malfoy mentioned there are a lot of elves at Hogwarts.

I thought nobody would notice an extra one, so... ta-da!” He wiggled his fingers for effect.

“Here he is!”

Severus cradled his head in his hands. Only Potter would purchase and then immediately free an elf just to learn more about them.

It was actually quite clever to hide the elf among the hundreds living in the castle. He realized he might regret asking more questions, but his sense of self-preservation seemed to have temporarily abandoned him.

“Why does Mavis respond to you if you freed him?”

“Because he’s a sneaky little thing,” Potter grumbled. “I told him I’m not going to own anyone, and you know what he said?

He said, ‘Then Mavis won’t be telling you nothing about elves.’ So we made a deal: he answers my questions, and he can be my acquaintance.”

Severus lifted his head, his lips twitching in amusement as he took in Potter’s exasperated expression. “That must be horribly aggravating,” he said sardonically.

Potter’s owl hooted as the boy threw his hands up in irritation. “It is,” he exclaimed, clearly missing the irony.

“Indeed.” 

Severus took a sip of his coffee. He plucked a Chelsea bun from the tray of pastries.

Severus wasn't quite sure how or why Potter had discovered his preference for the 'weird pastry,' but it did ease his annoyance at the boy's behavior, if only slightly. They enjoyed a comfortable silence for a few minutes until Severus decided he was ready to tackle more of Potter’s chaos.

"You said you wished to ask me for a favor?" he inquired, raising a single brow. Potter nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin.

"Yes, sir. But I wanted to know what you’d want in return first."

Severus fervently hoped that Potter's elf was as irritating as the boy himself.

"I require nothing for you to ask me the favor," he informed him. "Depending on what the favor is, I reserve the right to request something in return for fulfilling it." He raised his hands slowly as Potter opened his mouth to interrupt.

"I shall inform you of that beforehand."

Potter nodded, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Is your office warded?" he whispered.

Severus realized this was going to lead to an illegal discussion. "Yes."

"I need to use a Pensieve," Potter said.

"A Pensieve?" Severus replied, intrigued. "And why would you need to use a Pensieve?"

Potter studied him closely, lips pursed and head tilted to the side.

He exhaled deeply and leaned further over Severus' desk. "If I tell you a secret, will you swear to never tell a single person?

Actually," he scrunched his brows in sudden thought, "will you swear to never tell anyone, period? No human, elf, goblin, werewolf, centaur, or any other being?"

Severus tried his best not to laugh, but Potter's attempt to cover all bases made him chuckle lightly.

"I swear to never repeat what you tell me to another sentient being unless you absolve me of this vow," he said, a small grin playing at the corner of his mouth. Potter grinned back at him, clearly pleased with the arrangement.

“Severus, I swear,” Harry began. “There’s a prophecy about me, and I have it.

I need a Pensieve to listen to it.” 

That statement wiped the smile right off Severus’s face. “You have what?” he breathed, his heart thumping erratically.

“How in Merlin’s name did you find out about it?” 

Harry stared at him intently, his previously excited eyes dulling, and his nose scrunching up as if he were solving a difficult problem. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he locked gazes with Severus.

“Was it you?” he asked quietly. Severus remained silent, hoping that Harry’s information was missing a critical piece of the puzzle.

“It was!” Harry exclaimed, jumping to his feet and lurching away from the desk. His owl hooted and flew up to the office rafters.

“You were the spy!” 

Severus realized that Harry was missing no pieces of the puzzle at all. He stood slowly, his stomach clenching with guilt.

In his darkest fantasies, he had never imagined having to explain to this child that it was his fault he was an orphan. “Who told you about the prophecy?” Severus demanded quietly.

“The Headmaster?” Even as he asked, he knew it wouldn’t have been Albus. Albus would never have allowed Harry to retrieve the prophecy if that were the case.

“No,” Harry said slowly, watching Severus for any tells. “Not Albus...

Lucius?” 

Harry’s left eyelid twitched slightly, confirming Severus’s guess. I will kill him, he thought viciously.

Harry was paling and kept glancing toward the office door. “D-doesn’t matter, d-does it?” Harry stammered, edging away from Severus as he walked slowly toward him.

“Y-you already know about it.” 

“It matters a great deal why you have it. You have no idea how dangerous this is,” Severus snarled, misplacing his anger at himself and Albus onto the boy.

He walked up, tension crackling in the air. Harry found himself backed into a corner, a foolish position for someone in his predicament.

“I’ll hurt you,” he whispered, clenching his eyes shut. “I’m going to hurt you.” 

“Do it,” Severus hissed back.

“Do you think I wouldn’t deserve it? Go ahead, do it.” 

Harry hesitated, raising one hand tentatively.

He opened his eyes and focused on Severus’s open palms. “I-I…” He cast a frantic glance around the room before suddenly shoving Severus away from him.

“I’ve got to go,” he choked out, making a beeline for the door and sprinting into the hall before Severus could stop him. “Son of a bitch!” Harry yelled, swiping the books off a nearby shelf in frustration.

He kicked one across the room for good measure before collapsing against the wall, feeling utterly defeated. All his work, all his lies and truths, all the deals he made—it was all for nothing.

How could he protect the child now? Harry would never trust him again.

In fact, he might even try to take his life. Severus was certain it would be a very effective attempt.

After all, Zachariah Dolohov had spent three nights in the Hospital Wing, unconscious from internal bleeding and shock, just for injuring Ronald Weasley. It would be fitting if Lily’s son ended his life for his role in her death.

Lost in his self-recrimination, he was jolted back to reality by a distant hoot. He looked up and saw the fuzzy little black owl he had gifted Harry, flitting around the ceiling beams.

Just when he thought he couldn’t feel more miserable, he remembered that Harry had named his familiar after him. “I had to find a good name for such an unruly thing like him, didn’t I, sir?

Sevvie here isn’t as much of a demon as you made him sound.” 

Harry was fond of the owl, and in turn, he had developed a fondness for Severus. Throughout the summer, he had written to him constantly, sharing tales of his adventures at least once a week.

Harry had even trusted Severus with the truth of his exploits from the previous year, coming to him with complaints about Gilderoy. "Merlin-damned owl," Severus muttered under his breath as he followed the creature.

He was determined to regain the child's trust, no matter what it took. And he would start with the name 'Sevvie.' 

“Come along, owl.

Let’s return you to the owlery.” The owl dutifully flew to Severus, landing on his shoulder and immediately starting to tug at his hair. “If I weren’t currently at odds with your owner, I would pluck your feathers,” he said, striding through the empty halls toward the tower.

He cast a quick tempus charm and was surprised to see it was only half past six. Just thirty minutes ago, his biggest concern had been letters from angry parents regarding their students’ mysterious ailments on the first night.

Now, he found himself contemplating how to earn back some semblance of trust with Potter. It was essential because the child needed a stable adult in his life.

And Lucius Malfoy certainly wasn’t the right person for that job. Nor was Contessa Zabini.

Severus refused to examine why he believed he was the best fit for the role or why he even wanted it in the first place. Upon arriving at the owlery, lost in thought, he nearly missed the actual human child curled up in the corner.

“Potter?” he asked quietly, doing a double take when he recognized the shaggy black hair that was being roughly pulled at. “Did you follow me?” Potter mumbled into his knees.

“No, I… I—” Severus stammered, caught off guard by Potter's presence. He cleared his throat lightly.

“I have your owl.” 

Potter didn’t respond, so Severus gently shooed the little owl off his shoulder when he heard, “Gonna take him from me too?” 

Severus turned sharply. Potter had lifted his head from his knees and was glaring at him.

“No—Potter, of course not. He was a gift.

He’s yours,” he reassured him gently. “I have no desire to take away your pet.”

Severus tilted his head down, staring silently at the floor.

He was inching closer to the door, keeping a wary eye on Harry, when he hesitated. Although he knew Harry didn’t want him there, he questioned whether it was safe to leave the boy alone.

“Would you like me to fetch Miss Bones? Or one of your other friends?” he asked quietly.

Harry continued to gaze at the floor, and Severus patiently waited for a response. He didn’t seem to be in one of the mindsets associated with his past traumas.

Instead, he appeared to be just an upset young boy. Eventually, Harry whispered what was likely the most hurtful accusation ever directed at Severus: “I thought you were my friend.” The child didn’t sound angry or accusatory; he sounded as if he had lost something valuable—almost heartbroken.

It tugged painfully at Severus’ chest. He stepped closer to Harry, maintaining a distance that wouldn’t make the boy feel threatened, and looked down at him with a mournful expression.

“I do not believe I have the words to express how truly sorry I am. I...

I have wished for a way to reverse time since the moment I shared the prophecy.” 

Severus took a steadying breath before continuing. “I once told you that joining the Death Eaters was the worst mistake I ever made, but I lied.

Sharing the prophecy with the Dark Lord is the worst thing I have ever done.” 

Harry slowly lifted his head, and Severus had never seen him look so childlike. His eyes were hurt and glassy, and his lower lip trembled.

Severus had seen the boy angry, confused, and even in the aftermath of what had seemed to be a terrible crying fit last Christmas, but nothing compared to the sorrowful heartbreak that was now plainly visible on his face. “You can’t get things you want just by wishing for them,” Harry said softly, his voice trembling.

“It’s better to not want things; then it never hurts.”

While it was admirable for a twelve-year-old to have such a perspective, it was still a rather cynical one. Severus sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of Harry, placing his wand on the ground where the boy could see it.

“Regrets are a part of life,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I believe my regrets are much worse than most and will haunt me into the afterlife.” 

Harry continued to cradle his knees, staring past Severus toward the doorway.

“I have regrets too,” he whispered. “And they’ll never go away, will they?

They’ll just be here forever, just like yours.” 

Severus released a breath, recognizing the mood of the child. Harry wasn’t angry; he was simply sad.

“I have done terrible things,” he admitted. “I believe that your regrets, while possibly many, will fade with time.

You have lived a life no child should be expected to and found a way to survive. You should feel proud, not regretful.” 

He hoped his words could soothe whatever minor regrets Harry likely carried through his life.

“I killed someone once. Should I feel proud of that?” Harry whispered, his voice so soft that Severus could have pretended he didn’t hear it.

But, for the second time that morning, Severus found himself in complete shock. “What—who—Merlin,” he breathed.

“Will you tell me what happened?” 

Harry turned his head and met Severus’s eyes. “Watch,” he choked out.

That was all the invitation and consent Severus needed. “Legilimens,” he whispered, picking up his wand and pointing it at the child’s tangled black hair.

His consciousness slipped into Harry’s mind. It was black, empty, and cold—worrisome.

‘Show me what happened,’ he murmured. ‘Let me in.’ 

Instantly, it felt as if the ground beneath his feet had disappeared, and he began free-falling through a void.

Severus was a brave man; he had always held his composure in the face of danger, but this was something entirely different. Severus felt a disquieting sense of dread as he navigated the depths of Harry's mind.

It was a free fall through darkness that would make even the bravest Gryffindors weak in the stomach, yet this experience was more than uncomfortable; it was terrifying. The emptiness he encountered was unlike anything he had ever witnessed.

The last time he had explored Harry's mental barriers, they had been warm and dark, but now it felt as cold as ice. Finally, he found himself standing at the edge of an empty park, shrouded in the dead of night.

No, it wasn’t entirely empty. A young Harry was curled up on a bench, possibly only a winter away from the day Severus had first found him.

The boy wore a threadbare short-sleeve top and filthy, torn trousers. Severus assumed Harry must have cast a heating charm on himself; otherwise, there was no way he could tolerate the biting cold and falling snow without shivering.

Severus regarded him with a sense of pity until a noise at the edge of the park drew his attention. Three boys entered the scene, undeniably Muggles, each holding electronics and wearing baseball caps.

They looked to be around eighteen to twenty-one years old. Harry must have sensed their presence, or they wouldn’t have appeared in his memory.

“Hey,” one of the boys nudged the one in the middle. “Look over there.” They all turned, their eyes locking onto the small child curled up on the bench, like predators spotting their prey.

Severus felt his stomach clench as he watched the smirks exchanged among them. “Hey, kid,” the boy in the middle called out.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” 

“I’m w-waitin’ on m-my Dad,” Harry replied, shifting to sit upright. “He should b-be here soon.”

“Oh yeah?” one of the other boys jeered.

“And he just left you all alone in the cold?” The others laughed, and Severus clenched his fists. He would be worried for Harry's safety if he weren't already aware of how this would end.

“I don’t wanna hurt ya,” Harry said softly. "I don’t have any money or anything.

I’m nobody. Let’s just call it a night, okay?" 

"Maybe we don’t want your money," the boy on the far side, wearing a blue cap, sneered.

"You’re awfully small, and petite too. You almost look like a bird, don’t you?"

"Please, I’m just going to leave, alright?" Harry stammered as he slowly got to his feet.

"You don’t want to do this."

Harry began to back away from the group, keeping his eyes fixed on the largest boy. Suddenly, the boy closest to him lunged forward and grabbed his arm.

"Where are you going?" he laughed. "I thought your daddy was coming to get you.

You’re not all alone, are you?"

"Please let go," Harry cried, trying to twist his arm free from the boy’s grip. "I don’t have anything you want."

The boy holding Harry’s arm twisted it painfully behind his back, causing him to cry out.

"I could break it," he hissed. "Just snap it right in half."

Harry stopped struggling and instead squeezed his eyes shut.

Severus recognized this as the defense mechanism the child still used when feeling overwhelmingly threatened. "Please," Harry whimpered.

Two of the Muggle boys laughed while the older one pulled Harry's arm slightly higher, prompting another cry of pain from the young boy. "You can cry all you want," the older Muggle said, wrapping his free arm around Harry’s torso.

"I like it better that way."

Harry froze, seemingly coming to the same sickening realization that Severus had. While most children, and even many adults, would have continued crying, Harry stopped completely.

He went limp in the boy's grip and pursed his lips tightly shut, refusing to give the Muggle what he wanted. It was a strange emotion to feel in this memory, but Severus felt a surge of pride for the boy in that moment.

"I think he’s going to try and 'be tough,'" he thought. “Strong,” one of the other boys jeered, eliciting laughter from his companion.

“The boy will break quickly; they always do,” he drawled in a nasally tone. “Are you going to break, boy?” the one holding Harry crooned, running his hand beneath the child’s shirt.

Harry shook his head wildly, his hair flying around, but he kept his eyes and mouth tightly shut. The bully lowered his hand to Harry’s throat, gripping it tightly.

“I think you will. I could end your pathetic life right now,” he hissed.

“Who would miss you?” The pressure made Harry’s face change colors. “Be a good boy,” he murmured, squeezing Harry’s throat one last time before letting his hand trail down toward Harry’s trousers.

Severus fought the urge to close his own eyes as the Muggle shoved his hand down the front of Harry’s trousers. Harry let out a faint cry at the contact.

“I’m gonna kill you,” he rasped. The other boys roared with laughter, seeing it as an inconsequential threat.

“You do that, boy,” the one in the blue hat chuckled, freeing his hand from Harry’s trousers to lower his own, while still holding one of Harry’s wrists tightly between his shaking shoulders. As the bully pulled Harry’s trousers down to his ankles, Severus lost the battle to keep his eyes closed.

He heard Harry cry out sharply, just once, as the other boys laughed and taunted him. The sounds of heavy breathing, panting, and sharp little gasps filled the air, likely coming from the terrified child.

Severus counted his own breaths, feeling like he was waiting for hours, though it was likely only a dozen minutes, until the Muggle shouted. He opened his eyes just in time to see Harry being shoved to the ground.

The bully flopped beside him, leaning back on his arms, his trousers still open. “He’s all yours,” the Muggle said, waving his companions towards Potter.

“He’s not so tight now, but I don’t think I was the first one in there, was I, boy?” He leered crudely at Potter. Potter twisted onto his back and frantically pulled up his trousers, his eyes wide and wild, flickering with fear.

“D-don’t touch m-me,” he stammered, holding out a warning hand toward the two advancing Muggles. “I’m g-gonna hurt y-ya.” 

Suddenly, the one on the ground sprang up and shoved his face into Potter’s.

Severus caught a sharp scent of bourbon, realizing it came from the Muggle’s breath in Potter’s memory. “You’re not going to do anything.

You’re a nobody, remember?” he sneered, pushing Potter back to the ground before making the colossal mistake of turning his back on the dangerous child. Potter closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.

His face had transformed; his eyes seemed brighter, more vibrantly green, fixed on the Muggle with a cold, hard stare. He no longer appeared frightened or vulnerable; now he was confident and strong.

It was jarring to witness. Potter hissed something incomprehensible, likely unable to recall his exact words, and scooted backward on the ground.

The Muggle above him let out an unholy shriek of pain. Ribbons of cuts slashed across the boy’s chest, and Severus could see how deep they went, white flashes of bone visible beneath the blood.

Potter twisted his legs out of the way as the Muggle slumped to the ground. The two other Muggles screamed and ran off, but Potter kept his steely eyes on the Muggle beside him.

More slashes marred the boy’s body until he let out a final, agonizing moan. Potter gazed at him with cold eyes as he stood up slowly on trembling legs.

He stood beside the body, bloodstained clothes clinging to him, and just stared silently for over a minute. Severus was...

As he prepared to exit the child’s mind, Potter suddenly pulled his leg back and kicked the body with all the strength his small frame could muster. “I told you I was going to hurt you,” he hissed.

In that moment, Severus was abruptly ejected from Potter’s mind and thrust back into his own. He stared at the present-day Potter, shock barely concealed on his face.

The child was huddled against the wall, legs curled up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his head, gripping his hair. “How can I hate you for sharing a prophecy with your master when I...

when I did that?” he whispered, pain lacing every word. “I don’t want to hate you...” His voice trailed off as he looked up at Severus, his lips trembling, eyes rimmed with red and glistening.

“You were the first person who was ever nice to me, just because. Now we’re even.

I know the worst thing you ever did, and you know mine.”

How conflicted must the child’s mind be? The boy whispering to him now, recounting a life filled with cruelty, was also the same boy in the memory, tearing apart a Muggle with nothing but a disdainful sneer.

“What were you thinking when you hurt him?” Severus asked, inching closer to the child. For a brief moment, a glimmer of interest sparked in Potter's eyes before it vanished.

“I just wanted to cut him up so badly that nobody could stitch him back together,” he replied tonelessly. Severus wondered how Potter had come to accept the death he had caused so easily.

Did he understand it was a legally defensible action? No judge in the world would condemn a small boy for killing a man who had just violated him in the most despicable way imaginable.

“I have regrets too. And they’ll never go away, will they?

They’ll just be here forever,” Severus recalled Potter saying. And then there was that question: “Do you think good people do bad things sometimes, or is it just that bad people sometimes do good things?” 

No, his initial thought was wrong—Potter did not accept his actions as justifiable.

He had... carried it with him all this time.

“It looks remarkably like a spell I invented when I was a student,” Severus said slowly. “I have also used it in self-defense before.”

Potter lifted his head from his knees and studied Severus.

“They weren’t special; they weren’t like us. They couldn’t hurt me, not really.” He lowered his head back to his knees.

“It wasn’t self-defense. I’m a monster.”

Severus continued his slow approach, eventually sitting beside Potter.

He discreetly pointed his wand at the door, warding it to ensure no students would enter while Potter was there. If he hadn’t been so distracted by Potter’s confession of murder, he would have done it before entering the boy’s mind.

“Quit pulling your hair, child,” he said softly, glancing down at Potter’s hands, which were still tugging harshly at his hair. Slowly, Severus reached out and placed his open hand on Potter’s fist.

“Let go,” he whispered. And Potter did.

He turned towards Severus, burying his face in his chest, and completely let go. Severus wrapped his arms around him, holding him firmly as Potter sobbed against him.

For a time, Potter simply cried, wailing as Severus felt his chest grow wet with tears. While murmuring soothing words, Severus began to hear Potter speak through his cries.

“I-I don’t w-wanna be like him,” he cried. “Like who?” Severus asked gently.

“V-V-Voldemort. I don’t w-want to be a m-monster.”

Severus wondered how many times this young boy would break his heart.

“Shh,” he whispered back, stroking Potter’s hair. “You are no monster.”

Potter continued to tremble and sniffle until it seemed he had no tears left to shed.

Severus kept stroking his hair, holding him close. “Please let go.” 

Severus immediately released Potter, allowing him to...

Severus watched as Potter scooted away from him. He conjured a handkerchief and silently handed it over.

“Thanks,” Potter mumbled, accepting the cloth. Severus hummed in response and leaned his head back against the stone wall.

He chose not to look at Potter as he cleaned himself up, knowing the fiercely independent boy would prefer privacy. Instead, he focused on clearing his own mind.

“I’m sorry for getting you wet,” Potter said softly. “I can fix it now.” 

Severus waved off his concern.

His robes were well accustomed to messes, though he had to admit that tears from a prepubescent boy were a new experience for him. However, Potter seemed to ignore his gesture, and soon Severus felt a warmth spread across his chest.

He glanced down to see that he was now clean and dry. “You’d be an excellent house-elf,” Severus remarked dryly.

Potter snorted, prompting Severus to risk a glance at him. Potter’s face was red and puffy, but his shoulders appeared more relaxed.

It seemed that the cry had been quite cathartic. “The Dursleys thought I was a house-elf,” Potter said, as if that statement wasn’t horrifying.

“But I’d never make Mavis live in a cupboard.” 

Severus couldn’t help but let his lips twitch at Potter’s sardonic tone. “Petunia always was an insufferable moron,” he replied.

Potter carefully leaned against the wall, mimicking Severus’ pose, inching closer until they were an arm's length apart. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Severus had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “What unnecessary apology are you offering me now?” 

“It’s not unnecessary,” Potter said defensively.

“I shouldn’t have been mad at you before I gave you a chance to explain. You’ve been really good to me, and I was—I was just...” 

“Hurt?

Furious? Betrayed?” Severus offered, raising a brow.

“You were well within your rights to feel all those emotions and more. I would have quite deserved it had you struck me.”

“...me with lightning,” Potter chuckled.

“Did I tell you about shooting lightning bolts at Quirrell’s head?”

Severus tried to remain stoic, truly he did. But the image of the Dark Lord’s face being stung by lightning shot by the boy with the lightning scar would have been quite a sight to see.

“You did not, though if you’d like to show me, I happen to own a Pensieve.”

“C-can I use it?” Severus glanced over and noticed Potter fidgeting slightly. “If not, it’s okay…”

“Care to make a deal?” he offered, utilizing the boy’s own way of negotiating.

“I don’t want to talk about it ever again,” Potter said firmly. “Please.”

Severus hummed, not pretending to misunderstand him.

“I will allow you to use my Pensieve under two conditions. First, I would like to hear the full prophecy with you.

As I’m sure you are aware, I only heard part of it.”

Potter nodded. “And?”

“And I would like to tell you a story, and I would appreciate you listening before deciding whether you believe I am a worthwhile friend and ally to you.”

Potter squinted at him suspiciously.

“That’s all you want?” he asked incredulously. “Just to listen to the prophecy and for me to listen to your story?”

“It is,” Severus replied simply.

Potter scooted a little closer, their legs nearly touching. “Okaaay,” he said, drawing the word out slowly.

“I’m listening.”

Severus took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began his tale. “My father was a Muggle, and my mother an accomplished witch…” 

And Severus spoke.

He shared the story of his own abusive childhood, his friendship with Lily, and his rivalry with James Potter. He spared no detail—neither his own Marking Ceremony with the Death Eaters nor why he owed James Potter a life debt.

As he sat on the floor of the owlery and shared his soul with Potter, the boy scooted even closer. Harry carefully rested his head on Severus’ shoulder and listened.

That night, as Severus stared into the flames of his fireplace, nursing a glass of gin, his thoughts kept drifting back to Potter’s memory. It was sheer luck on the Muggles' part that Potter had already dealt with his attacker.

If he hadn't, Severus would have intervened, making Potter's spellwork look like child’s play. He closed his mental barriers against the haunting images of the assault and the murder, choosing instead to focus on Potter’s whispered plea: “I’m a nobody.” He recalled how Potter had eased his own guilt by insisting, “Everyone deserves a second chance,” and how he had awkwardly given him a hug before they parted ways.

Harry Potter was far from a nobody, and Severus Snape would dedicate all his time, energy, and effort to make sure he knew that.