severitus, but Harry’s a serious flight risk
He’s pretty used to making himself scarce whenever things with the dursleys turn south. The faster he can get out of the house, the better. It’s not uncommon for him to sleep at the park or wander around all night to give Vernon time to cool off.
Sometimes, when he’s really desperate, he tries to make it further, but the police always pick him up and bring him right back, making Vernon angrier than he was in the first place.
So the first time Harry messes up at Spinners End, he knows he has to book it out of there. He doesn’t know the area, so eventually he gets lost in Cokeworth. Snape finds him, of course, and drags him home with his lips pressed together so hard that they’re white.
“Stay. There,” he spits out as he deposits Harry in his room for the night.
This incident repeats several times over the following weeks, much to Snape’s fury. It’s disrespectful, it’s disobedient. It’s going to give Snape a heart attack.
But at the same time, he’s starting to realize that there’s more to Harry, and to Harry’s situation than he ever realized.
Harry, too, begins to understand that Snape isn’t the man his uncle is. And Snape hasn’t raised his voice at him in days. He has nothing to fear.
So he leaves through the front door while Snape is brewing, walks to town, and finds a cab willing to drive a kid unaccompanied. Asks the driver to take him to Surrey.
It’s not until he’s standing in front of Number 4, chest heaving, that it occurs to Harry where he is. Why is he here? To drop the other shoe himself? To cut the tension, stop the waiting? Maybe he just needed to run, and see if Snape cared enough to hunt him down again.
Fuck. He can’t keep doing this. Eventually Snape will get sick of him and he’ll lose the best home he ever had. The thought jolts him and he feels his hands go burningly numb with adrenaline.
He doesn’t want to be here at all. He wants to be at Spinners End with Snape.
A sharp pop behind Harry startles him, and he whips around, nearly falling off the porch.
It’s Snape. His face is paper-white, and for the first time, Harry recognizes it not as anger, but as fear. He sees Snape take in the house and the yard, the bars on the second story window around the side.
Harry tries to stuff his hands in his pockets to hide how violently they’re shaking, but realizes that his shorts don’t have any.
Snape stalks up to him, hands already reaching to smooth over Harry’s hair, his shoulders, his arms, looking frantically for injuries. Harry lets him.
“You can’t— you can’t just disappear like that! Merlin, Harry, you could be kidnapped, or lost, or hurt—“
Harry doesn’t realize he’s crying until the salt touches his lips. When did he start crying?
“I’m sorry,” he says through numb lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“
Snape does this funny thing. He wraps his arms around Harry and squeezes.
It knocks the wind right out of Harry’s lungs. He stands there, stiff as a board, thrums of emotion nearly demolishing him. Why is Snape… Maybe it’s to stop him from shaking so much.
“Don’t get rid of me,” Harry says. “I wasn’t— Don’t make me go.”
Snape squeezes even tighter, if possible. Harry tries to let some of the tension seep out of his shoulders, and only half succeeds.
“You foolish boy,” Snape says. “Of course I’m not getting rid of you. You’re stuck with me.”
“Okay,” Harry says, teeth chattering. “Okay.”
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