My Own Family Forsaken Me ( Won’t You Spare Me a Smile?)
Notes: Pre-Hogwarts takes place when Harry is 7 almost 8 this is also on ao3
Cw: slight mention of child abuse and neglect
Harry Potter had a secret
Really, he had a great many secrets: The Dursleys, his small collection of old busted toys he’d nicked from the bin before they could be tossed, the Dursleys, his small stash of granola bars hidden under a rickety floor board in the very back corner of his cupboard, his cupboard in general really, the Dursleys, his hidden spot off the beaten path in the small wooded area by the park where Dudley could never find him, the Dursleys.
But this secret was his greatest shame, even worse than anything the Dursley’s subjected him to. Underneath his thin mattress on the creaky old cot lay a plethora of papers. Some older and wrinkled, some newer and crisp, all treated with meticulous care by the boy who slept atop them.
These pages held nothing malicious nor incriminating, but to Harry they represented just how pathetic and unwanted he was. Underneath his mattress lay an abundance of school projects. Report cards, drawings, Mother’s and Father’s Day cards, Christmas cards, anything and everything he’d made in class, alone at his desk, not even his teachers remembering him enough to realize he had no parents to give these things to.
Aunt Petunia certainly didn’t want them, as he’d learned quickly when he’d given her a Mother’s Day card in kindergarten. He thought maybe she’d appreciate it, maybe smile down at him like she did Dudley, perhaps pat his head and tell him he did a good job. She was his aunt after all, his mother’s sister. Never mind the fact that she hadn’t one kind word to say to him in all the years Harry had lived with her.
Little five year old Harry Potter worked hard on that card, spending the entire time allotted in class working tirelessly to make it the very best he could. He was so excited the day they finally could take them home to present them to their guardians.
He bounded up the steps, falling over when Dudley tripped him in the porch. He found her in the kitchen and handed her the card.
She’d sneered down at him and ripped it in half, shrieking at the glitter that fell from the card and to the floor which earned him a sharp slap across the face, before chucking it in the bin and proceeding to blubber over the card her precious Dudleykins had given her. She’d proudly hung the scribbles on the refrigerator and snapped at Harry to sweep up and start washing the veg for dinner.
He didn’t bother entertaining the idea of even attempting to give Uncle Vernon anything for Father’s Day, as he was sure it’d end with much worse than just a smack.
Harry has never had someone care for him the way Severus does. Severus doesn’t yell when he does something freaky (on the contrary, he tells Harry it’s a good thing, that it’s natural, that he’s not a freak and to never call himself that again), he makes sure Harry eats 3 good meals a day, that he has clothes that fit and brushes his teeth.
Severus even lets him work in the potions lab with him, patiently explaining the different properties of ingredients and how to harvest and prep them. He teaches Harry all about the other magical subjects as well: transfiguration, charms, astronomy, but by far Harry’s favorite was potions. How could it not be when Harry saw how passionate his guardian was about the subject. That subtle glean of pride in his eyes when Harry got a question right or completed a step correctly. Harry swore that potions would be his best subject, if only to make Severus look at him like that again.
He even acknowledged Harry’s birthday and gave him presents, things like like books and puzzles, even a broomstick which Harry had been amazed was even a thing, even after living with a wizard for a little under a year, there was no shortage of things that still captivated him.
Harry could not remember a time he’d been so… loved.
Obviously he knew that he had been, after discussing his parents with Severus, who vehemently denied that they were drunkards who’d gotten themselves killed in a car wreck, outraged that even very basic information about his parents was so greatly misconstrued and used against him (another weird thing Harry had yet to come to terms with, someone angry for him not at him).
He now knew his parents were James and Lily Potter, that he looked a lot like his dad but he had his moms eye shape and color as well as her nose (again something novel, knowing his parents names and actually being able to see what his parents looked like, through photos anyway), and that Severus had been best friends with his mother in their school years. He learned a lot about his mom through Severus, and even though it was clear that he did not have the best opinion of James Potter, he didn’t go out of his way to badmouth him to Harry.
Harry really didn’t mind, all the Wixen he’d met so far really only had things to say about his father, never his mother. With Severus he learned that his mother was pretty great at potions too, but that charms was her forte. Her favorite season was spring and her favorite desert was treacle tart (same as Harry!). He learned that she was kind and fiercely protective of the people she loved.
He knew that his parents had cared for and coddled him. That for the first year and some change of his life, he had been, not just wanted, but adored. They had been willing to die for him.
Severus wouldn’t ever be the same as his parents, he’d said so himself, but he cared for Harry all the same.
And Harry, despite the tiny voice in his brain telling him it was a terrible idea, had come to see the man as his father. Harry trusted Severus in a way he’d never trusted anyone before, and he loathed the idea of disappointing or upsetting the man.
He’d practically worn a hole in the floor of his bedroom (another thing that had never been afforded to him before but that Severus gave so willingly) turning the idea over and over in his head. He’d come to a decision and it was now or never. He had to do it now or he’d chicken out and never get around to showing Severus how much he appreciated, how much he loved him.
All those papers he’d stored for years under his mattress in the cupboard under the stairs were painstakingly arranged into a neat pile and wrapped up in some butcher paper and twine Harry had found in the kitchen. Harry was much too nervous to give it to Severus directly, he’d probably wet himself and vomit at the same time and something told Harry that that would kill the mood.
So early on the morning of the third Sunday of June, Harry crept downstairs before Severus woke to make his daily morning coffee. He placed the package right next to the coffee maker and quietly dashed back upstairs and to his room.
He listened, stomach in his knees and heart in his throat, to the swish swish of Severus’s robes and the subtle creak of the stairs as he descended. His body felt clammy as he sat curled into himself in bed. What if he thought it was stupid of Harry to keep all this stuff, much less give it to him. What if he was annoyed that Harry just gave him more clutter. What if he hated it? Hated Harry? What if he realized Harry wasn’t worth all the trouble? What if he sent him back? What if-
Harry’s inner rambling was cut off as his bedroom door swung open. Harry’s head snapped up to see Severus standing there in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face. Harry noticed the singular paper in Severus’s trembling hand.
“What’s all this?” Severus asked in a frustratingly blank voice, gesturing to the paper in hand. This one was different to the rest Harry had carefully wrapped. It was a sheet of parchment, with a drawing oh himself and Severus in the potions lab. On it, in his best handwriting, Harry and written “Happy Father’s Day Dad, Love Harry”. It was so alike to the other Father’s Day gifts in the pile, but different all the same. Because this one was actually meant for someone, not just some vague hypothetical parental figure, but for someone knew and loved. And now Harry was terrified that maybe Severus didn’t love him back.
Harry felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, he knew this was a stupid, horrible idea. He said nothing as he just stared at Severus with wide green eyes looking decidedly petrified.
“A verbal answer, if you please, Harry.” Severus said as he stepped into the room.
Harry shook his head “I’m sorry, it was stupid, I shouldn’t have given you that, I don’t know why-“
Harry kept babbling, twisting his fingers together painfully, feeling his panic mount higher and higher as Severus looked at him, before the man crossed the room in two big strides. Harry braced himself for the worst, but the worst never came as Severus grabbed him up into a bone crushing hug.
Harry’s bottom lip trembled as warmth enveloped him. He clung onto Severus’s robes and buried his face in his chest. He could feel the man’s heartbeat against his cheek, beating almost as erratically as his own.
Severus gently rocked him from side to side, Harry practically in his lap, as he whispered soothingly to the boy.
“Shh, hush now child. It’s alright Harry,” Severus swallowed thickly. “It’ll be alright now Harry, I’ve got you, dad’s got you.”
Harry held fast as he began to cry in earnest. Severus continued to rock his charge, his son, in his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, atop the unruly black curls that used to remind him of his childhood tormentor. Now they just reminded him of light and laughter, of quiet evenings spent in comfortable company. Of Harry, his son, Harry.
They stayed that way long after Harry’s tears dissolved into the occasional sniffle. Severus rubbed soothing circles into Harry’s back while Harry remained leaned into him. Harry felt so utterly relieved that he allowed himself a whisper, so quiet it was almost swept away by the sound of their breathing.
Severus did not pause in his ministrations as the words washed over him. A rare smile curled the edges of his mouth as he squeezed the boy a bit tighter.
“I love you as well Harry.”
Later, after they both cleaned up, they went downstairs and ate breakfast. They spent the day as they always did. Nothing between them really changed, there was just the same, steady affection there always had been, ever since that day when Severus brought him home and fought tooth and nail to gain Harry’s trust.
The only thing different in the house was the now framed drawing, hung up in the living room. Neither mentioned it but Harry could not deny the seed of warmth that spread through his chest.
And that night, when it was time for Harry to sleep, and Severus tucked him in, they exchanged their ‘I love you’s’.
And Harry let his eyes slip shut knowing, even if his parents were dead and his blood relatives had never and would never want him, he would always have his dad.
And in the morning, his dad would be there, sitting at the kitchen table sipping from his favorite chipped blue bug. He would greet Harry and as they ate they’d talk about their plans for the day, Harry would make a joke and Severus would respond with scathing sarcasm, but when Harry looked up he’d see nothing but fondness in his dad’s eyes. And Harry would never be alone again.
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