Chapter Text
Severus added several comments to a first year Ravenclaw’s essay–supposedly twelve inches on the effects of ingredient preparation in potions–striking out the additional eight inches he hadn’t asked for, and waved a hand negligently at the soft knock on his office door. Generally, no one came to his office hours but seventh years and they knew to enter when the door swung open. He looked up to see Granger hovering in his doorway.
“No,” he waved his hand again, intent on slamming the door in her face.
Granger shoved her overfilled bag between the door and jamb before the door slammed.
“You can take as many points as you like, Professor, but I’m not leaving until you listen to me.”
“If this is about your last essay, Miss Granger–” he started, sighing.
“I don’t care about that, sir.” She barely avoided stomping into his office and sat heavily in the chair across from his desk, dumping her bag on the floor.
Severus stared. He’d never thought he’d ever hear that from the scholastically obsessed child.
“Headmaster Dumbledoor is ignoring my owls and Professor McGonagal is always busy and I heard a couple of Slytherin first years saying that you would actually do something and–”
She practically quivered with determination, hair roughly three times its usual size. He wondered if…no, remain on topic.
“Explain the issue at hand, Miss Granger, concisely.” He rubbed his forehead, a headache definitely forming.
“There’s a student in Gryffindor who only goes home at the end of the year and never receives anything, except for 50 pence at Christmas attached to a note telling them to stay for Easter hols, too, and to see if they can stay over the summer. Their clothing is in terrible shape and is at least three sizes too big, and their shoes are out at the soles. They came in very small for their age, oddly so, with some bruises…they didn’t know anyone saw…and they came back this year even thinner. And they’re not a picky eater, at all, sir. I’m worried, especially when they said their family would be happy if they could manage to die when they were badly injured.” Granger stopped, swallowing hard.
One or two items from her list would be mildly concerning, but taken in aggregate…and damn Dumbledore and Minerva for ignoring a student’s concerns. Again. Mostly because it meant he had to be civil to the puffed up little twit.
“Who, Miss Granger?”
“It’s Harry, sir.” She lifted her chin and gave him a Look that wouldn’t be out of place in a Pureblood family’s drawing room. “And I know you don’t like him, but I’m coming to you as a student with sincere concerns over another student’s home life.”
And how Miss Granger had learned those sorts of looks and mannerisms was a question for another day. Of course it was bloody Potter.
“Is there anything concrete, Miss Granger? Aside from your little observations?”
“The Weasley twins and Ron went to get him as he hadn’t answered any letters and they were worried. There were bars on his window, five or six locks on the outside of his door, and a cat flap at the bottom. His school things were all locked in the cupboard under the stairs and…they had to break him out, sir. His uncle tried to drag him back through the window, yelling about how he wasn’t going back to that freak school. And they’d locked up his owl, as well, not that she could have got through the bars.”
“Was there, perchance, a flying car involved in this escapade?” He couldn’t help the question.
“I’m sure I couldn’t say one way or the other, sir.”
The nerve of the chit.
“Harry said his Aunt Petunia would be livid about her flower beds and he knew what he’d be doing next summer.”
Severus left off rubbing his forehead and glared at her so suddenly she squeaked.
“Did you say his Aunt Petunia?” Surely Dumbledore wouldn’t have…he had more sense than that, surely.
“Yes, sir.”
Did Lily have a great aunt Petunia somewhere? Flower names were a family mania. She had to…Dumbledore wouldn’t have…he couldn’t have.
“He said his mother’s sister, once, sir, if that helps in narrowing it down.”
Was she cheeking him?
“Thank you, Miss Granger. I will bring this to the Headmaster and take the appropriate next steps.” He had to concede the need.
“If an adult perspective would help, sir, Mrs. Weasley might have noticed something. The twins said he went from looking starved to half-starved while he was with them. He came back with practically an entire wardrobe of jumpers Mrs. Weasley knitted."
Her mouth twisted and Severus nearly jumped from his seat. He would listen to her, but no one could force him to dry her tears. He went to the door and opened it, mostly for the distance.
"Thank you, Miss Granger. I will make some inquiries.” There, a clear dismissal. She could go and weep elsewhere.
He had a momentary and unflattering thought that he never got to wail over the injustices of his life. Like being compelled to speak to the Weasley matriarch, who fussed over everything.
And who still, possibly, hadn’t forgiven him for the advice he’d given her twin terrors on stabilizing certain brews.