you raise me up || harry potter

prologue

»»————-　song:　————-««

you wouldn't like me

★ by sleeping at last ★

❝don't you worry, there's still time
there's nothing to live for
when i'm sleeping alone
and i wash the windows outside ❞

♢ ♢ ♢

Snape would never admit that he had been counting the years until Helena Potter would finally come to Hogwarts, but it was July 31st and Snape stared bitterly at the calendar. She would be turning eleven.

He sat down heavily in his sofa and reached for his cup of tea. He hadn't seen any trace of the girl in eleven years. He had no idea what she looked like, save for, of course, the scar. That wretched scar. Did she have her mother's eyes? Or James Potter's?

As the burning hot liquid scorched his throat, Snape wondered if she had her mother's fiery hair as well, or her inherent compassion.

He doubted it.

♢ ♢ ♢

Only a few miles away in a dingy miserable hotel was the child, grabbing at letters written in ink the same color as her eyes, hope never dimming because she had never felt it before and never wanted to let it go. She spent her days weeding and washing dishes and cooking and washing the windows outside. 

But now she had something to live her.

Choppy dark hair and emerald green eyes waited in the dark, barely feeling the chill of the draft or the pressing darkness, an isolated island within herself.

When a giant of a man squeezed himself into the hut and said warmly, "An' here's Helena!" the child raised a pair of solemn green eyes and said, "Harry." Then young ears listened to a fantastical tale of magical slain heroes and evil wizards, of a wondrous new world. 

Somewhere deep within in the dungeons of the isolated island, Harry wondered if magical slain heroes might have loved a freak like her.