A/N:

Here I am with a new story. This first chapter is a short one, it's a sort of Prologue really, just to present the context of my story. I have some more already written but it isn't finished yet. I happened to dream that Minerva McGonagall adopted Severus Snape a few nights ago and it was the starting point of this crazy idea.

I just want to thank my Beta Alex for bearing with me when I'm throwing my crazy ideas all over the place and she is left to sort out the mess in the end!: You're the best, crazy girl!

I'm taking advantage of this note to ask: I need a beta for this fic, especially since english isn't my first language. So if anyone is interested, let me know.

Now, enjoy the ride and let me know your thoughts of course!

UPDATE 28Jan19: this chapter has now been betaed by the wonderful bl00d-orange - thank you again for your hard work! All remaining mistakes are mine.

CHAPTER 1: To you I am nothing more than a fox

Minerva McGonagall didn't really notice the boy on the first day; what with all the first years to manage, the Sorting Ceremony to supervise and finally the Feast to live through after two blessed months of silence, free of exuberant teenagers. And well, he was sorted into Slytherin too.

If she was honest with herself, she didn't even really notice him on the first week either, not before he managed to annoy her to no end during class the week after that. Nothing really serious but any teacher was wary of this particular kind of swot: the ones that would argue to no end – and with annoying clarity – if you happen to let yourself be a little less acutely precise than they would like in order to break through the thick skulls of school children. The bulldog kind, as they called it.

Strangely, he should have been the recipient of some indulgence from the Hogwarts' adults: he was a little thing really. Small – even for an eleven year-old – clad in second-hand clothes that had definitely seen better days, same with his schoolbooks. The boy had a painfully sharp mind too, obviously raised in a poor and sordid background, so pale as to be on the border of sickly in appearance. Really, all the professors should have been moved by the tragic story already written all over this obviously very intelligent child.

The thing is, he was also quiet but in a sly way, sharp-tongued when provoked, angry, not really well groomed. He was always polite in his words but the flame in his dark eyes baited his interlocutor, provoking. No respect came from those two dark pits.

Simply put, he was not very likeable and too rough at the edges to inspire any sympathy for his situation from the adults around him at school. He wasn't cute, even as a child; his prickly personality already written all over his too sharp features.

It was the same with the students and it was evident after a month that he was very alone and the target of name-calling and general hostility. It is universally known that children aren't little angels and like their grown-up counter-parts they tend to turn against the weird and the odd. And when the target doesn't show any sign of submitting and goes through it all with an unashamed look of superiority and contempt…. Well, let it be said that this was a recipe for disaster.

And then, there was Lily Evans. The Exception with a capital "E". The little girl was so all that the Snape boy was not: their relationship was mesmerizing.

So sharp was the contrast between those two, it became a topic of discussion even in the staff room. The general feeling was that the girl had a good heart and was feeling sorry for the little socially inept boy. Looking back, this friendship could have cast some light on the dark figure of the boy but in the end it only brightened the already shinning image of Lily Evans. Such were the depths of hostility that Severus Snape could cast just by being his annoying disagreeable self – even at eleven.

How it all made sense when an unexpected light had been forced into his dark situation two years later. A sad realisation indeed.

Minerva remembered being hit really hard that day. Albus looked grave and sad; A look on him that could brew worry in the hearts around him such was his preference for benevolent geniality.

"I already told you Headmaster, I'm quite sure of it or we wouldn't be here", said Poppy Pomfrey, hands on her hips with that trademark no-nonsense look on her face.

"He's denying everything though…", interjected the Headmaster.

"OF COURSE he's denying everything! They always do for Merlin's sake!", answered the irate nurse.

"It makes an awful lot of sense Albus… and you know it does", added Minerva sadly.

"The boy never wants to see me you know, he always find excuses and tricks to avoid it. I saw him only a couple of times in the last two years really; I remember counting them some months ago, after the purple pimples incident. It should have been enough to raise suspicion though. I hate to admit it but his open hostility put me off the trail easily. It's obviously a very efficient strategy…" Poppy sighed.

"We should try to talk with Miss Evans I think. If the boy isn't talking, she is surely a good way forward to shed some light on his real situation at home; they were friends before Hogwarts I'm told, she may know the details. We need those details if we are to know what we really are fighting against here. Perhaps all that is needed is some parental counsel?"

Minerva was aware of her own lack of conviction but, well, it was still a possibility. Maybe they were just in one of those too numerous cases where a hard life was more at fault than any lack of parental goodwill.

"We should talk with Miss Evans", concluded Dumbledore.

"Someone is to inform Horace, he is, after all, his Head of House", added Minerva sharply.

She would often think about this discussion in future years. That quiet discussion in the Headmaster office, only Poppy and Albus there, and that wonderful bergamot tea they used to drink together in the evening while discussing diverse school matters.

How strange and how telling in the end that it was her – and not Horace Slughorn – discussing the possible abuse case that was Severus Snape, third year Slytherin.

At the time, it had been a very uncomfortable situation for all of them: no need to beat around the bush here. It wasn't a welcome sensation; something like a diffuse itching guilt. It was a little sore on their conscience, being suddenly aware that they deeply wished for all to be taken care of as soon as possible, if only not to have to think about the unlikeable boy for any extended period of time.

It was acutely eye-opening for Minerva to realise that sometimes we don't have to like the ones that need us the most for us to help them and that in a sense, this was a truer test of our hearts.

It had all happened on Wednesday 3rd of September 1973; she committed the date to memory. She would always be amazed that this discussion could have taken place in the first place. If the boy hadn't been unconscious, would they even have learnt anything before it was too late?

Surely, in some cold alternate universe, that "awful Snape boy" was left to fend for himself in the world… and what would his life have been then?

A darker thought was that she wasn't sure who would have been hurt the most: the hostile little boy or the rest of the world?