The tall man was a distinct Indigo Blue- Harry never knew exactly what the Colors meant, but he knew which ones made him feel safe, which ones made him feel like he wouldn’t need to hide once his eyes registered the hue.
His uncle was a vibrant, nasty, putrid cross between yellow and green; the color of the sick he had thrown up after his uncle only gave him expired food for a week. His aunt was a sickening pink, bright yet muted at the same time. Her Color seemed to stick to his eyes, casting colored shadows upon anything he looked at after looking at Petunia for too long.
This man, however, he was such a safe Color. A dark indigo blue, utterly black in certain lights. He knew his uncle didn’t like the color black- had heard him say nasty things about “the blacks” when he would watch the news at night, but Harry only ever felt comforted by the dark color. It surrounded him, this man’s Color, not in suffocation like he was used to, but in a comforting embrace. A Color that made him feel protected, like a pigmented shield.
Harry was not a trustworthy child by nature; that had been beaten out of him long ago, and he was in no hurry to relearn such a lesson. However, his Colors, they never lied to him. They knew exactly who Harry could approach, perhaps connive into giving him some food, or at the very least assure Harry they would not attack him. The stronger his Colors pushed or pulled to certain people, Harry knew how much he could trust them. So, this tall man, holding himself with a pride Harry had ever felt, seemed a beacon of indigo blue in a field of cloying Colors that made Harry sick to his stomach.
Petunia and Vernon were many meters away, clutching the horrific grey Color that was their son, Dudley. Harry by no means should have had the opportunity to escape the hell that was Number 4 today, however, Mrs. Figg, a light jade of a women (so light it sometimes wasn’t even visible, which terrified Harry more than he cared to admit), had broken her leg, so Harry had the opportunity to accompany his relatives to their excursion. There were numerous errands that had to be run today, not least of which was taking Dudley to an interview for a supposedly prestigious new primary school.
At the young age of six, Dudley and Harry diverged from their single shared factor of age in all other aspects of their lives. Where Dudley was boisterous, Harry was silent. Where Dudley grew rounder by the day, Harry remained slim and gaunt- much more stretched over his bones than any child his age should ever be. They were at some shopping center for something (Harry could honestly not be bothered to remember such useless details; it assuredly was a center where they would be purchasing something for Dudley) when he saw the indigo-blue man.
His Colors were rearing their heads at him, everyone else’s’ Colors seemed to be pointing towards the indigo-blue man, forcing Harry to succumb to the clear invitation. Harry, never let down by his Colors prior, followed. He softly walked over to where the man was standing, sitting at one of the tables in the food court, reading a hefty tome of a book, his bowl of what looked to be noodles seated across the table from where he was propping the book against a canister of napkins.
To a bystander, he would appear wholly engrossed in whatever he was reading- but Harry knew better. Had used the look of faux concentration much too often to obtain an unbiased input of his surroundings. The man hadn’t turned a page in minutes and was listening intently to the milling of people around him.
As Harry approached, the man stilled even further. Finally, sparing one last glance to where the Dursley’s were all still standing in the long line all the way across the food court, not paying any attention to the absence of their nephew, Harry took the last few steps to stand next to the blue man.
Despite obviously being aware of his approach, the indigo man still seemed shocked when Harry spoke. He turned his head, giving up the guise of reading, to study Harry. His eyes widened even more before his face became a blank slate of impassiveness. “…Hello.”
Harry studied him a bit longer, debating on retreating, as for how does one tell a grown man that his Colors were forcing them to meet? Still, though, his Colors pushed him more. The indigo blue around the man grew larger, expanding, blocking out the other Colors of the people immediately adjacent to him. Harry sighed; the Colors were never this insistent about anything.
“Sir- I don’t quite know how to phrase this, but I am supposed to meet you. Sir.” He added the last ‘sir’ hastily, upon seeing the cowed expression on the dour man’s face. He had long black hair, tied back at the nape of his neck, however, a few tendrils had escaped and framed his angular face. His eyes, so brown they were almost obsidian, stared at Harry, giving away none of the internal thoughts that possessed the man. His entire face was comprised of sharp angles, cutting into the space that surrounded him. In the middle of his face was a rather large nose, almost beak-like; however, it didn’t seem to be out of place on the man’s sharp face. His thin lips parted slightly, preparing for a response.
“Meant to meet me? Who are you, child?” His voice was a deep timber, and his Color pulsed in time to the pentameter of his speech.
“I’m Harry Potter, sir. I don’t know why, but I just know I am meant to- “
“Harry Potter?” The interjection sharp, like his jaw bone.
“…Yesssir.” Why did his name matter? It was only a relatively recent development that he knew his name at all; before starting school with Dudley about six months ago, he only knew his moniker to be either ‘freak,’ or just ‘boy.’
“I- hmm. Who are you here with, Mr. Potter?”
“My aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon, sir.”
“Petunia Dursley?” The indigo blue pulsed, spreading out fast then quickly retreating to the man.
The man then looked at him closely, studying Harry, before he reached some unspoken decision. He took a thin stick that wasn’t there a moment before and waved it. Harry flinched at the raising of the stick, but when his eyes opened, the indigo was wrapping into Harry’s own Color, almost apologizing. He didn’t know what for until he saw his hand that was dark purple- his skin was molted, showing the various stages of healing from the most recent bouts of physical…affection his loving family had bestowed upon him. He was sure he looked much different without the many layers of Colors he usually covered his body with, swathing himself underneath blankets of hued protection, so people didn’t see the extent of the harm that befell his body.
“Oh. Harry, no. I am sorry.” The man’s dark eyes looked wet, and his beak-like nose pulled up higher on his face as his eyebrows creased together. “We should… we should take this someplace else. Harry,” at this point the man had waved his stick a few more times, and then leaned down, bending his knees to be eye-level with Harry. “I am Mr. Severus Snape, and I would like to take you somewhere away from your…aunt and uncle. Is that ok?”
Harry appraised the man with wary green eyes, silently asking the Colors what he should do. He knew they wanted him to introduce himself to this man, but going with a stranger (albeit who did have a comforting Color) was another step entirely.
Whatever Harry had been looking for in the man was found, as Harry hesitantly nodded softly. “Sir, what about my relatives? They will be wondering where I am, and when I return to them, they will not be happy with my absence.”
“Harry, I swear to you upon my magic, you will never again go to a home where you will be harmed.” The man’s indigo brightened as he said those words, becoming almost blinding before fading quickly. Harry didn’t know what the man meant by ‘swearing on his magic,’ but if his Color acted like that, it was obviously important.