Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Philosopher's Stone-

Chapter 1:

The Boy with the Scar

Teaching would never have been Severus Snape’s choice of a profession. For one thing, he really didn’t like children. Children with all their excessive questions and chatter. Children with their laughter, stories and those odious inside jokes.

Over the past eleven years that Snape had taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he had taught himself to largely ignore most of the more annoying traits of the adolescent.

There was no talking in his classes, no cheerful smiles, no giggles, and above all, no cheek. Snape would not tolerate insolence in any shape or form. Most of the students were wise enough to learn this during the very first minutes of Potions class.

Snape never raised his voice, but he also didn’t need to. His deep voice could be heard even in a low whisper and his presence was enough to conjure silent respect from even the most wild student, and if not respect, then fear. His tall imposing stature, combined with a sallow complexion and black robes also helped.

Even with all this in his favour, Snape avoided unnecessary contact with the youth of the school as much as he could. Hogwarts castle fortunately was the perfect place to do this, being full of passageways and corridors and secret tunnels.

However, he could not avoid the mealtimes. The worst was the feast at the beginning of term, when a new generation of young wizards entered the grounds for the first time. The very thought caused Snape to recoil. A herd of noisy, unruly eleven year olds, all bubbling over with excitement and worry and nervous energy.

During the sorting ceremony, Snape kept to his office in the dungeons. The less he knew of the newest dunderheads he would have to teach, the pleasanter the year would unfold.

This year was no different from any other.

The returning students filed into the Great Hall, each House sitting at their respective tables. Then the first years would be ushered in and stand at the front, waiting their turn to be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts Houses by the Sorting Hat.

Snape had this event timed almost down to the very minute. Of course it varied based on the number of children, but he still always managed to miss most of the needless fuss.

In all the hustle and bustle, Snape entered the Great Hall and slipped without notice to the table where the teachers sat, taking his place at the end.

With the Hat crying out “SLYTHERIN!” the last student had been sorted. The Hat and stool went off to the side and the headmaster stood.

A hush followed.

“Welcome! Welcome to Hogwarts!” Albus Dumbledore’s cheery face smiled from behind his white beard at the sea of young faces. “Before the banquet begins, I have a few words to say.”

Snape knew the first years thought some great tidbits of wisdom were about to be imparted. He knew better.

Dumbledore spread his hands. “Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

His words were met with a chorus of laughter and claps, followed by gasps as the feast magically filled all the golden dishes on the tables.

Snape didn’t laugh. He never did. He had too much respect for Dumbledore to sneer at his address to the school, but he still thought it ridiculous. And yet, it had been Dumbledore who had given him this position after all.

The noise of the room again increased as the students ate and chatted to each other and the House ghosts. Next to Snape sat Quirinus Quirrell, who was trying to engage him in conversation.

Snape ignored Quirrell’s stuttering and glanced out over the sea of heads in the Hall, some wearing black pointed hats, others not. The first years were easy to spot. They were so pathetically small. Snape’s eyes went over the Slytherin table and Hufflepuff and rested on Gryffindor. The Weasley family were easy to pick out, with their bright redheads of hair and boisterous manner. The eldest was House prefect and seemed to be trying to keep order without much success.

Then Snape saw him.

A black head in the middle of the row of orange.

The boy looked up and their eyes instantly met.

A feeling like a cold dagger went through Snape.

That face. It was his face. Potter’s face. That black hair, sticking up at funny angles. And those eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. Her eyes.

The boy's fringe was parted just enough for Snape to see the scar on his forehead.

So the rumours were true.

Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts.

Snape swallowed.

The boy stared at him, then his face convulsed as if in pain and a hand shot up to the lightening bolt scar.

Snape looked away, unaware that Quirrell was still talking at him. Snape lost any appetite he had. It was replaced by a deep and strong feeling of hatred. Hatred towards Harry Potter.

Harry Potter. The boy who's name was known by the whole wizarding world. Harry Potter. The boy who had survived He-who-shall-not-be-named. Harry Potter.  The boy who had been James Potter’s son.

All of Snape’s bitter feelings and resentment swelled up inside of him at just seeing that small face in the crowd.

Snape made a resolution.

Harry Potter would regret coming to Hogwarts. Snape would make sure of that. The boy who was special and famous would find out not everyone considered him a hero. Snape had never taken such an instant dislike to a student he hadn’t even met, but he did now. Potter would learn his place in this world. And if Snape could get him expelled, that would be a monumental pleasure.

Snape finally glared at Quirrell, who shut up rather quickly and fumbled with his ridiculous turban. Snape folded his arms over his robes and began to silently plot just how to make little Harry Potter’s life miserable.

† † † †

The last thing Harry Potter had ever expected to be was a wizard. He didn’t think he was special or extraordinary in any way. He was just Harry. His biggest hope in life had been to survive childhood and live to see his piggish cousin Dudley Dursley end up in prison. Or at least, hope he would.

Now for Harry to discover he was not only just a wizard, but famous was almost more than he could imagine. Harry wasn’t sure how to react.

All those witches and wizards in Diagon Alley coming up to him and shaking his hand. All those other students on the train whispering about him.

“That’s Harry Potter!”

“The Harry Potter?”

“Crikey, did you see his scar?!”

Harry wasn’t used to attention like this. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Many kids seemed excited to meet him, almost in awe. Then there were those like Draco Malfoy. Harry didn’t care what he thought. Malfoy was arrogant, spoiled and a brat. Harry didn’t want his good opinion.

Plus, he was too busy taking in everything about this new world.

The magic. The whole enchantment of it all. He wanted to pepper his new friends with questions, but he forgot how to speak.

The Great Hall was huge and awesome, bathed in light from the hundreds of floating candles. The enchanted ceiling overhead was sprinkled with stars.

Then came the Sorting.

Harry had never felt more nervous in his whole eleven years of life then the moment the Hat was placed on his head. The dreadful seconds in which Harry thought the Hat would place him in Slytherin.

The wonderful relief when the Hat shouted out “GRYFFINDOR!” instead. The cheers rose from the Gryffindor table.

And to top it off: the food. Harry had never seen so much food or been allowed to eat as much of it as he wanted. He hoped he didn’t look greedy as he piled the steaming goodies on his plate. One look at his friend Ron Weasley’s plate told him he had nothing to worry about. Ron was eating enough for two boys twice his size.

Harry enjoyed the meal, worrying about nothing at all as he listened to the laughs and the happy conversations around him, blissfully lost in a magical world he never could have imagined existed.

He was hoping this wasn’t simply a dream and he would suddenly wake up to find himself back in the cupboard under the stairs on Privet Drive.

Harry pinched himself. It was not a dream. He was still here.

When the dessert appeared, he was feeling happier than he ever remembered feeling before. Even his favourite treacle tart tasted better than ever before. He laughed and smiled, not noticing how many times his glasses kept slipping down his nose.

Then Harry felt like he was being watched. He looked around. Everyone was engaged with their friends. His gaze went to the table where all the teachers sat. Dumbledore gave a little smile his way and Hagrid waved. Harry smiled back.

At the very end of the table, a thin man in a turban (whom Harry remembered as Professor Quirrell) was speaking to a man in black robes. The man had very pale skin and black greasy-looking hair. The first thing Harry noticed about the face was the hooked nose.

And then the sharp dark eyes which were suddenly fixed on Harry.

Harry felt something in the pit of his stomach. Possibly fear.

The man stared at him as though fixated, then something like recognition went over him followed by a look Harry could only call hatred.

Sudden, shearing pain shot though Harry’s scar.

“Ouch!” Harry cried, dropping his fork.

“You okay, Harry?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged it off, looking back up towards the teacher’s table. By that time, the man had looked away.

In a whispered tone, Harry asked who he was.

Snape. Professor Snape, Potions Master and head of Slytherin House was the answer. Harry did not feel surprised. From all the stories he had heard of the Slytherins, Professor Snape fit the picture. Even his name gave Harry a chill. The word vampire also came to mind. Anemic skin and those dark, piercing eyes.

But it didn’t explain the look of pure dislike he had given Harry. Why should he hate him? Harry had never met him, never even heard of him before today. Yet, there it was. Harry had a distinct feeling which told him he had already made an enemy and it wasn’t even the first day of classes. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Harry was sure he felt Snape’s eyes on him again. He was too unsettled to look up. He didn’t finish his treacle tart.

The feast came to a close and all the students began to go off to their dormitories, each House following their prefect.

Harry walked next to Ron, following the elder Percy Weasley, who took his role as prefect very seriously.

As they left the Great Hall, Harry quickly glanced over his shoulder, back towards the teachers.

Snape met his gaze.

Harry felt his face drain of colour. The professor’s gaze was definitely one of hatred.

And Harry had no idea why.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 2:

Potions Class

Snape hadn’t been in a good mood when his first Potions class of the day began. By the time it was dismissed, he was ready to send the whole lot of them to detention.

The Hufflepuffs had fully met his expectations. Eager to learn, yet almost entirely incompetent. Snape had extinguished the contents of two cauldrons which had turned poisonous. The Hufflepuffs had left the dungeons with ten points taken away. Sometimes that was the only way students would learn.

Snape again asked himself why he put up with these idiots as the next class shuffled into his classroom. It was doubles, consisting of Slytherins and those Gryffindors. Snape’s mood took a turn for the darker.

Next to a tall redheaded Weasley was him. Harry Potter.

Snape breathed out and kept his temper in check. He waited until everyone had settled. Then he took role call. Not that he really felt any need to do so, as he couldn’t care less what the names of these children were, but it was useful when calling out a mistake to have a name to stick on it. When he reached the name of Harry Potter, he paused.

“Ah, our new… celebrity,” he said slowly. There was no humour in his voice, though he heard some of the Slytherins snickering.

The boy in question almost looked embarrassed.

Snape rolled up the parchment and turned to address the class. All eyes were on him and each child was completely silent, perhaps waiting for something fearful to happen. Naturally what all the students feared the most was having points deducted and if there was any misbehaviour of any sort, Snape would be sure to meet their expectations.

“You are here to learn the subtle art of potion making,” Snape began coldly, with no form of greeting. “There will be no foolish wand-swishing in my class nor any other obvious signs of magic. However, being able to create the correct potion is just as important as knowing the right charm and just as powerful. There will no talking out of turn in my class. None of you are to speak unless you are spoken to. If perhaps you are less dense than the usual lot of dunderheads, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew desire and even stopper death. If you do exactly as you are told.”

The chilly air was heavy with silence. Snape was sure several of the students were trying not to breath. This was the desired effect.

Snape drew his robes closer about him and studied the frightened and eager faces, all ready to prove they were not stupid, and were sure to do so anyway.

Snape’s eyes rested on a lightening bolt scar on one boy’s forehead.

“Potter! What would happen if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

The boy’s face was completely blank. He looked around desperately before replying.

“Um, I don’t know, sir.”

Snape felt a sneer make its way to his lips. “Well, it seems fame isn’t everything, is it, Mr Potter?”

The boy’s face turned red.

Snape continued to ask questions, each increasingly more difficult than the last. The boy looked more and more bewildered, his bright green eyes widening behind his glasses. He continued to answer politely to Snape’s unpleasant tones, and all the while, nasty giggles were issuing from the Slytherin side, who clearly didn’t like Harry Potter anymore than Snape did.

Snape was deliberately ignoring the raised hand Hermione Granger was waving in the air. Protegees were only of interest to Snape if they benefited him.

Snape challenged Harry once more with a question that every child should know the answer to by the age of five. Harry Potter didn’t know the difference of monkshood and wolfsbane or that they were in fact the same plant. It seemed that Harry Potter didn’t know anything.

Snape almost felt a strange pang of sympathy, but lost it the next moment.

“Why don’t you ask Hermione, Professor?” Harry asked innocently, yet with a slight tone of defiance that only increased Snape’s dislike.

When Neville Longbottom not only melted a cauldron, but also sent a foul-smelling green potion streaming over the floor, Snape finally lost his temper. Neville was sent up to the hospital wing covered in red boils without the least amount of pity from Snape. Only an idiot would misread the instructions.

Harry Potter had been right next to Neville when the explosion had occurred. Harry got the brunt of Snape’s acidity.

“You should have told Longbottom to take the cauldron off the fire first, Potter,” Snape growled. “You have eyes, don’t you? Or did you wish to make him look bad compared to yourself?”

Harry opened his mouth. 

“Don’t even try, Potter. You just lost a point for Gryffindor thanks to your selfishness.”

The boy stared up at him in shock. Snape knew he was being unfair, but he didn’t retract his words. He turned away.

“That wasn’t right,” Snape heard Hermione Granger mutter in dismay.

“Don’t provoke him. I hear he can turn nasty,” Ron Weasley whispered. At least there was one Weasley with with some sense in his brain. Snape wouldn’t have given the whole family that much credit.

Snape spent the rest of the lesson keeping a close eye on everything, criticizing every little thing the students did, even if it was correct, and making them dislike the class as much as he did. He also deducted another point from Gryffindor when he caught Harry whispering to Weasley.

“Not another word or you will find yourself in detention.”

The boy instantly buried himself in making his potion and didn’t look up for the rest of the hour. When all the cauldrons were cleaned and the supplies put away, the students left the dungeons for their next class.

As Harry Potter scuttled out, Snape caught a glimpse of tears glistening on his face. Somewhere where his heart was, Snape felt a twinge of guilt. He was too angry to care.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 3:

Broomsticks and Bullies

“I just don’t get it,” Harry said. “Why does he hate me so much?”

Harry was talking to Ron over lunch. They had just had another double Potions class with Snape and in spite of Harry studying beforehand and rereading the instructions on the board at least twice, Snape had still given him ugly glares and made him feel like he was a half-wit.

Ron shrugged, reaching across the table for another serving of shepherd's pie. “Snape hates everyone. Fred and George get points taken away all the time.”

Harry poked his fork at his food. Potions would have been hard enough without Snape. Harry had to face him three times a week and the Potions Master seemed to take great delight in giving out huge amounts of homework. Harry still had to write twelve inches of parchment on the benefits of the more poisonous forms of nightshades from Monday’s homework.

Harry watched Snape get up from the teacher's table and leave the Great Hall. Harry compared him to Professor McGonagall. She also was stern and expected nothing less than everyone’s full cooperation. However, she could also be kind and understanding. Harry had doubts about Snape even knowing what kindness was.

“I wouldn’t worry about 'em, Harry,” Ron said. “It’s not like he’s out to get you or anything.”

But worry Harry did. With each passing hour he spent in Snape’s dungeon classroom, it became increasingly clear that what Snape liked most of all was to humiliate Harry. Any little thing Harry did, whether he chopped his ingredients too finely or merely opened a jar too loudly was enough to have the professor snap at him. And if it wasn’t Snape criticizing him, then it was Draco Malfoy. Ever since Harry had told Draco just what he thought of him, the blond-haired Slytherin took every opportunity of poking fun at Harry or his fellow Gryffindors. Harry wasn’t sure which was worse: Snape or Malfoy.

Just when Harry hoped he would only have to deal with them in Potions, he learned about flying lessons with the Slytherins on Thursday. Just another opportunity to be sniggered at. Unless he could master a broomstick fast.

Ron was a bit nervous, Neville even more so, (having never been allowed near a broom), and even Hermione Granger was showing signs of nerves, which surprised Harry. But then again, being a Muggle she wouldn’t have had a broomstick in the house, and flying also wasn’t something you could learn out of a book. So in this way, everyone was starting off fairly equally.

The sky was clear and the air cool when Harry and the other Gryffindors walked out onto the grass on Thursday afternoon. It was perfect weather for flying.

The Slytherins and twenty broomsticks were waiting on the lawn. The Gryffindors scowled, but at least Snape wasn’t teaching this class, Harry thought.

Harry felt his uneasiness strangely fall away as Madam Hooch told them all to stand by a broomstick. When Harry held out his hand, there was a surge of confidence through him.

“UP!” he commanded, like all the other students.

Instantly, the broom jumped into his hand.

It felt good. It felt right.

Harry grinned.

† † † †

Snape was striding through the courtyard when he saw it happen.

Madam Hooch hurried past him with a clearly injured Neville Longbottom, to which Snape shook his head. Longbottom seemed to create problems everywhere he went, whether he was on the ground or not.

Out on the lawn, Snape spotted a group of first years, waiting awkwardly by their brooms. One boy, whom Snape recognized as Draco Malfoy by his white-blond hair, had snatched up something from the ground with a haughty exclamation. Harry Potter said something. Malfoy laughed, then kicked off from the ground.

“Come and get it, Pottah!” Malfoy’s voice challenged.

A beat and the other boy was in the air.

“No! Don’t!” Hermione Granger cried.

Snape crossed the courtyard. His first thought was to call out both boys on their actions. Snape was never swift to take points from a Slytherin, but Malfoy was breaking the rules.

Then Malfoy threw a small round object high into the air.

Without any hesitation, Harry Potter sped after it. His hands clung to the broom handle, his eyes fixed on the object he was chasing. It dropped towards the ground and Potter dove, his hand outstretched, just like a Quidditch Seeker diving after the Golden Snitch.

His fist closed.

Right before Harry slammed into the side of the castle, he drew up and halted in midair perfectly without losing his balance, as if he had been flying all his life.

Screams mingled with cheers went up from the Gryffindors on the lawn as Harry drifted down towards them.

Snape stood in the courtyard shadows.

Was that possibly a spark of admiration in his chest? A tiny sense of awe at how naturally flying had come to the boy? Snape couldn’t be sure. He was almost horrified to find such a thing inside him. He thought of another boy who had been a fabulous flier, another boy named Potter. It hadn’t made him anymore likable in Snape’s eyes, so there was no reason why this Potter should be either.

A door slammed and Professor McGonagall was pounding across the courtyard towards the lawn.

“HARRY POTTER!” she bellowed. “How DARE you- what were you thinking?!”

“He was provoked, Professor!” a girl spoke up.

“I don’t care if he was,” McGonagall retorted, her face flushed with anger. “It was a reckless thing to do.”

“But, Professor-”

“Come with me, Potter.”

She marched Harry off the lawn. He looked as if the world had just ended. Behind him, Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins were left smirking. Snape pushed aside any slight esteem he might have felt and heartily agreed with the Slytherin side of feelings.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 4:

Accolades of the Past

It was after midnight and Hogwarts Castle was still. The usual clamour of students attending classes was replaced by a silence which seemed to ooze from the old stone walls as the castle slept.

Not everyone was asleep. A certain Potions Master was walking silently along the corridors. Severus Snape had learned some interesting information which suggested some students might be up after hours. Thus he too was also up.

During supper that evening, Snape had overheard Draco Malfoy talking with his two friends, Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy had said enough to convince Snape there was reason to believe some Gryffindors might break a few rules, such as being out of bed when they shouldn’t be. The main culprit, of course, was Harry Potter. Snape felt no surprise. The boy showed little to no regard for rules and breaking them seemed very much in his range of talents.

Over the last month, Snape had seen very little evidence of any real misbehaviour, it was true. But he did notice other things. For one, Potter was abysmal at Potions. Even when he claimed to have studied, he still managed to fail. And from snippets of conversations Snape had gathered in the staff room, the boy didn’t have much, if any inclination towards schoolwork. It was as if he thought he didn’t need to study.

Just like a Potter.

Snape continued stalking the empty halls, peeks of the moonlight shining through the high windows and mixing with the long black shadows. Snape moved swiftly. He was soon on the third floor. He met not a soul until he came to the trophy room. Here he encountered two; the caretaker Mr Filch and his ever watchful cat, Mrs Norris.

Mr Filch was an unpleasant man with long unruly hair and a nasty personality. There was only one thing he and Snape had in common. They both hated everybody.

“Ah, Professor,” Filch said with a yellow-toothed smile. “Out catching delinquents, are you? Grand night for it. Had any luck?”

“None,” Snape replied. “And you?”

“Quiet as the grave. Only mice.”

Snape’s eyes darted to Mrs Norris. The cat had a mouse tail dangling from her mouth. Snape looked back to Filch.

“Just so you know, I heard a tip about the possibility of a student or two being places they shouldn’t be. Might want to keep your eyes open.”

Filch grinned unpleasantly. “Oh, you can be sure I will, Professor. Come along my sweet,” he said to his cat.

Filch scurried off with lantern in hand, looking very much like a woodsmen on the trail of a hunt. Snape didn’t pity any students who had to face Filch.

Snape continued on the hunt of his own and was in the trophy room. It was empty of life, only the cases filled with gold and silver objects. Snape clasped his hands behind him and swept slowly about the room.

The trophy cases housed many things, from shields and statues to cups and plates. There were also a few swords. The moonlight caught the edges of the cases and danced along the glass. Some of the silver was showing signs of growing tarnished.

Snape’s gaze followed the pale shaft from an upper window to the case housing some of the Quidditch trophies. The light fell on a wooden shield for the Gryffindor team. Three smaller shields fashioned from gold adorned the center of the wood. These were the names for the Seeker, Chaser and the Captain.

Snape drifted over M. G. McDoggell and R. J. King and then landed on James Potter, Chaser, 1971.

Snape remembered that year. He remembered when Gryffindor had taken the House Cup. There had been hardly a player to match James Potter. He had been fast, very fast. Completely unstoppable, the best player Gryffindor had in a long time.

A scene flitted into Snape’s head, a memory of watching the final game. Seeing Potter streak by on his broom with the Quaffle tucked under his arm, just like how little Harry Potter had flown during the flying lesson Snape had witnessed. Harry had definitely inherited his father’s talents. But whether he would ever use them now was to be debated.

Hatred was threatening to bubble up as Snape thought more of the other boy with black hair and wire-rimmed glasses, who had made Snape’s life at Hogwarts a living hell. James Potter who had looked just like the small version Snape had to see three times a week in Potions.

Several nasty words surfaced in Snape’s mind, but were then succeeded by a face, a face who had shared those green eyes of Harry Potter’s.

For a moment, Snape’s bitterness was replaced by sadness. Maybe, just maybe he was judging the boy too quickly. Was six hours a week of teaching a class really enough to learn a student’s character?

Snape was yanked out of these unsettling questions by a thunderous crash that could only be caused by someone running into a suit of armour. Snape went to the far door of the trophy room.

What sounded like a boy yelling “RUN!” was followed by Filch’s voice snarling “You can’t hide from me!”

Footsteps pounded on the stone floors and faded as Filch and the others got farther away into the castle.

Snape stood in the doorway and listened.

Wind rattled the window panes.

Mice scuffled somewhere.

Snape vaguely wondered if he should join Filch.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” bellowed a distant, yet unmistakable voice.

Peeves the poltergeist had found them.

Snape stifled a smirk to himself in the dark. His help wasn’t needed. Whomever the students were, they would not be out of bed for long.

Snape left the upper levels of the castle, glad to have put an end to the thoughts he found more disturbing than the Potions Master cared to admit.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 5:

The Troll in the Bathroom

Harry was greatly looking forward to Halloween. Not only just for the day, but also for the fact that after Halloween was November, and November was the start of the Quidditch season.

The reason Harry was so excited for Quidditch was because he was going to play.

When Professor McGonagall had furiously marched Harry from the lawn after the first flying lesson, Harry had been convinced he was going to be punished or expelled. His surprise when neither happened but instead the professor had made him a Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team!

Harry was elated. He had never played a sport before, let alone on a broomstick, but flying felt for him as natural as walking. With each Quidditch practice, Harry got the hang of the game more and more.

The only damper on his mood was Hermione Granger. Harry didn’t mind her as much as Ron did, yet she could be very annoying with all her book knowledge. She was always pointing out mistakes and attempting to tell them how to do things. (“It’s pronounced Wing-gar-dium Levi-O-sa.”) Harry was sure she was really trying to be helpful, but she did get on his nerves. Still, he felt sorry for her.

Harry didn’t see Hermione all afternoon on Halloween. Someone said she was crying in the girl’s bathroom.

“Serves her right,” Ron grumbled.

Harry didn’t agree.

The Great Hall was decorated with thousands of carved pumpkins and live bats swooping over the tables and for a while, Harry forgot about Hermione. He even forgot about Professor Snape.

Until Professor Quirrell ran in shrieking “TROLL! Troll in the dungeons!” at the top of his lungs.

He made it to Dumbledore’s chair at the great table, gasped out “Thought you might like to know,” and fainted dead away on the floor.

Someone screamed. Or it might have been several someones.

Suddenly Harry found himself getting up and shuffling back to the Gryffindor tower after Percy Weasley the prefect.

How had a troll gotten in? Harry questioned.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Snape disappear through a door in the opposite direction of the dungeons. Where could he be going?

Then Harry had a horrid thought.

“Ron! She doesn’t know!”

“Who?” Ron whispered back.

“Hermione! She wasn’t at dinner. She doesn’t know about the troll!”

“But-” Ron protested.

Harry didn’t let him finish. He grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him out of the queue of Gryffindors.

When Percy had gone around a corner, they slipped out of sight.

† † † †

Snape did not like Halloween. He didn’t really like any holidays, but Halloween was an especially noisy one. The bats, the pumpkins, the festive fare. It was of course a day for children, which was probably the main reason he didn’t like it.

The Great Hall was full of giggles and merriment that got under Snape’s skin. Normally, he didn’t mind it so much, as Quidditch season was right around the corner. However, he wasn’t looking forward to it as much as he usually did.

Because Harry Potter would be playing.

According to the rumour, instead of being kicked out of Hogwarts for his reckless behaviour on the field, as Snape had hoped, Potter had become the youngest Seeker in a century. If the boy was as good on the Quidditch pitch as Snape had witnessed that afternoon during flying lessons, the Slytherin team would be hard pressed.

This was why Snape wasn’t even engaging in conversation with the other teachers during the evening meal. At least Professor Quirrell wasn’t next to him. Snape hadn’t seen him in a few hours, which wasn’t unusual. The Dark Arts teacher often buried himself in books.

Or so he said.

Snape was a little suspicious of Quirrell. Ever since he had come back from traveling over the summer holidays, the professor hadn’t been himself. Not to mention that absurd turban he now wore.

Snape’s thoughts were interrupted when the doors to the Great Hall burst open and Quirrell himself ran in, panic-stricken and his turban askew.

“TROLL! Troll in the dungeons!”

As the headmaster brought order, Snape had one thought.

The third floor corridor. It had to be guarded. That was where Snape headed when the students were sent to their dormitories and the other teachers went to deal with the troll.

The third floor was marked out of bounds for the students, and for good reason. Filch the caretaker made sure of that.

Snape gained the stairs. He reached the corridor at the exact same time as another. It was Professor Quirrell.

“Quirrell,” Snape said.

The professor jumped, almost fell over and stammered so much Snape couldn’t understand a word he said.

“Why aren’t you down in the dungeons?” Snape demanded.

“I-I thought s-someone should c-come check and make s-sure things were s-safe,” Quirrell said, looking desperately terrified of Snape.

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Oh?”

“D-Dumbledore and P-professor McGonagall c-can handle it,” Quirrell muttered. “What are you d-doing here, S-Severus?”

“The same thing as you, Quirrell,” Snape replied in a dangerously low tone.

Quirrell looked deathly pale, as if he might faint again. “Er, um, you s-see-”

There came a scream, a girl’s scream, followed by two others. Boys’ screams. And a sound of wood splintering.

Snape and Quirrell took off running, leaving the third floor behind. They met up with Minerva McGonagall on the second floor landing.

“It sounded like it came from the girl’s bathroom!” she said breathlessly.

There was another scream and a huge CRASH.

The sight which greeted their eyes was enough to make anyone pause.

The bathroom was mostly destroyed. Water was squirting in geysers from broken sinks and pooling over the floor.

In the middle of the shattered wood from the stalls and porcelain sink parts was a huge mountain troll. It had fallen on its face, apparently knocked out by its own club.

Quirrell squeaked and clasped a hand to his heart.

And standing over the troll were three children.

Hermione Granger was covered in dust and wood splinters. Her tear-stained face was staring at the troll.

The two boys had stupefied expressions on their faces. Ron Weasley had plaster in his red hair, his wand clutched shakily in his hand.

Harry Potter’s glasses were crooked and his nose was bleeding.

McGonagall got her breath back first. “Miss Granger, Mr Weasley and Mr Potter: EXPLAIN yourselves!”

The boys exchanged a look of panic.

“Well, you see-” Weasley began.

“It wasn’t-” Potter ventured.

“It was all my fault,” Hermione said loudly.

All eyes went to her, all listened as she explained about going searching for the troll on her own.

Snape’s eyes darted to the other two. Wesley's mouth hung open and Potter appeared to be trying to not look surprised.

Snape studied Potter’s dirty face. The wand Potter was holding limply was dripping with a green slime. The boy breathed in, then wiped the bloody nose on the back of his hand. He looked up and met Snape’s gaze. Snape didn’t see innocence there, and he didn’t see guilt. But he did see fear.

Harry quickly looked away.

“Well, I hope you realize just how fortunate you are,” Minerva McGonagall was saying to Hermione Granger. “Five points will be deducted for your foolishness.”

The girl hung her head.

“And as for you two,” Minerva looked over at Ron and Harry, “Five points will be awarded each.”

The boys smiled sheepishly.

Snape shot them both another look and they turned colour.

“For sheer dumb luck,” Minerva McGonagall added as she turned to leave.

For once, Snape agreed with her.

As the Gryffindors scurried off to their common room, Snape saw Harry glance back in his direction.

Snape wondered just how innocent he really was.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 6:

Jinxes and Golden Snitches

Harry couldn’t shake the look Professor Snape had given him. Did he think Harry had gone to take on the troll himself? Harry wasn’t sure if Snape had really believed the story about Harry and Ron saving Hermione.

That Hermione had lied so they wouldn’t get in trouble, Harry was still amazed about. He and Ron had misjudged her. She wasn’t so bad after all.

But, after Halloween, Harry felt sure that Snape was watching him more closely. Perhaps it was all his imagination. Except he kept seeing Snape.

Once when Harry left Professor Quirrell’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Snape had been in the hall outside. Harry had almost walked into him. Then later during the same week, when Harry and Ron had tried sneaking up to the forbidden third floor, Snape had suddenly appeared in front of them. Harry would have sworn the man had apperated out of thin air. Hermione pointed out it was impossible for anyone to do that in the Hogwarts grounds. There were too many enchantments.

Still Harry wondered. What was Snape up to?

The morning of the first Quidditch match, Harry had other thoughts on his mind. Such as being knocked off his broom, brained with a Bludger and waking up weeks later in the hospital- or worst of all: Losing to Slytherin.

Harry couldn’t sleep the night before.

And eating breakfast was completely out of the question. His friends urged him, but no matter how much toast or bacon Hermione and Ron tried to push on him, he couldn’t do it. His stomach was too full of butterflies to have any room left for food.

As Harry poked at the toast, a shadow fell over him.

“Good luck at the game, Potter,” said a low deep voice.

Harry looked up in bewilderment. Snape’s face was void of any smile, but he certainly wasn’t sneering either.

“Um… thank you, sir?” Harry said.

Snape’s lip twitched. “Of course, perhaps as you have already taken on a fully grown mountain troll, you won’t be needing any luck. Even though you are going against Slytherin.”

Harry said nothing, staring, questioning if he should speak. Snape arched a sharp eyebrow and cast a glance over Hermione and Ron, then swept by the Gryffindor table.

Harry watched him go.

“Blimey, was that odd,” Ron muttered also watching the professor. “What was that about? Him wishing you luck, Harry?”

“Don’t know,” Harry admitted.

Hermione leaned over the table. “I bet he was trying to intimidate you,” she said seriously.

He doesn’t need to try, Harry thought.

When game time approached, Harry began to wish he had eaten something. It was too late, however, as he was putting on his Quidditch robes, shouldering his new broom and filing out towards the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the Gryffindor team.

“Here we go,” the team captain, Oliver Wood said.

Harry mounted his broom and zoomed out into the air behind the captain.

As the sound of cheers rose from the stands, Harry’s nerves were instantly gone in the rush of adrenaline.

† † † †

Snape was up in the stands with the other teachers around the Quidditch pitch. He was watching the two teams fly out with slight inattention.

Little Harry Potter looked ridiculous next to the older fourth and fifth years he was playing with.

Snape automatically clapped as the Slytherin team flew circles over the pitch, roars coming from the stand decorated in green in honour of their House. Even Snape wore a green and silver scarf for the occasion.

However, Snape was feeling uneasy. Why had he spoken to Harry before the game? Offered him good luck of all things. Did he harbour a secret desire that the boy play well? Snape pushed aside these unsettling thoughts as the players rose and faced each other over the field.

Madam Hooch tossed the Quaffle into the air and the game began.

Gryffindor scored twice in the first ten minutes, much to Snape’s displeasure. Half of the school was cheering for them, even the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs.

The Slytherins were putting up a good fight, knocking players left and right and snarling insults at the other team every chance they got.

Snape’s eyes went to find Harry. He was sitting up off to the right of the Gryffindor’s goalposts, watching the game.

Then there was a glint of gold and Harry sprung to life.

The Slytherin Seeker followed suit. The two of them were neck in neck, streaking for the ground. The Slytherin blocked Harry, who almost tumbled off his broom. The Snitch had been lost.

The Seekers drifted back above the action, searching for the Golden Snitch.

Snape took his eyes off Harry to see the Slytherins score a goal.

Then something made his gaze again go back to Harry.

Harry’s broom was moving strangely, leaping and shuddering.

A sharp pain hit Snape just under the ribs.

Someone was jinxing the broom.

Snape immediately began to chant under his breath, locking his eye contact on Harry.

Harry was holding on tightly as the broom bucked and shimmied like a wild horse. Snape was doing all he could to keep the broom from shaking the boy off, but it was almost not enough. Whomever was casting the jinx was fighting back.

Sweat was running down Snape’s face as he chanted harder.

The broom had thrown Harry. He was clinging on with his fingertips, hanging in midair a hundred feet over the grass, looking down in terror, with nothing between him and certain death.

Snape stared without blinking, muttering the counter-curse.

Harry’s fingers were beginning to slip.

A whiff of smoke hit Snape’s nose.

“You’re on fire!” a voice cried.

Snape’s leg was burning. He broke his concentration. The edge of his robes was enveloped in blue flames. Snape stamped it out, hitting several teachers around him as he did.

There was a cheer from the Gryffindors. Harry was again seated safely on his broom. The curse had been broken. Snape gasped, as he hadn’t been breathing.

The Snitch was sighted and the Seekers took off.

Harry dodged the Slytherin and leaned low on his broom. It was all over within seconds. Harry tumbled onto the grass and spat the Snitch out of his mouth.

Snape exhaled sharply, his face hot and damp.

The crowd roared as Harry held the Snitch high.

Madame Hooch blew her whistle.

Gryffindor had won.

And Snape was faced with the fact that he had just saved Harry Potter’s life.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 7:

Strange Emotions

Why, why, why.

The single word was the question which kept repeating itself unceasingly through Snape’s brain.

Why had he done it? Why had he been so quick to act the very moment he knew Harry Potter’s life had been in danger?

He didn’t really want to know the answer to this question. He didn’t even want to think about the question.

Snape’s mood grew cold and gray as the November weather. He was more unsociable than ever, more demanding of his students in Potions and even snapped at Draco Malfoy, whom he normally treated as if he were the perfect student.

In Snape’s mind, there was no such thing as a perfect student, but Draco was of an old wizard family, was in Slytherin, and most importantly, he didn’t like Harry Potter.

Previously, Snape would have guessed this dislike stemmed from some arrogant actions Potter had done, but as Snape observed the boys more, he realized all the arrogance seemed to be on Malfoy’s side.

Perhaps Harry Potter was not an exact replica of his father… Snape angrily shoved this revelation out of his mind.

The next time he encountered Harry in the halls, he deducted five points for arguing with Malfoy. From what Snape had heard of the conversation, it had really been Malfoy doing the talking. Something about being friends with someone who’d be better off in the poorhouse. Snape guessed this was a poke at Ronald Weasley’s family, for though wizards, Snape knew they were very poor. Harry had then been defending his friend out of loyalty, not picking a fight with Malfoy, as Snape had thought.

Snape continued his grumpy, snarling manner, keeping almost everyone at bay, even Professor Quirrell, who had been pestering Snape for several weeks now.

During dinner one evening, Snape was staring glumly down at his water goblet, avoiding joining in any conversation. He was unaware that he was drumming his fingers on the table.

“Everything alright, Severus?”

Snape started. Albus Dumbledore had gotten up from his seat and was standing to Snape’s right, leaning on a walking stick he didn’t really need, but liked to carry around.

“Perfectly,” Snape replied sourly.

The old headmaster studied him over his half-moon spectacles. “You’re not the best at lying when you’re distracted, Severus,” Dumbledore said.

Snape gave him a peeved look with one eyebrow raised. “What do you mean, Albus?”

Dumbledore smiled mysteriously in his disarming way, which often caused people to either calm down or grow exasperated.

“If I knew you any less, I would say you were trying to avoid something.”

Snape said nothing. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled and he went to enjoy the rest of his meal. Snape was annoyed at the man, great wizard though he was. It was the way he said things as though every issue in life were really the simplest of matters with the clearest of solutions and could be resolved with a bit of a chat over tea and some lemon cake.

Or at least he brought out in the open what wanted to stay hidden in the shadows.

Snape’s gaze seemed to automatically drift over the people in the room and settle on a black-haired boy at the Gryffindor table.

Perhaps Dumbledore wasn’t far off the mark. Perhaps Snape’s anger and bitterness were really a masquerade for something else, something buried deep beneath the surface that Snape was afraid to let out.

For behind the anger, Snape was indeed hiding something, something almost tangible.

It tasted like fear.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 8:

Dog Bites

Harry was now convinced Snape was out to get him. It was no accident that his broom had tried to throw him.

Ron and Hermione had explained all about it later.

“Snape was definitely jinxing it,” Hermione said. She had previously refused to believe anything bad of any of the teachers, but the game against Slytherin had changed her mind.

“He almost killed you, Harry,” she stated.

“Did he know it was you who set his robes on fire?” Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. “He never knew what hit him.”

Ron grinned. “Wicked!”

Hermione was more serious on the subject. “Be careful, Harry. Don’t let Snape catch you alone. Always have someone with you at all times. Snape might very well try to kill you again if he can.”

Sound as it was, Hermione’s advice wasn’t really very realistic. It wasn’t always possible for Harry to always be around other people. In the frenzy between classes and meals, he often got separated from his friends.

After a particularly rough double Potions, Harry realized he had forgotten to put the scroll with his homework assignment in his bag. He told Neville he’d catch up with him and retraced his steps.

The dungeon classroom was empty. Harry quickly slipped inside and reached his desk. The surface was clean. Harry crouched down and looked around on the floor. The parchment had rolled under the next table. He grabbed it.

Just then, Harry heard someone talking.

“Bloody creature, doesn’t know the difference between an intruder and someone who’s feeding it.”

Harry froze. The voice belonged to Snape.

From the doorway, Snape’s tall form emerged. He moved towards his desk, limping and the reason why was his right leg.

Snape pulled his robes above the knees. His right trouser leg was torn and his pale skin was slashed and bleeding.

“How is anyone supposed to keep track of all three heads at once?” Snape muttered. He was dabbing at the wounds, which even from Harry’s position on the floor, he could clearly tell they were teeth-marks.

Harry swallowed. His head hit the underside of the table.

Snape grew rigid. “Who’s there?” His voice was sharp and cold.

Harry held his breath, but it was too late. Snape saw him.

“POTTER!”

Harry hit his head again as he crawled out and stood, almost dropping his parchment.

Snape’s eyes were burning, his face contorted with anger. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, hastily covering his leg with his robes.

Harry held up the parchment scroll. “H-homework,” he squeaked.

Snape’s hands clenched. “Get out.”

Harry’s legs felt like they were bolted to the stone floor.

“Get out NOW!” Snape roared.

Harry turned and ran as if all of Hell was after him and he didn’t slow down until there were at least two floors between him and the dungeons. Only then did he stop and gasp for air. Harry wiped his damp forehead on his sleeve.

Snape was not only after him, but he was also after whatever was hidden on the third floor corridor.

† † † †

Snape was livid with rage. He had no way of knowing how long the boy had been in the classroom when he had returned, but by the expression that had been on his face, he knew Harry Potter had seen his wounded leg.

And he had guessed where the wound had come from. Harry’s mouth had formed the word “Fluffy.” It had almost been audible.

Harry had been to the forbidden third floor corridor. He had seen the dog, the beast Hagrid had affectionately named “Fluffy.”

Snape worked on his anger as he limped to his office. He needed to fix up his leg before anything else. It would be best to have Madam Pomfrey look at the bites, but he was not going to traipse all the way up to the hospital wing dripping blood.

Snape reached his office. He had bandages and restorative elixir in his supply cupboard. He began cleaning his leg. Considering the size of the dog’s fangs, it was amazing his leg was still in one piece. His anger cooled slightly as he worked.

If he hadn’t been taken by surprise, Snape would have given him detention, even though the boy had every right to be in the classroom.

To be sure, he had no proof that Harry had really been up to the locked corridor. No real evidence. Just a hunch and the look on his face. If he had been… Potter would be in for it.

Snape wasn’t really thinking of broken rules at this point. He was thinking of the dog. And the boy. The dog could kill him in seconds. It had three times the advantage with those three heads. It had been trained to guard the trapdoor and it wouldn’t take pity on a child or three children. Snape doubted very much that Harry had been alone. He went everywhere with Weasley and Granger these days. The girl at least had common sense, but the boys…

He secured the end of the bandage with a tap from his wand. Another swish of the wand and everything went back neatly into the supply cupboard which locked itself.

Snape left the dungeons in a hurry. He had one thought. To find Harry Potter. Snape didn’t see him anywhere in the castle. He threw on his cloak and headed outside.

He spotted the boy on the edge of the courtyard. He was with Weasley and Granger, all wrapped up in scarves and thick cloaks against the cold. They were huddled close together, whispering.

A flash of annoyance came over Snape. He marched towards them, trying to keep his limp to a minimum. The trio looked up and conversation ceased. Harry was holding a book.

“Potter!” Snape barked.

Harry’s face momentarily looked frightened.

“What book do you have there?”

Harry Potter looked up at Snape. The fear slowly morphed into something else. There was a glint in his bright eyes behind those glasses. “Quidditch, sir,” he replied, as if he were challenging him.

Snape’s eyes went to the book and back to the boy’s face. There was a touch of defiance there. Snape felt an urge to crush it, but he couldn’t very well take points off for Harry’s facial expression. In the end he said, “Library books normally should not leave the school building. I’ll let it slide this once. Damage the book and I’ll take five points off Gryffindor. Understand, Potter?”

Harry stared back at him. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, professor.”

“Good.”

Snape then turned and left without another word.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 9:

Winter Woes

As the weather grew colder and the winter season was fast approaching, Harry began to have other things on his mind besides Professor Snape.

Quidditch season was over until after Christmas. Now snow was lingering in the air and the Hogwarts castle had become drafty and the stone floors icy. Harry took to wearing two jumpers and his House scarf all the time, but even those were not enough to keep him warm. The holes in the armpits didn’t help either.

The prospect of Christmas holidays did not fill Harry with delight as they were doing for everyone else.

All around him he heard chatter of family trips and decorations, presents and Christmas trees. Even Ron was talking favourably about time with his six siblings.

“It’ll be a nightmare at first,” he said, “but Mum’ll get Fred and George in order with threats about not letting them eat Christmas dinner. Usually works.”

Hermione’s family plans sounded nice and calm.

“Just the three of us. Nothing exciting.”

Nothing exciting and just sitting around a cheery fire with people he liked sounded wonderful to Harry. He was dreading going back to Privet Drive.

“It will just be like any other year,” he informed Ron and Hermione during dinner.

“Couldn’t you just hide out in your room and avoid them, maybe?” Hermione suggested.

Harry shook his head. “Don’t have a room. Just a cupboard.”

“You sleep in a CUPBOARD?!” Ron exclaimed.

Hermione shushed him as heads swiveled in their direction. “Not so loud.”

“But a cupboard,” Ron said.

“I’m sure Harry is joking,” Hermione replied. “He must mean his room is the size of a cupboard.”

Harry felt his face grow red. “Er- no. I mean, I do have a room now,” he said hastily as Ron and Hermione stared, “It’s Dudley's second one. But he might be wanting it back.”

“What, two? What’s he need two rooms for?” Ron demanded. “One ain’t enough?”

Harry tried to shrug casually. “If he does want it, I’ll be back in the cupboard. I have a mattress in a cupboard under the stairs.”

“But, but, where do you keep your presents and stuff?” Ron whispered.

Harry pretended to be massively fascinated by his slice of steak and kidney pie as he mumbled, “I’ve never gotten presents.”

“WHAT?!” Ron exclaimed as Professor Snape walked past. “NO PRESENTS?!”

“RON!” Hermione scolded.

“Not unless you count clotheshangers or old socks,” Harry said under his breath. He wanted to melt into the table.

“But- but,” Ron gasped, “A cupboard and now no presents? What sort of villains are these Muggle relatives of yours?”

“We don’t know them, Ron,” Hermione said. “They could be very nice, but poor. After all they are Harry’s family.”

“Well, MY family’s not exactly wealthy, but Mum and Dad don’t make us sleep in cupboards or give us old socks,” Ron retorted hotly.

Hermione sniffed.

Harry swallowed, sorry he had brought any of this up.

Hermione put her evening copy of The Daily Prophet aside. “Are they nice, Harry?” she asked with concern.

Harry couldn’t look at her. “No, they’re not very nice at all.”

The trio fell into an embarrassed silence as Harry began to imagine a very bleak and dismal Christmas at the Dursleys.

† † † †

Snape’s general mood had not improved as the cold weather wore on.

Ever since the first Quidditch match, he had been quietly on the boil. The Christmas holidays were looming and Snape was thinking with drudgery of the prospect of students staying over. At least he didn’t have to teach over the holidays. The Christmas season filled Snape with a certain amount of foreboding. Halloween had fortunately only lasted a day. Christmas, however, lasted for almost an entire month. Already the ghosts were humming carols and there was excited talk about the possibility of snow.

Snape was ready for it all to be over and January to arrive.

And it seemed he wasn’t the only one.

While his friends compared holiday plans, little Harry Potter looked miserable. Even though he didn’t want to, Snape couldn’t avoid noticing the threadbare, over-sized clothes Harry wore under his robes and how his pair of glasses were held together with sticky tape and had been ever since he had arrived at Hogwarts.

Snape also noted now rarely he spoke of home. Contrary to what he would have expected of a Potter, the boy didn’t brag about anything, be it privileges he enjoyed at home, pocket money or any special treatment. Snape recalled the way the boy had eaten the first night, not exactly as though he had been starved, but malnourished. He saw no physical signs of abuse, at least none that were outwardly visible. But as Snape himself knew so well, not all wounds were visible.

Snape was beginning to suspect Harry’s life wasn’t the glittering backstory of a gifted beloved hero as he had thought. And Snape didn’t know what to do with this startling insight.

He couldn’t help overhearing- as indeed half the Great Hall had heard- Ron Weasley’s shocked outburst during dinner one cold evening. In spite of Hermione Granger’s urgent shushing, Snape heard plain enough.

It sounded as though Harry Potter’s relatives treated him no better than a dog. And an unwanted dog at that.

Snape glanced sharply at Harry’s face as he went past.

If the boy had been lying, Snape would had expected him to shrug it off and declare that he was bearing up under his hardships the best he could. Instead, Harry had said nothing and looked wretched.

In Snape’s experience, an arrogant child always laughed off their supposed troubles and did not look mortified. Harry Potter looked as if the whole school had just seen him in nothing but his underwear.

Hermione Granger tactfully changed the subject away from Harry but not before Snape caught Harry’s reply about his aunt, uncle and cousin.

“No… they’re not very nice at all.”

And it had been said in a truthfully miserable tone.

Snape meditated on this. Was it perhaps possible that Harry was not the spoiled, privileged child he had assumed and was instead just an ordinary boy? The thought shocked Snape.

Nonsense.

Harry was James Potter’s son. Had he not already showed a rebellious inclination? Had he not shown a certain spark of arrogance in his answers in class? Of course, Snape reminded himself, he hadn’t always asked things in the most kind way.

If Snape was completely honest with himself, he had to admit he was seeing less of James Potter in Harry and more of… himself.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 10:

Christmas Joys

“I don’t have to go back! I don’t have to go back!”

Harry was thrilled. He had just found out he didn’t have to spend Christmas with the Dursleys. If he got permission, he could remain at Hogwarts over the holidays. Harry wasted no time. He wrote a note and sent it off with his owl Hedwig.

The answer was short and quick.

Yes.

Harry gave a whoop of joy, nearly plowing into Professor Snape on his way to find Hermione and Ron.

“Watch where you’re going, Potter,” Snape said distractedly.

Harry was too excited to care.

“I’m going to sign up right away,” he said as he walked with Ron and Hermione to their next class, who shared his excitement equally.

“Mum and Dad changed their plans, so I’m staying too!” Ron grinned.

Harry grinned all the more.

“I wish I didn’t have to go home now,” Hermione moaned.

“What’s this about not going home?” came a drawling voice.

The trio looked up to see Draco Malfoy and his two cronies Crabbe and Goyle. Harry instantly wanted to yank out his wand and belt them with some hexes.

“Nothing for you to know about, Malfoy,” he said coldly.

A wicked grin spread on Draco’s face. “You know,” he said loudly, “I pity anyone who has to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas because they’re not wanted at home. Don’t you?”

Harry glared at Malfoy. Ron looked ready to punch him.

“Excuse me, Mr Malfoy, but don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

All of them jumped. Malfoy whipped around.

Standing directly behind him was Professor Snape, his arms crossed.

Malfoy tried to look innocent. “Professor! Er…”

“Did you hear me, Malfoy?” Snape asked in his low voice.

“Yes, sir. We were just moving along. Come on, guys.”

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle quickly left.

Hermione, Ron and Harry looked up at Snape, unsure of what to say.

“Enjoy your holidays,” Snape said. “And do try and stay out of trouble,” he added. Then he turned and was gone in a swish of black robes.

“That was weird,” Ron said.

Harry shrugged.

Hermione said, “Maybe the Christmas season is getting to him, too.”

Soon the only thing occupying Harry’s mind was Christmas.

The Great Hall was decorated with no less then twelve giant fir trees brought in by Hagrid. The ghosts were wearing Dickens-style attire and singing lively carols as they drifted through walls. Even the teachers were getting into the spirit of things.

Professor McGonagall wore a sprig of holly on her emerald green robes. Even Professor Quirrell seemed to be trying to be jolly.

The only person in the whole school who wasn’t enjoying himself was Professor Snape. Not that Harry was at all surprised. The professor seemed to be gloomier than ever as the festivities carried on around him. Harry almost felt sorry for him.

Maybe he’s never had a good Christmas? Harry thought, then shook the idea away as Snape snapped at a Ravenclaw girl for giggling too loudly in the halls. Maybe Snape had just always been this way.

† † † †

Christmas morning dawned cold and clear and full of merriment for everyone except for Severus Snape.

Early in the morning, the gleeful sounds of children could be heard throughout the castle, echoing from the Gryffindor Tower down to the dungeons.

Snape dressed quickly and made his way outside. It was still dark, but the early gray light of dawn could be seen on the edge of the horizon. Owls swooped over the forbidden forest, heading back to the owlery. A thin blanket of fresh snow had fallen during the night.

Snape’s boots crunched over the frost. He had gotten into the habit of this early morning walk eleven years ago. It focused his mind and worked off some emotion he otherwise would take out on the people around him. More than the usual amount of unsaid feelings were churning inside him at these small hours.

He found himself glancing up at the lit windows of Gryffindor Tower, then questioning why he had done that. Snape pulled his cloak closer.

There was a low hoot. A large barn owl swooped down and landed on Snape’s outreached arm. The bird hooted again as Snape stroked its feathers. The owl looked at Snape with its big black eyes, clicking its beak happily. The owl then took off for the owlery and Snape returned to the warm interior of Hogwarts.

Breakfast had begun. Snape joined the other teachers at the great table. Many of them looked as if they would rather be sleeping. The scattering of students at the other tables were the opposite. They were wide awake, laughing and full of life, as they hardly ever were for any of their classes, least of all Potions. Most of them were either in Muggle clothes or still in pajamas.

At the Gryffindor table, Snape saw a small group of redheaded Weasleys. In the middle sat Harry Potter. They were all wearing jumpers in varying colours with the first letter of their names stitched on the front. Snape guessed these had been knit by Mrs Weasley.

Even Harry was wearing one and as opposed to Ron Weasley, seemed to be delighted with it. Harry’s jumper was a deep green. He kept looking down as he ate, and fingering the wool, as though making sure it was still there. 

Between he and Weasley was a chessboard. From Snape’s point of view, it appeared that Weasley was winning, as a knight of his flung a pawn of Potter’s across the board. Harry didn’t seem to mind at all. He was laughing.

Snape continued to watch Harry throughout the day. The boy was the happiest Snape had ever seen him, even happier than when he was on a broomstick playing Quidditch. He and Weasley spent hours playing Wizard’s Chess in the Great Hall with the fire roaring and the light reflecting off all the Christmas baubles and the icicles sparkling on the trees.

“This has been amazing,” Snape heard Harry say.

“Yeah, not bad at all,” Ron Weasley agreed, snacking on a box of Every Flavour Beans. His pet rat Scabbers was snoozing in the middle of the chessboard.

Harry took a handful of Beans.

“Good day, Harry?” Ron asked.

“It’s the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” Harry said with a grin.

Snape looked away from the cheery scene.

Though he didn’t know why, something inside him ached.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 11:

Reflected Desires

Ever since the Quidditch match, Snape had found himself worrying for Harry’s safety. Before Christmas Day came to a close, he found another reason to worry.

Darkness had again fallen and everyone had gone to bed. Except for Snape. He was patrolling the corridors, particularly the ones on the third floor. He didn’t trust Quirrell even if he was one of the teachers assisting Dumbledore, as also was Snape. He also didn’t trust Harry Potter to not wander up there again. The boy had an irritating amount of curiosity.

Snape found the third floor empty. Even the portraits were snoozing.

Then a nightmarish scream echoed off the stone walls. It came from the library.

Filch met Snape in the next corridor. Filch’s nasty smirk told all.

“We’ve got one, Professor,” he said. “Found this in the Restricted Section.”

He held up an extinguished lantern. One whiff showed it had recently been lit.

Snape felt a mixture of panic and anger.

Potter.

If Harry was up at this hour in the library, he could only be searching for the answer of what was hidden on the third floor.

“They can’t be far,” Snape growled and quickly headed towards the library.

As he and Filch turned the corner, something brushed by Snape’s hand. He saw nothing and went on, but with a nagging feeling at the back of his mind.

The library was dark and still, not a soul to be seen. The Restricted Section, however, showed signs of having been disturbed.

Broken glass littered the carpet where Filch had discovered the lantern. One large book was not pushed in all the way on the lowest shelf. Snape shoved it in with a finger.

“Damn,” he muttered.

“Don’t you worry, Professor,” Filch assured him. “If a student’s out of bed, I’ll catch 'em.”

Snape had no doubt of it. He left the caretaker to that task.

On his way back to his office, Snape noticed a door in the corridor by the suit of armour. The door was slightly ajar.

The feeling of brushing past something there returned to Snape. It had felt like fabric; a strange liquid fabric. Like the material of an invisibility cloak.

Snape silently entered the room. Chairs and desks were piled off to the side and in the center of the room was the Mirror of Erised. Its great gold frame looked very much out of place in the dusty classroom.

In front of the mirror stood a small boy in pajamas. His black hair was untidy and around his feet lay a silvery cloak.

Harry Potter’s face was reflected in the glass. Even in the gloom, Snape could clearly see the expression of his face. It was awash with joy and sadness.

Harry reached out and touched the mirror. “Mum? Dad?” he whispered.

Snape had no idea how long he stood there in the room with Harry, almost frozen to the spot as the boy stared at what he saw in the glass.

At last Harry leaned towards the mirror and softly said, “I’ll be back.”

Snape came to life and stepped out of sight as Harry threw on the cloak and vanished. Snape felt him walk past and saw the door edge open and then shut. Harry’s footsteps faded.

Snape moved towards the mirror. There was a touch of guilt settling over him, as when someone overhears a great secret. Snape knew how the Mirror of Erised worked. It showed neither the past nor the future, neither wisdom or truth. The mirror would of course show the refection of the person standing before it, but it would also show much more. As the very name said, it showed not the face, but the heart's desire. It had showed Harry the family he had never known and would never be able to.

Snape stopped directly in front of the mirror. He knew exactly what he would see without having used the mirror in the past, even with the knowledge of it being in the castle. Even he had hidden desires.

Snape’s reflection stared back at him; a tall, thin man with a hooked nose and pale face who was trying to hide behind his curtains of greasy hair and black robes.

And in the mirror, a woman stood beside him. She had dark red hair and bright green eyes. The same green eyes that Snape saw every day in Harry Potter. She was the same woman Harry had seen in the mirror.

Lily.

Snape wanted to look away, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her face. The face he hadn’t seen for over eleven long, painful years.

The woman put her arm around his reflection, her hand on his shoulder. Snape automatically put his hand there, even though he knew he would only find air.

The woman smiled at him sadly, tears gleaming on her face. Snape never cried. Only the weak cried. And yet, his own face was wet. He reached out and touched the glass, drawing an oval around the face he would never see again in this lifetime.

Snape was seeing something he could never have, never touch, yet longed for so much it still hurt him very deep inside. The greatest desire of his heart, which he could not obtain, because of the choices he had made. For a moment, a shadow of deep remorse overcame him completely.

A slight sound came from the hall. Snape shut his eyes and turned away from the mirror.

Mrs Norris, Filch’s cat, stood by the door, her tail twitching slowly. Her large eyes looked up at him.

“Shoo!” Snape hissed at her. “There is nothing for you in here.”

The cat blinked at him.

“Go,” Snape said.

The cat obeyed and trotted off down the corridor.

Snape went in the opposite direction, shutting the classroom door behind him. His feet led him not to the dungeons but to the headmaster’s office.

Snape muttered the password and the stone griffon leapt out of the way, revealing the entrance. At the top of the spiral stairs, Snape knocked on the door. Albus Dumbledore’s voice answered.

Snape found him sitting behind his desk, in cap and dressing gown.

“Ah, Severus,” he said. “What brings you here at such a late hour?”

Snape explained, leaving out the part about the lantern in the Restricted Section. The headmaster did not appear at all surprised about Harry’s nighttime escapades.

“I wondered how long it would be before a student stumbled upon that mirror. I’m sure Harry will return again.”

“Should I detain him?”

“Oh no no, let him. Another night will do no harm. The mirror will be moved in a few days as it is.”

Snape shifted uncomfortably. Dumbledore’s eye caught the movement.

“You looked as well, I gather?”

Snape nodded, his gaze downcast.

“We cannot change the past, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “But we can alter the future by our own actions. The heart does not change willingly, but it can change.”

Snape felt the harsh truth of his words and wished he didn’t.

Was he willing to change?

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 12:

The Quidditch Referee

As if Harry’s worries weren’t enough already, he started to have nightmares. He had been convinced by Professor Dumbledore to not try and find the Mirror of Erised anymore, but now he had his parents’ faces etched in his mind.

Each night they would vanish in a burst of green light and evil chilling laughter.

Hermione said it was a warning. Ron said it was scary. Harry wasn’t sure what it was, except that he was no longer sleeping well at all.

Harry needed more sleep than usual, for when term started again after the holidays, so did the Quidditch season. Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain had the team practicing every spare hour. Harry began to feel as if his knees were permanently glued to his broomstick.

They practiced until it was almost too dark to see on the pitch, in the bitter cold and freezing rain, until Harry was convinced all seven of them would die out there and still Wood would make their ghosts practice.

The positive was that Harry was getting better and better at the game. His reflexes were faster. And Quidditch distracted him from classes, nightmares and Snape.

Until Oliver Wood made an announcement.

Snape was going to be refereeing the match against Hufflepuff.

George and Fred Weasley fell off their brooms.

“WHAT?!” George sputtered.

“When’s he ever refereed a match?” Fred demanded. “No way will he be fair to Gryffindor!”

“Look, men, I didn’t arrange it. So don’t gang up on me,” Wood said.

Harry felt his hands get clammy. He wiped them on his robes.

“ Snape referring?” he muttered.

Snape hadn’t succeeded in killing him off in the first game. Was this his chance to try again?

Harry’s stomach clenched. At least he could ask Hermione and Ron to be ready with their wands, just in case.

Yet as the day of the match drew closer, Harry only grew more worried.

† † † †

Snape was angry. Very angry. This time it was not aimed at Harry Potter, nor at any students, but at himself. He had let his feelings show. He had gotten involved.

But there was no backing out now. He was too involved.

Snape stalked out onto the Quidditch pitch the day of the game with a broomstick in his hand and a snarl on his face.

There were few things Snape disliked more than flying, but still he mounted his broom along with the two teams.

How had Snape gotten himself in this position? He looked over at the crowded stands and saw Albus Dumbledore sitting in the teacher’s box. Dumbledore caught his eye and smiled.

Snape had confessed to the headmaster about his fears for Harry and what had happened at the last game. Dumbledore said he would attend the next game and had also suggested Snape referee. Snape had wanted to do anything but that. Anything else. Yet he hadn’t be able to refuse, much to his irritation.

So here he was, straddling a broomstick on the Quidditch field with a whistle around his neck on a lanyard and holding the Quaffle.

Snape glared at the players of each team, daring any of them to commit as much as a foul while he was watching them. Anything at all and both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff would find themselves having points knocked off.

Little Harry Potter stared back at him, matching his stare with equal disdain. Why was Snape doing this? He grew more angry.

He tossed the Quaffle skyward and the players sprang to life.

Snape had a task before him; keeping his eyes on the players zooming in every direction and on the crowds below. He was keeping a close eye on the one person he suspected…

Snape dodged out of the way of a Bludger sent in his direction by George Weasley. Snape blew his whistle and awarded the Hufflepuffs a penalty.

Snape glanced upwards as Harry circled. Down in the stands, he noticed Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy locked in a fistfight. Neville Longbottom seemed to be trying to battle Malfoy’s two cronies by himself. Snape gave another penalty to Hufflepuff just because he was feeling mean enough.

Seconds later, Harry streaked by Snape, missing him by mere inches as he dove after a flash of gold.

Then quite suddenly, the boy was balancing perfectly on his broom, the Golden Snitch clasped victoriously in his fist.

Snape blew his whistle.

The spectators erupted.

The game had lasted less than five minutes, and Gryffindor had again claimed victory.

Snape kept his nasty thoughts to himself as the players landed and the cheers pelted the air. He saw Dumbledore speak to Potter while Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were cheering, Weasley’s nose bleeding heavily and Malfoy nearby scowling with a black eye. Longbottom was out cold.

At least no one had tried to harm Harry Potter. Snape was angry that he even cared. Why should he care? But he couldn’t just stand by and let a student be hurt or killed, could he?

Snape dismounted his broom feeling more mixed up and irritated than ever. He caught sight of Quirrell. He looked nervous as ever and maybe a little disappointed. Snape made up his mind. Whatever Quirrell was up to, he’d have to get through him. And Snape could be as unforgiving as a stone wall, and just as stubborn as a mule.

With bitterness, Snape spat on the ground, narrowly missing his boots.

He didn’t care. Hate was still coursing through him, but there was something else there as well, something which was possibly even stronger.

If anyone wanted to harm Harry Potter, they would have to get through Severus Snape first. He was determined that harm would never come. Even if he had to resort to shadowing Potter day and night if necessary.

The boy wasn’t going to die on his watch.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 13:

Secrets and Dragons

Each time Harry saw Snape, he was sure he knew.

Ever since Hermione had found Nicolas Flamel in her library book, Harry knew that what was hidden beneath the trapdoor the three-headed dog was guarding had to be the Philosopher's Stone. Snape was after it and he knew Harry knew.

Perhaps it was just Harry imagining it, but Snape seemed to be everywhere he went. In the halls and on the stairs. In the library and on the lawn. Outside the classrooms or appearing through a door hidden behind a tapestry. Every time Harry looked over his shoulder, he saw him.

Snape’s mood was just as foul as ever. He had grown meaner since refereeing the Quidditch match.

This might have been because he hadn’t been able to kill him, Harry thought, but it was more likely due to Quirrell. Harry had overheard Snape threatening the timid stuttering professor after the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Was Snape trying to force Quirrell into helping him steal the Stone?

“That has to be it,” Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione as he watched Snape during Potions.

“Yeah. Let’s ask Hagrid about the Stone later,” Ron replied, weighing out crushed beetle wings.

“Weasley!” Snape snapped. “Less talking, more working. Or Gryffindor will find itself ten points less.”

“Yes, sir!”

Ron tried to work more speedily and ended up spilling his jar of beetle wings everywhere. Harry quickly helped him before Snape could come up with another reason to take away points.

Harry had another excuse for wanting to visit Hagrid. He needed a break from homework. End of term exams were still months away, but all the teachers had piled on so much extra work, Harry barely had time to think about anything else. Except Snape and the Stone, and Hagrid and his dragon.

When Hagrid had told them about the dragon, Harry, Hermione and Ron had all had the same reaction. If anyone found out, Hagrid would be fired. Keeping dragons was illegal for obvious reasons. It was dangerous.

Hagrid was too blissfully in love with baby Norbert to care.

“You’ve got to get him out of here!” Harry begged.

“He’s going to get huge,” Ron said.

“Please, Hagrid,” Hermione added. “Someone will find out!”

Someone already knew about the dragon. Draco Malfoy had seen it. Harry could tell by the smirk on his face and by how Malfoy would lean in close any time he heard the trio talking about Hagrid.

Then Ron got bit by the dragon. Ron tried to hide it, but when the wound swelled and his hand turned green, he had to go to the hospital wing.

That was the last straw. Norbert had to go. Ron arranged with his brother Charlie for the dragon to be picked up from the top of the astronomy tower at midnight on Saturday. It would be risky. They could be caught, but even Hermione agreed it was the best solution.

Between Malfoy, Snape and the dragon, Harry wasn’t sure which was the worst. If the dragon didn’t get them expelled, then Snape would.

In the meantime, Draco Malfoy would try his best to get Ron and Harry in trouble. Ron almost strangled Draco once, but Hermione and Harry had pulled them apart just before Professor Snape came on the scene.

It took all of Harry to be civil to Snape when he was sure the man was spying on them. Harry was counting the days. Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

† † † †

Snape was still trying to fight himself without any success. He could no longer deny the anxiety he felt for the well being of a certain boy. He didn’t have to be happy about it, however.

He snarled at everyone and took points off Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor any chance he got. Making everyone else around him miserable didn’t help him. He growled at Harry Potter during Potions, reminding him to pay attention. But even Potter’s lack of concentration wasn’t Snape’s main problem.

The boy seemed to have no regard for his own personal safety, whether he was sneaking around Hogwarts at night or concerning himself in matters which he shouldn’t. If the boy didn’t manage to get expelled before the start of the summer holidays, it was more likely he would find himself dead. But not if Snape could prevent it.

Snape was awakened late Saturday night by a sharp knock. He opened his door to find Minerva McGonagall in a tartan dressing gown and hairnet, holding Draco Malfoy firmly by the shoulder. Minerva was visibly fuming.

“I found him near the astronomy tower,” she said. “He could give me no real reason for being there.”

“Really?” Snape said.

“But, Professor, I told you-” Malfoy blurted.

“Shush!” Minerva scolded. “Now, I am going to leave him with you, Severus. Perhaps you can get the truth out of him. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Minerva.”

Snape lit a lamp. He had Draco Malfoy sit on the other side of his desk.

“Well, Malfoy?” Snape asked smoothly. “What is your story for being out of bed at half past midnight?”

Malfoy looked a little less cocky than usual. Even his hair looked less together, as it wasn’t slicked back, but fell messily over his forehead. This change might had been because Malfoy was alone, without those two bodyguard friends of his. Or maybe due to all those jars around Snape’s office filled with questionable things floating in coloured liquid.

Malfoy swallowed. “It was Potter, sir. He and Weasley were taking a dragon to the astronomy tower tonight!”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Really! I heard them talking with Granger. Hagrid has a baby dragon and they’re helping him get rid of it. I found this in a book of Weasley’s.”

Snape took the sheet of parchment from him. Snape didn’t let his face show any change of emotion as he read the letter.

“McGonagall took twenty points off Slytherin,” Malfoy grumbled. If he was hoping for sympathy from Snape, he was mistaken.

“Personally, I think she was perfectly right to do so,” Snape replied coldly.

Malfoy’s mouth dropped open.

“Obviously you thought you could fool her and get Potter into trouble.”

“But, Professor-”

“It doesn’t work on me either, Malfoy. Detention. Both for wandering the castle at night and attempting to hoodwink your teachers.”

“But, Professor, Harry Potter said-”

“That is enough, Malfoy. If you try anything else, I will personally take off another twenty points.”

“But, but, your own House-!”

“Even from my own House,” Snape said. “Now go straight to bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Draco Malfoy scurried out of Snape’s office as fast as he could go. Snape made sure he heard him go into the Slytherin common room before he himself left his office.

The note Malfoy had found was genuine. Snape recognized Charlie Weasley’s handwriting. And if there really was a dragon on the grounds…

Snape told Filch to be on the lookout for students, particularly Harry Potter. Filch was more than happy to help.

An hour later, Snape knew they had been caught. The gems in the giant hourglasses by the entrance hall had changed.

Gryffindor had lost a hundred and fifty points.

And Snape found an invisibility cloak forgotten on the top of the astronomy tower.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 14:

Detention

It was awful. Utterly awful. A hundred and fifty points lost from Gryffindor and detention on top of it.

Harry wasn’t sure how the news had leaked out, but by the next day everyone seemed to know who had lost the hundred and fifty points. All the points won at Quidditch. All lost in one night.

The other students stopped speaking to Harry. Even Ron, Hermione and poor Neville Longbottom found themselves avoided. Neville who had only been trying to warn them. To add to it, Harry had left his invisibility cloak up on the tower and exams were just around the corner.

The only two positives Harry could find were that the dragon was gone and Draco Malfoy had also gotten in trouble. But that was all.

Harry buried himself in homework. There was nothing else for it. It was as though all the magic had gone out of his life.

Even Quidditch wasn’t the same. Harry felt the humiliation of what his friends were enduring, being exiled by the others. And Harry knew it was all his fault.

The only teacher who treated him any differently was Professor Snape. Maybe it was because Snape was one of the few people who still addressed Harry by name instead of nothing at all or merely the “Seeker” as the Quidditch team had resorted to. Harry would have preferred if Snape didn’t speak to him at all. Harry was worried enough as it was about failing, never mind having Snape acting unnaturally.

When Harry added too much powdered snake fangs to his potion during class, he braced himself for an explosion from Snape.

Instead, Snape peered into Harry’s cauldron and calmly said, “Measure your ingredients a little more carefully, Potter.”

Harry looked up at him in confusion. Snape said nothing more. Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Harry wanted to whisper, but Hermione shook her head as Draco was watching.

Snape being nice? That was impossible. He hated Harry. It could only mean one thing. Snape had worn down Professor Quirrell at last. He had learned how to get past Fluffy and the Philosopher's Stone was no longer safe.

Harry kept a close eye on Snape. The man swept about in his usual gruff manner, keeping the students in his class under control with little effort.

But his harshness was less. And when Harry saw Quirrell next, he was certain Snape had succeeded.

Ron said they had to do something. “Before it’s too late!” he said urgently as they sat in the Gryffindor common room. “If we don’t, Snape will nab the Stone!”

“He still has to get by the dog, Fluffy,” Hermione pointed out. “It bit him once before, remember, and he doesn’t know how to tame it.”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “Snape got through Quirrell. He knows.”

“Then we have to DO something!” Ron cried.

Harry wanted to, but he couldn’t risk it. “We’ve lost too many points already.”

Snape and the Stone would have to wait. They had detention first.

† † † †

As the chilly weather wore on after the Easter holidays, the atmosphere in the castle grew decidedly cold. Rain pelted the windows and wind whistled around the doors.

However, the grumbling wasn’t because of the dreary weather. It was because Gryffindor had lost a hundred and fifty points without any explanation. Normally, Snape would have been pleased, as it put Slytherin in the lead for the House Cup. But he felt no pleasure.

Somehow, everyone seemed to know who had lost the points. The why was not of importance. In a day, the entire student body had turned on Harry Potter. Snape saw enough during meals and his classes to know. Everyone avoided Harry from the first years all the way up to the seventh years. From Gryffindor to Hufflepuff. The only ones speaking to him were Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley and even they were being shunned by their peers.

Snape firmly believed in punishing wrongs, but this was different. Harry Potter was being treated as if he were diseased.

Snape’s temper cooled slightly from boiling to simmering. He extended his concern by not shouting at Harry or even reprimanding him when he mixed up his ingredients incorrectly.

Still, Harry had broken the rules. Snape told no one about what he knew. The secret of Hagrid’s dragon would remain so with him. As would the invisibility cloak, until Snape gave it to Dumbledore.

But Harry and the others would serve detention. In view of how they had been wandering where they shouldn't have been, and at an hour when they should have been asleep, Snape and Minerva McGonagall decided it was fitting the children should accompany Hagrid into the forbidden forest.

Snape watched their faces the morning when the notes were delivered by owl. Hermione Granger almost looked relieved. Neville Longbottom and Potter had the same misery about them. Weasley seemed sympathetic.

Draco Malfoy’s reaction was more suppressed, but his face turned a shade of white.

At eleven o’clock that night, Snape was around to make sure the Slytherin met up with the three Gryffindors and Filch in the entrance hall.

The children were silent and drawn.

Filch was the only one enjoying himself. He was grinning as he lit a large lantern, almost humming in his delight.

There was nothing Filch liked more than a good punishment. If Filch had his way, the children would had been in the deepest dungeons, hanging from the ceiling by their thumbs for hours on end. There was no sound quite like agonized screams to show a delinquent was learning the errors of his ways, Filch would say.

Filch hated children even more than Snape did. However, even when he was at his worst, Snape had never threatened to chain students to a wall or whip them until they bled. Even Snape had his limit.

Filch held the lantern high, so shadows fell across his face eerily.

“All set?” he growled at the four children.

Snape saw them all swallow and nod.

“Right. Follow me.”

Filch opened the great doors. A rush of cold air came in, whipping everyone’s cloaks back.

“Just wait until my father hears about this,” Malfoy said in a loud voice as though he was trying to be brave.

“He’d tell you to stay in line,” Filch snarled.

Snape smiled to himself. If he knew Lucius Malfoy, and he knew him well, he knew he wasn’t going to be pleased with his son.

The thought gave Snape a distinct thrill of pleasure.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 15:

The Warning

As long as he lived, Harry was sure he would never forget that night in the forest. The prospect of detention was bad enough without meeting Filch. Harry had hoped the detention would be with Professor McGonagall.

Neville was almost white when he, Hermione and Harry put on their cloaks and left the Gryffindor common room.

Ron said he’d wait up for them. Harry could tell he was feeling terrible that he hadn’t gotten in trouble with them. But since he’d been in the hospital wing at the time, he couldn’t have helped it.

Neville was sniffling slightly as they walked to the entrance hall. At night, the castle took on a tone of eeriness; the torches casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Filch was waiting for them, along with Draco Malfoy, whom Harry was pleased to note looked just as nervous as he was. Filch got a lantern and then they were heading outside into the darkness.

Harry heard a sound and glanced over his shoulder just before the great doors shut. He caught sight of Snape’s retreating figure. Harry shivered.

Hagrid was solemn when they arrived at his hut, fitting an arrow on a giant crossbow. Malfoy’s whining about this being servant’s work got no sympathy from either Filch or Hagrid.

As they entered the forbidden forest, everyone was silent. The forest almost had a way of making them feel like they shouldn’t be there. And they shouldn’t have, except as punishment.

Harry was prepared to meet anything, from the werewolves Draco Malfoy was worried about to the centaurs they did come across. When it was just Harry, Malfoy and Fang, Hagrid’s boarhound, it was clear Malfoy was just as terrified as Harry, though he tried to hide it.

Then they saw the dead unicorn. The shimmering blood and the black-cloaked creature slithering towards it.

Malfoy’s scream of terror and Harry was suddenly left alone. What Harry remembered most of all was the pain. The strong, agonizing pain that shot through his scar and almost paralyzed his whole body.

The horrible long seconds as the cloaked creature advanced. The rescue by the centaur.

But most of all, Harry pondered the figure who had made his scar throb. The creature who had killed the poor unicorn. It had undoubtedly been Voldemort.

Ron was asleep in the common room when Harry, Hermione and Neville returned. Neville scurried off to bed. Harry and Hermione shook Ron awake.

“Huh? What?” Ron muttered.

“Ron! Ron! Wake up!” Harry said. “I saw him! I saw Voldemort!”

“What?!” Ron was instantly wide awake, his eyes as round as saucers. “You saw you-know-who? How? Where?”

Harry explained what he had seen and what Firenze the centaur had told him.

“If I’m right,” Harry said, pacing the rug, “Voldemort is the one killing the unicorns. Voldemort’s weak, but-”

“Stop saying his name,” Ron gasped.

“But, if he gets strong again,” Harry continued, “he could come back.”

Ron swallowed. “You mean like it was before? When you-know-who was in power?”

Harry nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean. And we’ve got to stop Snape.”

“What’s Snape have to do with this?” Hermione asked.

“Don’t you see?” Harry cried. “We thought Snape was hoping to steal the Philosopher's Stone for himself. But he doesn’t want it for himself.”

“Who’s he want it for?” Ron asked, but his face told he already knew.

“He wants the Stone for Voldemort,” Harry replied, leaving a chill in the air.

Snape working for Voldemort…

It was a very frightening thought.

† † † †

As the end of term exams descended, so did the warm weather. It was difficult for anyone to concentrate. The castle, normally cool and drafty, turned to hot and stifling. Even down in the dungeons, the air was less chilly, though it remained just as damp.

Since Snape spent most of his time in either his office or dungeon classroom, the change didn’t effect him so much.

But it did effect the students. They all seemed to be less talkative, more focused and by the pocketfuls of notes, it was obvious they were all studying hard for their exams.

Even Harry Potter. The boy worked feverishly on Potions, though Snape was sure Harry was also watching him closely.

Ever since he had served detention, Snape felt sure the boy looked at him differently. Almost with fear. When Snape caught his eye, Harry would colour and look away. Whenever Snape passed him in the hall or approached to examine the mixture in his cauldron, Harry immediately ceased talking, his face almost ashen.

What had induced this change, Snape did not know. What had happened in the forbidden forest was the business of Hagrid and those who had been there. Snape only knew it had to do with some abnormalities and he could even venture a guess the activities of the third floor corridor were involved.

How much Potter knew wasn’t the point. It was his safety.

The exams came in a landslide and buried everyone for a while, from the smallest student to Snape and Quirrell. Snape had little opportunity to watch Harry, as he would have dozens of parchments and potion samples to grade. He had a headache even before the exams were over and the students had a free week.

The castle became blissfully quiet as most of the children took advantage of the warmth and camped out on the grounds, enjoying the sun.

Snape and the other teachers spent all their time grading parchments. It was a tedious job and usually made Snape grumpier than ever.

He couldn’t concentrate. After trying to read the same sentence about the components of a Forgetfulness Potion for the sixth time, Snape rolled up the parchment and decided it was high time for a break. He shut his office door behind him.

Snape’s mind was not on grading papers. He wanted to talk, but to whom or of what he wasn’t certain.

He tried the headmaster’s office only to find Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe fresh air would help. Snape turned down another hall and ran into a trio of students whispering near the library.

It of course was Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Harry was speaking adamantly, the others listening closely.

“It has to be soon,” Harry said.

“But how can we-” Weasley started.

Then Hermione saw Snape and gasped.

The two boys whirled around.

Snape met their gawking stares calmly. “Good afternoon.”

Weasley and Granger turned red.

Snape folded his arms and slid his hands into the recesses of his robes.

“Now, I wonder why the three of you would be inside on a day like this,” he said, testing their reactions.

Was that guilt or determination on their faces?

Snape’s gaze went to Harry, who glared back at him from behind his glasses. Yes, that was determination. Snape’s reaction was to feel worry.

“You ought to be more careful,” he said, smoothly. “Hanging around like this, people might think you were up to something.”

Harry flushed, but he didn’t look away. Whatever this boy had just made up his mind to do, he was still going to do it.

Snape switched his tactics and went for a more threatening approach.

“If anything else happens, Gryffindor might find itself with no points at all. And your House can’t afford to lose any more, can it?”

Weasley made a noise like a squeak and Granger shook her head, but the other boy stood his ground.

“No, sir.” It was said with a resistant tone.

Snape took a step closer.

Harry didn’t flinch.

Snape narrowed his eyes.

“I warn you, Potter- if I catch you wandering at night again or stepping even one toe out of line, I will make sure you are expelled from Hogwarts. Personally.”

Whether the warning had its desired result or not, Snape didn’t stick around to see. He strode off with a cloud of vexation over him and an uneasy feeling in his chest.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 16:

Down the Trapdoor

Dinner the following evening was tense and silent. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in a little cluster away from the other Gryffindors, who were still actively ignoring them.

Harry couldn’t eat, as there was a tight knot in his stomach. He could tell Ron and Hermione felt the same. Ron, who normally went back for seconds, was picking idly at his food.

Harry kept sneaking glances at the Great Table. Professor Snape was staring at him. It wasn’t quite the look of hatred Harry had become used to, but those dark eyes gave him a chill down his back. Snape suspected something.

For once, Harry wasn’t bothered by the fact that no one was speaking to him, Hermione and Ron. It gave them a chance to plan. Because it was time to act.

“Are you sure about this?” Ron whispered as they walked to their common room.

“What if we’re caught?” Hermione asked nervously. “We could be expelled.”

“I don’t care,” Harry retorted. “Don’t you remember hearing about what it was like when Voldemort was in power?”

“Shh!” Ron cautioned.

“If he comes back, being expelled won’t matter then,” Harry said. “There won’t be any Hogwarts to be expelled from. If he gets the Stone, it’ll be over.”

“You mean…?” Ron breathed.

“I do. If he could have killed us in the forest, I think he would have.”

The trio were the only ones left in the corridor. A pair of voices reached their ears.

“B-b-but, Severus, I really d-don’t-”

“Yes, you do, Quirrell. You know very well what I mean.”

It was Snape.

Ron sucked in air and grabbed Harry and Hermione, pulling them quickly behind a statue as the voices drew closer.

The Potions Master swept down the hall with Quirrell directly on his heels. Snape’s face was red and he looked ready to commit first degree murder.

Harry flattened himself against the statue.

“I have nothing more to discuss on the subject,” Snape growled. “We shouldn’t even be speaking of the Stone where students could hear.”

“But, S-Severus-”

Snape suddenly twisted around and grabbed Quirrell’s robes, pushing him against the wall. Quirrell’s turban just stopped his head from slamming into the stone.

Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped breathing.

Snape moved in close to Quirrell and lowered his voice to an ice cold whisper.

“Not another word,” Snape hissed, pointing a finger at him. “You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirinus. And if you forget it, we might have to have another little chat soon, once you decide where your loyalties lie.”

Snape dropped Quirrell’s robes and strode off. Quirrell stood quite still, then he straightened his turban and also left.

Harry crept out from behind the statue. He looked back at Hermione and Ron. Their faces were pale, but their lips were set, eyes bright.

“You’re right, Harry,” Hermione said.

“We’ll go tonight,” Ron said firmly. “Better bring your invisibility cloak.”

† † † †

Snape’s worry did not decrease as one day turned into another. Even his threat of being thrown out of Hogwarts hadn’t had any effect on Harry Potter. The boy was almost as stubborn as Snape was, which made Snape aggravated. If being expelled or punished made no impression on the boy, it could only mean the situation was serious.

Snape spoke to no one, ate little at dinner and kept his eyes intently on the Gryffindor table. He was inattentive to everything else but that one black-haired boy sitting off with his two friends. Just the three of them, three small children plotting something very dangerous. Something Snape had to prevent.

Snape was on his way to his office when Quirrell cornered him. Snape had no patience left. He couldn’t deal with the stuttering professor and told him off, sincerely hoping he wouldn’t have to deal with him ever again.

The rest of the evening Snape spent pacing the stone floor of his office, letting the candles on his desk burn low.

What was Harry Potter up to? He already knew about the trapdoor and the three-headed dog. Was it possible he also knew of the Philosopher's Stone? Of course it was. Harry was that kind of boy. So what did Harry want with it?

Snape continued to ruminate even after the candles had become little stubs of wax.

Then it hit him. Harry thought he, Snape, wanted to steal the Stone. And Harry was going to prevent the theft.

Snape swore to himself and threw on his outer cloak.

Dumbledore hadn’t returned. His office was empty.

On the urge of a sudden impulse, Snape took a shortcut and went down a few staircases.

Quirrell’s room was vacant.

Snape’s heart skipped a beat. His suspicions were confirmed.

He ran to the owlery and threw open the doors, startling the few owls who were not out hunting. Screeches and indignant hoots greeted him. Snape barely paused to get his wind back.

“Hummel!” he called.

A ruffle of feathers and the large barn owl was perched at his elbow. Snape hastily scribbled out a note and tied it to the owl’s leg.

“Find Albus Dumbledore,” he told the owl. “He’s somewhere between here and the Ministry of Magic. Fly as fast as you can.”

The owl took off immediately.

Snape retraced his steps. His path took him by the corridor where the entrance to the Gryffindor common room was. The Fat Lady was snoozing in her frame. As Snape passed, she startled awake.

“Who’s that? Oh, Professor,” she yawned. “Isn’t it late?”

“Very,” Snape replied, ready to move on. Then he stopped. “Did any students leave the common room within the last few hours?”

The Fat Lady shook her head. “No, I don’t think so- but I was bothered a little earlier when my portrait swung open for no reason. I didn’t see anyone- why, is something wrong, Professor?”

Snape was already halfway down the corridor. He hiked up his robes and ran, his feet echoing in the silence.

There was no time to lose. Every second counted. He couldn’t stop, not even to get backup. They could already be dead.

Snape reached the third floor and he bolted for the forbidden corridor, only pausing to get a flaming torch off the wall.

His worst fears were realized. The door stood wide open.

Fluffy was on his feet, all three heads growling and jaws dripping drool. The trapdoor between his paws was broken and shattered, and on the floor lay a harp and Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 17:

Rescue

Snape had out his wand and pointed it at the harp. Soft music filled the air and the next moment, Fluffy’s growls had grown less and his eyelids drooped.

Snape bent and scooped up the invisibility cloak. His hand clenched around the slippery fabric. He stood. He was going to go after them.

A rush of air hit his ears moments before the remains of the trapdoor burst off its hinges.

Hermione Granger was on a broomstick with Ron Weasley. She jumped to the floor and Weasley tumbled off, unconscious.

Snape almost dropped his wand. “Granger!”

The girl gasped, her eyes widening when she saw him.

“Professor Snape!” Her voice was full of surprised horror as she tried to steady the limp Weasley. Weasley had a swollen, bleeding lump on his head.

Snape bent down. “What happened?”

“He- sacrificed himself- the-the queen captured him in the chess game- but, how can you be here? The-the Stone?” Granger stumbled over her words.

Snape ran a hand over Weasley’s temple. He was alive, just knocked out. Snape’s eyes went to the girl’s frightened face.

“Where is Harry Potter? He went after him, didn’t he?”

Hermione Granger was clearly terrified of Snape and couldn’t speak.

“Please, Miss Granger. His life may depend on it.”

“The final challenge,” she said timidly. “Your riddle. He-he told me to get Ron while he went on- but, Professor, if you’re here, who did Harry meet?”

Snape shook his head. He dug into his robes and pulled out a small bottle filled with purple liquid. He poured a few drops into Weasley's mouth.

“Take Weasley up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will know what to do for him,” Snape said. “And send Potter’s owl after Dumbledore. She might intercept him.”

“I was going to- yes, sir.” Granger nodded, supporting Weasley. “What will you do?”

Snape stowed his wand in his sleeve. “I will get Potter.”

“But-” Hermione said.

“Go!” Snape ordered.

She hurried off with the unconscious boy. Snape took the broomstick she had left. He mounted it and dove down the trapdoor opening.

The fleshy tendrils of the Devil’s Snare just brushed his feet as Snape sped on down the dark passages. The damp air whistled by his ears. A fluttering of wings became audible as Snape entered the high arched chamber filled with hundreds of flying keys.

Snape hovered midair, scanning his eyes over the keys. He spotted a large gold key, barely flying ten feet above the floor, one wing hardly moving, as it was bent in half.

Snape was not the greatest at flying. He had never been best friends with a broomstick, but he gripped the handle and bent forward.

Seconds later the key with the broken wing was stuffed into the keyhole and Snape was in the room with the giant wizard chessboard.

The white king turned and bowed to him. Snape told a black castling to leave and then took its place on the board. White made the first move with a pawn. Snape counteracted with a move of his own.

Severus Snape didn’t have the chess skills of Ron Weasley, but he knew how to play a good game of chess. All the while Snape was distinctly aware of time trickling away.

Once he thought he heard screams and nearly stepped off his square. The queen shook her head at him. A bishop was sacrificed as a result.

Finally it came to the last move. Snape captured the queen. The king threw his sword at Snape’s feet. The game was over.

The pieces bowed and Snape was off the chessboard and through the next door. There was no surprise waiting for him when he saw the fallen troll. Quirrell had a gift for dealing with trolls and knocking them out seemed to prove no problem to the man. Snape avoided the troll and entered the room with the last challenge, his own. Purple and black flames sprang up all around as soon as his hand left the door. Snape didn’t pause. He withdrew a small bottle from his cloak, which matched the very last one on the table. One swallow and ice flowed through him. He stepped through the flames unharmed and then he was there.

In the center of the chamber stood the Mirror of Erised.

And on the floor were Quirrell and Harry Potter.

Quirrell was attempting to strangle the boy, who was grabbing at Quirrell’s face. He screamed and Snape descended. Quirrell’s skin was red and blistering as Snape wrenched him off Harry. Harry was cut and bleeding, his jumper torn and his glasses nearly snapped in half. Grasped in his hand was the Philosopher's Stone.

Harry was nearly unconscious. Snape wasn’t sure if he even recognized him. The boy’s eyes rolled and Snape caught him just before he fell, and clutched the boy protectively to his chest, almost unaware that he did so.

“It’ll be alright, Harry,” Snape said before he could stop himself. “It’ll be alright.”

There was a whirl of activity. Snape looked up. Into the chamber hurried Albus Dumbledore, out of breath and with his wand in his hand.

The relief Snape felt at the sight of the headmaster wasn’t to be described. Visible relief settled over Dumbledore when their eyes met.

“Severus. Thank goodness,” Dumbledore said when he reached Snape’s side. “Your owl reached me just in time. And it seems you got to Harry just in time as well.”

Snape could say nothing and only nodded, looking down at Harry Potter’s face all covered with cuts and dried blood.

Dumbledore’s hand reached out and gently slipped Harry’s broken glasses from his face and placed them in Snape’s hand.

Snape looked up.

The old, wise eyes twinkled back at him.

“You take care of Harry. I will take care of the rest,” Dumbledore assured him.

Snape pocketed Harry’s glasses and lifted the senseless boy to his shoulder. He only looked back to see Quirrell’s still form on the ground and the headmaster bending over him. Quirrell was dead.

Snape was quickly out of the dungeon chambers and off to the third floor. Even with the added weight of little Harry Potter, he moved swiftly and using the castle’s passages and shortcuts to his advantage, Snape was quickly in the hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey was already up and fussing over Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

“I’m fine, honestly,” Granger was saying. “Just a few bruises, that’s all.”

“You’re staying here until the morning,” Madam Pomfrey was insisting.

“Madame Pomfrey,” Snape announced.

Hermione jumped.

The nurse turned his way.

“I have another patient for you.”

Snape took Harry from his shoulder and gently lowered him onto a spare bed. Hermione gave a cry and almost sprang forward. Madame Pomfrey tutted and the girl sat back on the bed.

“You rest now,” Pomfrey said. She began tending to Potter and cleaning his wounds.

Granger wiped a hand over her eyes and sniffed. Shyly, she looked up at Snape.

“He’ll be fine,” he said softly.

She sniffled again, then nodded her head.

Snape took another glance at Harry’s motionless face. His young face, still so much a little boy. The little boy who had almost died. Snape took Harry’s pair of glasses out of his pocket and set them on the table beside the bed, tugging the frame back into shape as he did so.

“You should go to bed, Professor,” Madame Pomfrey said. “All is under control here.”

Snape nodded, a wave of fatigue coming over him. His hand went towards Harry and stopped in midair.

The boy still looked too much like James, and with his eyes closed, with Lily's green eyes hidden, the resemblance was emphasized. Snape’s hatred threatened to reappear.

No, this wasn't James, Snape told himself, the last bit of dislike dissolving inside him. He reached out again and his fingers brushed Harry’s messy black hair, then he slowly and wearily limped down to his office in the dungeons.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 18:

Recovery and Discoveries

What Harry had expected when Hermione had gone back through the purple flames and he had stepped through the black fire wasn’t at all what he saw.

There was the Mirror of Erised in a large chamber and a lone figure standing before it. And it wasn’t Snape, but Quirrell.

“You?!” Harry cried in shock.

It couldn’t be Quirrell. The nervous, stuttering man hadn’t been the one who had tried to kill him. It had been Snape… hadn’t it?

Quirrell’s unpleasant smile shattered Harry’s convictions. The professor didn’t stutter when he spoke, he didn’t quiver like he had before. He was harsh, his voice cold.

It hadn’t been Snape who had tried to kill Harry at the Quidditch match. It had been Quirrell. It had been Quirrell all along.

“Snape saved me?” Harry couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true.

But then Quirrell laughed. “It doesn’t really matter,” he said coldly, “because I am going to kill you now.”

Harry was forced to stay and watch, unable to move while Quirrell examined the Mirror and talked of his master, Lord Voldemort.

The chilling voice that spoke into the air. “Use the boy.”

Harry looked into the Mirror and saw himself with the Philosopher's Stone. He felt the weight of the Stone in his jeans pocket.

Then the horrifying revelation of the mystery of Quirrell’s turban and being face to face with Voldemort. The colourless, inhuman face on the back of Quirrell’s head.

Harry would not give him the Stone. Never, never, not even if the choice was that or death.

Harry barely had a chance to react when Quirrell leapt on him. Harry screamed, then Quirrell was the one who was screaming as Harry’s hands caused him to burn.

Harry’s scar was splitting with pain, his head throbbing. He could barely see. He felt someone pull him away from Quirrell’s grasp, arms lift him. A voice saying his name. Harry grasped at the arms that held him tight. The Stone began to slip from his hand.

Then darkness overcame him.

Complete darkness.

† † † †

Harry awoke on white linen sheets. He found his glasses on a side table piled high with cards, notes and so many sweets it looked like the whole contents of the trolley from the Hogwarts Express.

“Good afternoon, Harry.” Professor Dumbledore was smiling at him from the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Harry sat up, so many questions bubbling up inside of him at once. The Stone. Professor Quirrell. Voldemort.

“One at a time, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “All will be told. A lot has happened the three days you’ve been in the hospital wing. Firstly, Professor Quirrell did not get the Stone.”

“Then how-”

“I have it.”

“Then you came!” Harry cried. “Hedwig reached you!”

“I’m afraid she must have just missed me. I arrived at the Ministry of Magic only to be met by a large barn owl. I came back at once. I must say your friends will be most relieved to know you are well. Your admirers seem to be many, judging by this array of goodies.”

Dumbledore swept his hand over the cards and gifts with a smile.

“What happened to you is a great secret, so quite naturally the whole school knows.”

Harry had to smile, but he hadn’t any thoughts for the chocolate just yet.

“So it was you who saved me from Quirrell,” Harry said.

To his surprise, Dumbledore shook his head.

“Professor Quirrell, and no, Harry, it wasn’t me. I arrived almost too late. For one terrible moment, we feared the worst, but fortunately for you, there was another who got there ahead of me.”

Harry stared, his mouth dry. … Another? “Who, sir?”

“Professor Snape.”

“SNAPE?!” Harry blurted. “But, but, how-?”

“It was his owl who met me in London, just as I realized the place I should be was here,” Dumbledore said serenely.

Harry’s mind was swirling. He couldn’t understand it.

The Stone. Quirrell. And most of all, Snape.

“Quirrell said-” Harry began.

“Professor Quirrell, Harry,” Dumbledore corrected. “He still deserves the respect of his title, though fallen from it.”

“Sorry. Professor Quirrell said that Professor Snape saved my life during the Quidditch match.”

The headmaster nodded. “Yes, he did.”

“But, why would he do that?” Harry said. “Snape hates me! I know he does.”

Dumbledore sat down at the end of Harry’s bed. “It is true that Severus and your father were not great fans of each other,” he replied. “In fact, they rather hated each other.”

“They did?” Harry sat up more.

“Mmm.” Dumbledore was looking over the collection of gifts on the side table. “You look just like your father did at your age. I think it was a bit of an unpleasant shock for Professor Snape.”

Harry thought of the hatred he had seen in Snape’s eyes during the start of term feast. So that was why.

“But, I’m not my dad… I don’t think,” Harry said.

“No indeed,” Dumbledore smiled. “But sometimes we let our emotions blind us and influence our actions. It takes something significant for us to change.”

Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose with his fingers, noticing the plasters on his face and bandages on his hands and arms as he did.

Snape really had saved his life. Snape who had done everything he could to mock and humiliate him.

Harry thought a little more. Snape hadn’t always talked to him in a nasty way or looked at him with a sneer. The evening before Harry, Ron and Hermione had gone down the trapdoor, when Snape had stopped them in the corridor… had he been trying to warn them out of interest for their safety instead of protecting himself? And those other times when Snape had seemed to be following him. Could he have in reality been looking out for him?

Harry tried to picture Snape differently, but all he could see was the tall, dark Potions Master with a brooding frown, swooping around in black robes.

“I don’t get it, sir,” Harry said. “How can it, I mean-?”

Dumbledore reached over into the pile of sweets and came up with a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

“You know, Harry,” he mused. “People are just like these Every Flavour Beans. Sometimes they look very nice and inviting, like this one here,” he held up a bright green bean, “but turn out to be nasty inside. For instance, I had the misfortune to eat a vomit-flavoured one in my youth. On the other hand, there are some beans which are rather plain on the outside and hide unexpected flavours, or are the complete opposite of what you might think.”

Dumbledore picked through the box and came up with a bean that looked like mould.

“What do you think this one might be?” he asked Harry.

Harry made a face. “Um, liver, maybe?”

Dumbledore studied the bean closely before popping it in his mouth. “Ah, marshmallow.”

“So… are you saying Snape is like a Bertie Bott’s Bean?” Harry asked in confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense, Professor.”

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. “It is true Snape couldn’t stand your father, but once your father did something Snape really couldn’t stand. He saved his life.”

“He did? Is that why Snape saved mine?”

“Perhaps, Harry. He could have viewed it as repaying the debt.”

Harry leaned forward. “But, he saved my life twice. Why would he do it twice if the debt was already paid?”

Dumbledore stood, rearranging the Every Flavour Beans box in among Harry’s get-well cards. “Perhaps you can ask him yourself,” he said with a smile.

Harry’s eyes grew wide. “Ask Snape? Are you joking?!”

“Not at all. You might find it most enlightening,” Dumbledore replied cheerfully. “In the meantime, I suggest you get a little rest. Then, I do think your friends Ron and Hermione would love to see you.”

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 19:

Waiting

Long and anxious hours were spent by many as little Harry Potter lay unconscious, most of all by Severus Snape.

Grading parchments and potions was completely out of the question. He couldn’t concentrate on anything besides the boy in the hospital wing.

Snape found his office to be cold and confined. He had to leave the dungeons and wandered to the upper levels of the castle, his path often taking him past the entrance of the infirmary.

Albus Dumbledore ran into him so many times, he at last chuckled and said Snape was acting like an expectant father. Snape had turned almost as red as the Philosopher's Stone and mumbled a sentence which might have been “Just making sure he comes around for exam results” before hurrying off.

However, Snape found he was near the hospital wing more than anywhere else in Hogwarts castle. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley left the infirmary soon after Harry was brought in, having only minor scrapes and bruises.

Harry, however, remained unconscious. His vital signs were steady, Madam Pomfrey reassured them. Dumbledore was not worried, but Snape was.

Had it all been in vain?

Snape couldn’t bring himself to actually visit Harry in the ward. He lingered conspicuously in the corridor outside, shooting glaring looks at anyone who even glanced at him.

The minutes and hours passed painfully slowly until Snape heard the headmaster say “Good evening, Harry,” and a boyish voice answer.

Did Snape’s cold heart skip a beat? Was that a spark of joy inside?

Snape loitered and listened as Dumbledore and Harry conversed. Harry was eager to know everything and had so many questions, Snape was amazed Dumbledore had the patience to reply so calmly. But then again, that was how he was.

“Quirrell said, Snape saved my life,” Harry said.

“Indeed, so he did,” Dumbledore acknowledged.

“But, but why? He hates me!” Harry said.

Snape again asked himself the same question, as it seemed to be always lingering in the back of his mind. Why had he done it?

Snape almost smiled to himself when the headmaster compared him to an Every Flavour Bean.

“Ah, the truth,” Dumbledore said, switching the tone to a more serious one. “The truth is a beautiful and terrifying thing. It can set you free or drive you mad. Some people can’t bear to hear the truth for fear it will be the very thing they fear the most. But sometimes the truth is what helps us to move forward. But we have to be willing.”

Harry was not done asking questions.

“Sir,” he said, “Vol- um, I mean, You-know-who said that-”

“No, Harry. Call him by his name. Always call something by its proper name. It does no good to fear a name, that only increases the fear of the thing itself.”

“Okay, Voldemort-” Snape shuddered “- can he still find a way to come back? I mean, he’s not really gone, is he?”

“No, Harry. He wasn’t human enough to die and he will forever try to come back to his power if he can, as long as there are those willing to help him. Evil’s goal is power. However, if he can be delayed, there might come a time when he can be defeated in full.”

There was a pause, then Snape heard Harry’s voice again.

“I’ve been wondering,” he said, “why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?”

Snape held in a breath as Dumbledore replied. “Ah, yes. Voldemort embodies many things; greed, ambition, hatred. Sharing his soul with Voldemort as he was, Quirrell was full of the same feelings. But there is one thing Voldemort has never understood. Something so powerful it leaves a mark unseen by the bare eye. Something that protected you when you were a defenseless infant, Harry. More powerful than the strongest of dark magic, set in motion by your mother’s sacrifice.”

Snape’s hand clutched his robes over his heart, a dull ache of pain going through his cold arteries.

“What is it?” Harry’s voice asked.

“Love. Even when someone dies, their love lives on, and when that love is so deep and selfless, it becomes part of our very being. Unless one has loved, or been loved, they can never understand such a sacrifice. For that is what love is.”

Sounds faded into the background until Snape only heard his unsteady breathing and the beating of his own heart. He was vaguely aware of a flurry of activity as Madam Pomfrey went in the hospital wing and Albus Dumbledore came out.

The headmaster gave Snape a smile as he passed, perhaps understanding the conflict of Snape’s insides better than he himself did.

Snape remained where he was to see Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley excitedly rush in to visit their friend, and to listen to their childish exclamations of delight.

A decision came to Snape. It shocked him, but he knew it was right.

He left the hospital wing and headed to Dumbledore’s office.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 20:

Questions and Unexpected Answers

“Oh, Harry, we were so worried!” Hermione gushed.

“We thought you were dead,” Ron added. “You should hear some of the rumours going around the school.”

Harry grinned. He was very happy to see them. He was surprised Hermione hadn’t flung her arms around him and given him a huge hug, though he was rather happy she hadn’t, as his head still hurt.

The lingering pain was not just from the ordeal with Quirrell, but also from everything Professor Dumbledore had told him. Harry’s head was almost bursting with information he didn’t know what to do with. The one thing he could do was tell it all to Hermione and Ron, from the Mirror of Erised and Quirrell, to the Stone and the confrontation with Voldemort himself.

Ron and Hermione were the best audience they could be, as best friends usually are. They listened intently and gasped in amazement as Harry recounted detail by detail, including what he had learned about Snape.

Here his friends expressed total astonishment, as Harry knew they would.

“Snape?!” Ron cried. “Snape saved your life? Why would he do that?!”

Here Harry shrugged, just as mystified as before. “Don’t know.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “When I was taking Ron to the hospital wing, we ran into Snape.”

“You did?” Harry asked.

“Where was I?” Ron demanded.

“Unconscious,” Hermione stated. “Anyway, Snape was all ready to go after you, Harry.”

“He was?!”

Hermione nodded. “He said to me, ‘he’s gone after him, hasn’t he?’ He seemed to be genuinely worried for you.”

Harry pushed up his glasses. “I guess we were wrong about him,” he said.

“What about Quidditch?” Ron said. “Explain that to me.”

Harry did. Ron’s jaw nearly hit the floor in amazement. Hermione listened attentively.

“Snape was protecting you all along,” she said.

Harry nodded. “If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead. Twice over.”

Ron’s mouth was still open, making him look like Neville’s toad Trevor. He reached towards Harry’s pile of gifts and pulled out the box of Every Flavour Beans. He grabbed a handful and began popping them in his mouth.

Hermione gave him a look of disgust, shocked he would do something like that.

Harry didn’t mind. Ron could eat his way through all of his sweets. He didn’t feel like eating. His mind was too busy. And his head somewhat hurt.

Madam Pomfrey hurried Ron and Hermione out of the ward before Ron managed to consume all of Harry’s chocolate frogs. Harry then had the whole of the hospital wing to himself. The only sounds were the songs of birds outside the windows.

Harry’s eyelids drooped and soon he fell asleep.

When Harry awoke early the next morning after a good long rest, he had two thoughts. But first, he wanted to get up. Madame Pomfrey had other ideas.

“You haven’t been out of bed in four days,” she said.

“But Dumbledore said I could go to the feast tonight,” Harry shot back with a pleading face.

“Yes, he did,” Madam Pomfrey acknowledged with a sniff. “Until then, however, you lie here and rest. I don’t want a relapse.”

Harry was obedient and stopped protesting until around mid morning. Then he threw back the sheets and got up. He was partly dressed when Madam Pomfrey returned.

“Harry Potter, WHAT do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting up,” Harry replied, reaching for his robes.

“Now you see here, young man-” Madame Pomfrey put a hand on her hip and waggled a finger. She was cut off by the entrance of Professor Dumbledore. He seemed delighted to see Harry up and dressed.

“Ah, hello, Harry. Good to see you’re feeling better. I stopped by to ask if you might care to visit me in my office for a change of scenery.”

Harry thought this sounded excellent. It was exactly what he had in mind.

“Yes, sir!”

Dumbledore turned his smiling face to Madam Pomfrey. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

Madame Pomfrey sighed and shook her head in exasperation. “Fine, fine. Do as you wish.”

Harry grinned and pulled his robes over his shoulders. He followed Dumbledore out of the hospital wing and up several flights of stairs, ending at a stone griffin. Harry looked around, wondering where the door to the office might be.

Dumbledore said, “Lemon drop,” and to Harry’s great surprise, the griffin leapt out of the way, revealing a door.

Inside was a rotating spiral staircase, which Harry and Dumbledore rode to the top. Another elegant door and they were inside the headmaster’s office. Harry gaped at all the books and the glittering golden instruments all around.

Dumbledore shuffled over to his desk and sat down.

Harry also sat down, still staring around him. “Wow,” he breathed.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, watching him over his half-crescent glasses, “was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Harry stopped admiring the headmaster’s office and focused on his face. “Yes, sir, I did.”

“And what was it you had in mind?”

Harry had a feeling Dumbledore knew what he was going to say, but he said it anyway.

“Snape. Um- would it be possible to speak with Professor Snape?” Harry swallowed. “I… wanted to thank him. Please.”

Dumbledore smiled, his face wrinkling. “I think that might be arranged, Harry. As it happens, he rather wished to speak with you, too. Severus, I do believe it’s safe for you to come in now.”

Another door Harry hadn’t noticed opened and the Potions Master swept into the room.

Actually, to Harry it looked rather as though Snape slunk into Dumbledore’s office. He seemed far less confident than Harry had ever seen him. His face was pale as usual, but he also looked nervous. His dark eyes fell on Harry.

“Potter,” he said softly.

His voice held no malice, and Harry noticed a few things about the professor he hadn’t before. There was some colour to his sallow skin, and his robes were dark, but not all black. Harry detected maroons and grays. And lastly, the eyes. There was a spark of brown, a lively brown. Perhaps Snape was human after all.

“Sir,” Harry said.

The two looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. Colour threatened to creep over Harry’s cheeks. He had to speak before he lost all courage.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Harry blurted out.

Snape’s face turned crimson. He tried to speak and could only swallow and nod, a few strands of his black hair falling over his reddened face.

Harry heard a little cough from Dumbledore and glanced over to see the headmaster looking at Snape with an odd expression. Amusement? Endearment? Either one, Dumbledore was smiling behind his silvery white beard.

“Severus? Do you want me to ask him for you?” the headmaster asked gently.

Again Snape appeared to be at a loss for words, which puzzled Harry. Snape merely nodded his head in reply to Dumbledore's question, looking to Harry every bit like an embarrassed boy.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Harry, Professor Snape and I have had a very long talk.”

Harry immediately worried he was in trouble. “I’ll try to do better at potions,” he said quickly.

Dumbledore chuckled and the edges of Snape’s mouth almost moved.

“No, no, Harry it had nothing to do with your classes,” Dumbledore said. “Nothing to do with schoolwork or even Hogwarts. Professor Snape has expressed a wish to petition to become your guardian.”

It was Harry’s turn to be speechless. Snape… wanting to be his guardian? Harry felt the same surprise as when Hagrid had said, “Ye’re a wizard, Harry.” This was too much for Harry’s already bursting head.

“It’s only if you’re okay with it,” Snape finally spoke, his eyes on Harry.

“If you’re against it, you can say so,” Dumbledore put in. “No one would hold it against you. After all, the two of you have been more enemies than anything else over these twelve months. This is a very serious step.”

Harry sat still, his mind and emotions swirling. What did he think? What did he feel? He wasn’t sure. It was wasn’t hate at all, no dislike, but he couldn’t describe it. There was no word in the English language he knew of that would express it.

Instead he did something he would never have dared to even have imagined a few hours ago.

Harry jumped to his feet and flung his arms around Snape’s waist in a big hug. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and squeezed Snape tightly.

“Thank you! Oh thank you so much, Professor!” Harry cried, looking up at Snape’s face far above him.

Snape had shock written all over him, but as Harry grinned up at him, slowly, Snape began to smile, too.

† † † †

Severus Snape was nervous, nervous almost to the point of making himself ill. Snape rarely got sick, but he was feeling all of it at once.

After Harry had awoken from the coma, Snape had spent several hours speaking with Albus Dumbledore. What they talked about for so long was private, something Snape would only have trusted Dumbledore’s ears to hear. Snape wasn’t one to readily bare his innermost thoughts or feelings to anyone, yet that was exactly what he had been doing. Dumbledore was the only person alive to whom he would have said what he had. And the subject was little Harry Potter.

Whether Dumbledore had been surprised or not at Snape’s proposal, Snape honestly couldn’t tell. The headmaster hardly ever expressed astonishment at anything, not even when it was something as shocking and uncharacteristic as Severus Snape petitioning for legal guardianship of the son of the man he had loathed more than any other human being on earth.

Dumbledore didn’t embarrass Snape by laughing or diminish him by asking if he’d lost his mind, both of which would have been perfectly reasonable responses by anyone who knew Snape as well as Dumbledore did.

The old wizard merely laced his fingers together, furrowed his brows thoughtfully and said, “I see. Are you certain this isn’t merely a sudden impulse of the moment you might regret in time?”

Snape wasn’t altogether certain of anything anymore, except for one thing. And on that one thing he was prepared to act, even if it was fully against every decision he had ever made and every principle he had lived upon over the last thirty-four years of his life. And all because of a little boy.

When Dumbledore suggested a talk with Harry, Snape very nearly panicked. He was a fully grown man who had lived through the dark years when He-who-shall-not-be-named was in power; a wizard who knew more about the Dark Arts then most, skilled at the art of potion-making and he was undone by an eleven year old boy.

Dumbledore patted his shoulder and told him to wait in the room adjoining his office.

“I’ll call you when to put in an appearance.”

Snape tried not to pace as he waited, listening first to silence, then the muffled voices of Dumbledore’s aged tones and the high young voice of Harry. Then hearing Dumbledore saying his name.

Snape very sheepishly reemerged into the headmaster’s office. His gaze immediately went to the black-haired boy looking very small in the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.

Harry’s green eyes stared back at him, full of questions and wonder and Snape found he suddenly couldn't remember how to speak.

Dumbledore broke the ice. “Professor Snape desires to be become your guardian.” 

Astonishment spread over Harry.

“You can say no,” Snape said hurriedly, wanting to get out of this uncomfortable silence as soon as possible.

A smile came to Harry and so suddenly he didn’t know what to do, Snape found himself being hugged by the boy.

“Thank you,” Harry said.

Heat rushed to Snape’s face and something else rushed to his heart. Snape hadn’t been hugged in so long, he had forgotten what it felt like. He looked down at Harry, who was holding him tightly, his arms as far around him as they would go. Harry was looking up at him, his pink face still decorated with cuts and plasters, and his eyes bright. And the smile for Snape, a genuine, happy smile.

For a moment, Snape wondered how he could have ever hated that face, that face with Lily's beautiful eyes. Snape felt a lump in his chest, a strange feeling he had never felt before. He hesitated, unsure if he should let the feeling take over. Then he gave in and let a portion of his heart thaw completely, the ice melting slowly under the exposure of Harry Potter’s infectious warmth.

Snape’s own lips very slowly formed into a smile, something he hadn’t allowed himself to do in years. He didn’t quite hug the boy back, but he didn’t shove him away either.

Instead he softly said, “You’re very welcome, Potter.”

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 21:

Newfound Happiness

The castle was abuzz with activity. The end of term feast was set to begin any minute and all the students were talking at once. Tomorrow the summer holidays were going to begin. Excitement was thick in the air, as all were eager to spend some time away from quills, parchment, dusty old books and homework. At least, most were.

Harry Potter wasn’t thinking of time at the seaside or enjoying meals with family or any of the other things his friends were chatting about that he had never experienced. He was thinking of the dreariness of Privet Drive and leaving Hogwarts. He would have gladly stayed and continued to do schoolwork, even Potions, if it meant he could stay with Professor Snape.

One of the very first questions Harry had asked was where he was going to spend the summer.

“Do I get to live with you, sir?”

Harry had tried to not sound too anxious, but the prospect of having a family of his own filled him with such excitement that he had trouble containing it. The idea of Snape not hating him was secondary to the delight of being wanted by someone. Harry had never been wanted before by anyone, not even his own relations.

Harry felt a huge rush of disappointment when Snape had replied, “No, Potter. Not yet.”

Harry had tried to hide how disappointed he felt, but he didn’t do a good job as Professor Dumbledore had leaned down and said, “Don’t worry too much, Harry. There are a bunch of legal hoops Professor Snape has to jump through, things which need to be reviewed and discussed before he can become your guardian. And since your aunt and uncle are Muggles, it makes matters a bit complicated.”

“Oh,” Harry said, thinking unhappily of dealing with his cousin Dudley for all of August.

“It should take only a few weeks to resolve,” Dumbledore stated cheerfully.

Snape folded his arms over his robes. “Perhaps you could spend part of the summer with the Weasleys,” he suggested, “if it wouldn’t be an inconvenience.”

Dumbledore smiled. “I highly doubt Molly or Arthur will have any objection, Severus. I’ll send them a note. Now come, let’s go join the feast.”

Harry hardly noticed that the Gryffindors were speaking to him again. He repeated his story of the encounter with Voldemort a countless number of times, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

When Ron asked him to pass the dish of chicken and mushroom pie, Harry replied, “Yes, thanks, they are.” without knowing what he said.

“You alright?” Ron asked, scooping a very large serving onto his plate.

Harry blinked, realizing what he’d just asked. “I don’t know.”

“Is it your scar?” Hermione asked with worry.

Harry shook his head. His scar hadn’t hurt since the battle with Quirrell.

“Finals?” Ron ventured, gravy dripping down his chin. “You passed, you know. Even Potions. I was sure I wasn’t going to pass Snape’s class.”

“You almost didn’t,” Hermione retorted, helping herself to a portion of jammy jacket potatoes.

“Hey, we can’t all get a hundred and ten percent on everything like you can,” Ron said.

“You could if you tried,” Hermione said. “It’s just books and cleverness really. But there are more important things.”

Ron stopped with a huge forkful of pie about halfway to his mouth. “Yeah? Really? Like what?”

Hermione smiled. “Friendship for one. Bravery, courage.”

Ron grinned and Harry smiled. His gaze went up over the heads of all the Gryffindors to the teachers at the great table.

Even if Gryffindor hadn’t won the House Cup, it was alright. Harry had won something else. Snape looked his way. There was no hatred in his eyes this time.

Harry smiled and after a little hesitation, Snape smiled back at him.

† † † †

For Snape, the feast was a blur of distraction. He was working on processing and digesting the information of the last twenty-four hours.

The noise of the many voices in the Great Hall went unheard by Snape. Even the fact that the banners hanging on the walls were displaying the silver and green of the Slytherin House didn’t give him the feeling of pride it usually did.

A hush fell over the Hall as Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat.

“Another year come and another year gone,” Dumbledore began. “For some of you, this has just been another term. For others, it has been a bit more exciting than you probably ever could have imagined.”

Snape looked to the Gryffindor table and saw Harry, Hermione and Ron smile at each other.

“Now, before the feast begins,” Dumbledore went on, “the House Cup has yet to be awarded. In last place, with three hundred and twelve points is Gryffindor. In third place, Hufflepuff. In second place, Ravenclaw. And in first place with four hundred and seventy-two points is Slytherin.”

A roar of loud cheers came from the students at the Slytherin table while the rest of the school groaned. Snape clapped a bit more enthusiastically than he really felt, for it didn’t feel like an honest win.

Dumbledore raised his hands and calm was restored. “Ah, yes, well done to Slytherin. Well done, indeed. However, it has come to my attention there are still some points to be distributed.”

The hush deepened.

“Firstly, to Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of composed intellect and skill when friends were in peril. Fifty points.”

A round of applause erupted from the Gryffindors while the girl blushed behind her bushy brown hair.

“Next, to Mr Ronald Weasley, for determination and the best played game of chess we have seen in Hogwarts these many years. Fifty points.”

Another round of cheers, with marked whoops from the Weasley boys as they slapped Ron on the back. Fred and George, the Weasley twins, were shaking Ron so hard he almost fell off his seat. But he was grinning from ear to ear.

“And to Mr Harry Potter,” Dumbledore continued, “for showing great bravery and courage, even in the face of great danger. Sixty points.”

The cheers doubled, as the Gryffindors along with the rest of the school realized Slytherin and Gryffindor were tied.

From where he sat, Snape could see little Harry was looking as embarrassed as ever, but he was also smiling.

Dumbledore raised his hand once more. The excited voices stilled.

“We all know it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to our enemies, but it takes even more to stand up to our friends.”

There was a murmur. Even Snape didn’t know what the headmaster was going to say next. Dumbledore smiled.

“To Mr Neville Longbottom, for bravery he doesn’t even know he has. Ten points.”

The Great Hall went ecstatic.

Not only Gryffindor, but also Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were on their feet. Black pointed hats were tossed to the enchanted ceiling.

Gryffindor had won.

Dumbledore clapped his hands and the colours of the banners changed to burgundy and gold.

Snape reluctantly congratulated Minerva McGonagall, who smiled in a most irritatingly triumphant way. Then Snape turned to Dumbledore.

“Congratulations,” Snape said as he shook the headmaster’s hand, trying very hard to be sporting when he was feeling anything but.

Dumbledore chuckled, seeing right through him. “Oh come now, Severus. Winning isn’t everything, you know. And I think you might have won something more important than a House Cup. Hmmm?”

Snape took his meaning. He glanced over the moving crowd of students until he saw Harry’s dark head.

Harry glanced up and caught his gaze. This time he didn’t look afraid or worried. He looked happy, perhaps the happiest Snape had ever yet seen him. The boy smiled broadly and waved at him shyly.

And this time, Snape actually smiled back, a real smile and not a sneer.

Dumbledore was right, of course. The Slytherins may not have won the Cup, but Snape had found something else. Something worth far more its weight in gold.

Snape’s heart didn’t feel quite so cold and empty as it had been for so long. Something warm and bright was there, something he had once known many moons past. Something which, in spite of himself, might very well be love.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 22:

End of the Year

Voices echoed off the stone walls and lead-pane windows. It was the last day of term and summer had finally arrived. The air was warm, even down in the dungeons and the sun shone bright and yellow, like the yolk of a fresh egg.

Everyone from the oldest student to the first years were ready to go. Trunks were packed, cats and owls were safely settled in their cages, and only Neville Longbottom was searching for his toad. He found him on an armchair in the Gryffindor common room just in time.

“Come on, Neville!” Ron called.

Neville caught up with him and Hermione and Harry joined them. As they wheeled their trunks to the entrance hall to be collected, Harry slowed. He was looking around him through the crowds of faces.

“Harry, we’ll miss the boats,” Hermione said.

Harry put Hedwig’s cage on top of his trunk. “You go ahead,” he said, pulling his House scarf over his robes. The morning had a bit of a chill to it, despite the sun and the blue skies.

“But-” Ron protested.

“We’ll pick out good seats on the train,” Hermione said, pushing Ron towards the hall doors.

Harry nodded. His friends disappeared into the moving throng of black robes and scarves. Harry searched for a face. When he saw the person he was after, he began to grin.

Snape stood a full head taller than most everyone else, but would have been easy enough to spot without the height difference. His eyes alighted on Harry, who stood on his toes and waved in his direction. Snape moved out of the flow of traffic.

“Hello, Potter,” he said in his deep voice.

“Sir!” Harry smiled, looking up at the Potions Master.

The pale face framed by strands of black hair smiled down at him. A small, tight smile, but still a smile. Harry thought it would take a while for Snape to get into the habit. It took more muscles to smile than frown after all.

“Are you all packed?” Snape asked.

“Yes, sir,” Harry pointed to his trunks and Hedwig’s cage, all neatly stacked, with his Nimbus 2000 leaning next to them.

“Will I see you over the summer? Before term starts again?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Possibly,” Snape replied. “Perhaps sooner, if the Ministry sorts through its paperwork in a reasonable manner.”

“So not too soon, then,” Harry said. As most children learn at a fairly young age, Harry knew that when adults say things like “Maybe” or “Possibly,” they really mean “No.”

Snape expended on his previous statement by adding, “It all depends on just how incompetent the Ministry employees are.”

Harry tried not to laugh.

“Harry! Time to get goin’!” Hagrid was waving at him from the lawn, Ron and Hermione beside him.

“Coming!” Harry called. He looked back up at Snape. “Bye, Professor.”

“Potter. Have a good summer. And remember to not use magic while you’re away.”

Harry nodded and then he was sprinting across the hall and down the stone steps to join the others.

“What’d you want to talk to Snape for?” Ron asked with a face.

“You’d be surprised,” Harry said.

Quite too soon they were on the Hogwarts Express and the Scottish countryside was flashing by the windows. Harry laughed and talked with his friends, eating Every Flavour Beans and thinking of everything that had happened since last July when he had been on the train for the first time.

Harry was leaving Hogwarts with so much more than he had arrived with; from a broomstick to friends and adventures, and some things he would keep to himself, such as a book from Hagrid filled with wizard photos of his parents and warm regard towards a formerly disliked teacher.

It seemed only minutes later Harry was pulling off his robes and arriving at Kings Cross Station where his aunt and uncle were waiting for him. Harry found he wasn’t dreading going back so much. He wasn’t really going home after all.

† † † †

The morning of the last day of term seemed brighter than usual to Severus Snape. It was chilly, but there was something very warm in the air. Usually Snape viewed this day in the middle of July as the start of jubilee; the little rest-bit of freedom before the children returned to Hogwarts. Snape was glad to see them go, but it was a mixed blessing. Always some of them would come back next year.

Snape left the dungeons and joined the hubbub of activity that filled the castle halls. There was the hooting of owls, mewing of cats and the occasional squawk or squeak of other animals, along with hundreds of voices. It was all discord as boys and girls laughed and talked, corralling their squirming pets and pulling their trunks after them.

Snape was reminded why he had spend the last eleven years of end of term in his office. His ears were nearly splitting from all the noise.

The halls began to empty, the students making their way to either the carriages at the front gates pulled by the thestrals, or down to the lake, where the boats were waiting to take the first years to Hogsmead Station.

Snape scanned the moving tide of children. He saw bright orange hair on a tall boy and a girl with brown curly hair. In the middle was a black-haired boy carrying a large cage with a snowy owl inside.

Snape held back until Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had gone on. Harry put the cage on a stack of trunks and seemed to be looking for someone.

Then his green eyes met Snape’s. The boy broke into a grin and waved as if Snape were the only person in the world he wanted to see. Snape couldn’t help returning a smile, even if it wasn’t as big as Harry’s.

“Hello, Potter,” Snape said kindly.

The boy smiled up at him, his face still bandaged, and bearing the mostly healed cuts from the adventure in the dungeons.

It had been foolish of Harry to try and battle Quirrell alone. Harry Potter was a stubborn, spirited boy, and at times completely exasperating and a complete idiot. But that was Harry. And Snape wouldn’t have it any other way.

It warmed a cockle of Snape’s heart when Harry asked if they would see each other over the holidays. It was almost painful for Snape to reply truthfully. The disappointment Harry expressed almost caused a turmoil in Snape, as when a potion is mixed incorrectly.

But he recovered himself. He got Harry to smile again. Snape wanted to remember that smile over the summer. To create a memory of the small smiling face with the green eyes and the lightening bolt scar under the mess of black hair. The childish innocence which would all too quickly be gone.

“Take care of yourself, Potter,” Snape said. “Have a good summer.”

Hagrid’s great voice called Harry. The boy took off down the entrance hall, nearly tripping over his robes as he went.

“Bye, Professor!” Harry turned and waved.

Snape lifted a hand after him, watching as Harry caught up with his friends.

Snape stood in the doorway of the castle, tucking his hands into his robes, almost squinting against the dazzling blue of the sky. The grass was a brilliant green in the sun and the lake sparkled as the boats pushed off from the shore.

Perhaps the world had always been so colourful, but Snape couldn’t recall it ever being so bright. He smiled. He didn’t know what the future might hold, but with little Harry Potter in his life, it was never going to be boring.

And for once, Severus Snape was almost looking forward to September first.

† † † †

Chapter Text

The Chamber of Secrets-

Chapter 23:

The Letter

It was another dull morning at Spinner’s End. Severus Snape was having a cup of strong black coffee by himself, as he always did during the summer holidays. It was Snape’s morning ritual, but he couldn’t exactly call it enjoyable.

Snape was entirely used to be alone. He had spent much of his life alone, even when he was among others. However, there was a distinct possibility that he might not be alone for much longer.

He took his coffee into the sitting room, where it was equally as black and gloomy as the kitchen.

There was nothing particularly cheerful about where he lived. The walls and the woodwork were dark and Gothic, his extensive library of books being the only specks of colour in the otherwise very cold, cheerless house.

The gloominess usually suited Snape quite well, but lately it had been bothering him. He sat down in his armchair and again wondered if he should consider painting. Spinner’s End was really more of a house than a home to him. A place he came back to during the holidays away from teaching at Hogwarts.

As he had for the last two weeks, Snape was waiting for the post. At exactly eight o’clock, there was a tap on the window glass.

Snape threw open the window and into the room flew a large barn owl. The owl landed on a table next to a stack of books and gave a muffled hoot.

Snape put down his coffee. “Good morning, Hummel.”

The owl bobbed his head and held out the bundle of letters clamped tightly in his beak. Snape took the letters. Most of them didn’t interest him, except for the one on the bottom. It was a heavy sheet of creamy parchment, sealed with the fancy insignia of the Ministry of Magic. This was the letter Snape had been waiting for.

Before he could read it, another owl shot through the open window and dropped the morning edition of The Daily Prophet on top of the letters. The owl alighted on the stack of books and hooted at Hummel, who ruffled his feathers and hooted back.

“Socialize later,” Snape said, paying the owl for the paper.

The owl clicked its beak and took off. Snape shut the window, muttering under his breath.

Hummel poked a claw at the post. Snape picked up the letter from the Ministry and broke the seal.

He suddenly felt nervous. What if his request had been denied? After all the bloody paperwork he had been forced to fill out and the seemingly hundreds of questions he had answered. Not to mention having to appear before the Court of Family and Child Appeals, (Care of Wizard and Muggle Relations), presided over by a weathered and yawning old wizard who clearly would have much preferred to be at home enjoying a good meal and a glass of wine. Solving the problem with the boy's godfather had been a nightmare in of itself, but luckily the special circumstances surrounding it had resolved the matter. Of course, there was still the possibility his request had been refused, just as Dumbledore had again refused to grant him the position of teaching Dark Arts...

Snape drank half his coffee and took the anticipated letter out of the envelope. It was written in a jumble of intellectual mumbo-jumbo that would have caused most wizards a headache. Snape, however, was able to read perfectly through the masquerade of words. He hadn’t received O’s on his Hogwarts exams for nothing.

As Snape read, something like a smile formed on his thin lips.

Under all the Ministry’s pomp and self-grandeur, the message was quite clear.

Severus Snape had been granted guardianship of little Harry Potter.

Snape tossed the letter aside. The morning had taken on a new layer of brightness, even with the July sun hidden behind gray clouds. Even the cold shades of Spinner’s End seemed warmer.

Snape didn’t even bother looking at The Daily Prophet. He had a boring breakfast of toast and more coffee and Hummel dined on a few freshly caught mice. Snape didn’t really need more caffeine, but habits have a tendency to automatically insert themselves into routine without one’s knowledge of it.

Snape waited until it was early afternoon. He read over the letter from the Ministry several times, just to be sure, and also another letter written in a boyish hand.

This letter had been written to Snape by little Harry mere days after term had ended. It had been an absolute surprise for Snape to see the large snowy owl arrive with a letter in its beak. Snape had recognized Hedwig and the writing on the parchment right away. He had been deeply touched by the letter and still was. He read it once more, looking over the address to make sure he had it right.

Hummel followed Snape upstairs, looking for attention with whistles and squawks.

Snape rubbed the owl’s chest feathers.

“Not now, Hummel,” he said. “I have some things to do.”

The barn owl hooted once and flew off to his perch to sleep out the rest of the day.

Snape got ready to pay a visit. His traditional wizard robes were replaced by plain and respectable Muggle clothes, as blending in with the regular population of London was the goal. He stuck to black and browns, as most of his wardrobe consisted of those colours anyway.

When he was dressed and looked as relatively normal and ordinary as someone like Severus Snape could, he jotted down a note to Albus Dumbledore.

After rousing a sleepy and grumpy Hummel, who accepted the note with a displeased hiss and took to the skies, Snape was ready. He pulled on a jacket and closed the front door shut behind him. Out into the din and glare of the city Snape was about to venture and mix with the Muggles. It was time to pay a visit. Snape was heading to the small corner of the Muggle world known as Privet Drive.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 24:

A Series of Surprises

Harry was miserable. He had been miserable since the moment he had left the train station two weeks ago.

A part of him had sort of hoped the Dursleys had changed, but it had been a futile hope. They were just as beastly as ever. When he wasn’t being ignored or yelled at, Harry was doing housework. Right now he was in the garden, trying to get away from his cousin Dudley without success. He resorted to magic and pretended to set the hedge on fire.

“Parsom, turpin, niche, valovum.”

Harry had to laugh as Dudley's face went white in terror and he ran inside screaming, “MUM! Mum! He’s doing it again!”

There was nothing magical about any of the words Harry had just mumbled, but like at every other time he had done this, it never ceased to scare his fat cousin. Dudley still bullied him, but he was scared. His aunt and uncle were also afraid of him.

This suited Harry just fine. He just wished he didn’t have to stay with them. At least when the weather was nice he could take refuge in the garden, all by himself.

Except that Harry kept getting the feeling that he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder back at the house, then out into the street. Then he looked at the hedge. Two glowing eyes looked back at him. Harry started. He blinked. The eyes were gone. He shook his head. Now he was seeing things.

Harry got up and went inside, even though he knew what was waiting for him. He didn’t want to be in the house, but the outdoors had gotten uncomfortable after those eyes, real or otherwise. Aunt Petunia immediately set Harry to work cleaning the floors and polishing the woodwork.

Harry was on his hands and knees scrubbing at the baseboard in the hall when the doorbell rang. Harry looked up.

“Front door!” he called.

There was no answer. The doorbell rang a second time. It was too early for those business visitors his Uncle Vernon was expecting.

Harry stopped scrubbing and sat up. “Someone’s at the front door!” he hollered more loudly.

Uncle Vernon’s red face popped out of the kitchen. “Well, answer it then.”

Harry stood up, wiped his hands on his jeans and flung open the door.

Harry felt his mouth drop open. He dropped the cloth he was holding.

Standing on the stoop was none other than Severus Snape.

To add to the shock, Snape was not wearing his usual robes and was instead dressed in Muggle clothes. Harry stared at the trousers, collared shirt, waistcoat, and jacket. He pulled his eyes off Snape’s attire to look at his face. It was the same hooked nose, pale skin, perennial frown and waves of black hair, though the hair might not have been as greasy as it had been before.

“Professor!” Harry blurted.

The edges of Snape’s thin mouth curved.

“Hello, Potter,” he said in his deep voice. “Happy birthday.”

Harry gasped. “Thank you. You know when my birthday is?”

“Certainly. Are those unpleasant relations of yours home?”

Harry tried not to grin. “Yes, they are, sir.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind letting me in, I would like to have a chat with them.”

Harry nodded. “Just be careful to walk on the newspaper, please. I hoovered the carpet and Aunt Petunia doesn’t want it to get dirty.”

The Dursleys were all in the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia was busy creating a dinner to impress Uncle Vernon’s potential new customers. Dudley was sampling it all and Uncle Vernon seemed to be practicing a speech.

Harry cleared his throat.

Without even looking at him, Uncle Vernon said, “Who was it, boy? Another bloody salesman we don’t want to see, I suspect.”

“Nope,” Harry said. “Visitor for you.”

Uncle Vernon merely flipped over the sheet of paper. “Oh? Who?”

A series of loud crashes and screeches came from upstairs.

Vernon slapped down his speech on the table. “If you can’t control that owl, it will have to go!”

“She’s bored! She needs to fly and hunt,” Harry said.

“Another peep and it goes,” his uncle said. “And if that creature makes one sound this evening, out it goes and you with it.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Snape’s voice. “Owls can be very unforgiving towards people they dislike.”

All the Dursleys looked up and stared behind Harry at the tall man in the doorway.

“Severus Snape,” Snape said with something like a grin on his lips.

“Who are you, sir?” Uncle Vernon demanded. “And what are you doing in my house?”

“Professor Severus Snape,” the Potions Master repeated.

Vernon squinted his eyes. “Snape? I don’t know any Snape. Are you one of Dudley’s teachers at Smeltings?”

“I teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy,” Snape replied.

Aunt Petunia gave a shriek, dropping the dish of potatoes she had just peeled. Dudley made a dive for under the table and Uncle Vernon’s paper flew into the air.

Harry was grinning from ear to ear. He was loving this.

“What do you want?” Uncle Vernon questioned fiercely.

“I am here to inform you that I am now Harry Potter’s legal guardian.”

Aunt Petunia's hands went to her mouth. Uncle Vernon was red and tried to speak, but only sputtered. Snape was taking all this in without changing his disinterested expression.

“Would we be able to have a word in private?” Snape asked.

Harry’s aunt whimpered.

Uncle Vernon got hold of himself enough to mutter, “Er- yes, I suppose. Dudley, go.”

Harry’s cousin shot out from under the table and bolted down the hall.

Snape put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “This won’t take long, Potter.”

Harry grinned up at him and nodded, exiting the kitchen. He pretended to shut the door, but left it unlatched. Even if he wasn’t meant to be in on the conversation, he couldn’t help it if he just happened to overhear, could he?

Harry sat down on the bottom step of the stairs. He noticed Dudley was lurking at the top, evidently just as curious as he was. Harry heard Snape's voice first.

“As I see you are expecting company, let us get this over with as quickly as possible.”

There was a sound Harry knew had to be Uncle Vernon clearing his throat.

“Yes, well, first of all, who exactly are you and what have you to do with our nephew?”

“As I have already told you twice, Vernon Dursley, I am Severus Snape. Potter is now under my care.”

“The boy is related to us,” Vernon said in a voice of forced calm. “Out of the very goodness of our hearts we have provided for him, fed him, clothed him, at our own expense-”

“I am well aware of that.”

“How can you be his guardian?” Vernon demanded. “I’ve never even heard of you!”

“I was informed this morning of my application's acceptance by the Ministry of Magic,” Snape said placidly.

“Ministry of Magic,” Vernon scoffed. “I’ll have you know, I won’t allow some joke wizard society to be of any authority-”

Here Harry heard Aunt Petunia interrupt him in a shaky voice. “Severus Snape…”

“Ah, you remember me.” Snape’s tone changed.

Harry leaned forward, oblivious that Dudley had moved down the stairs to the same one as him. Both boys were listening intently.

“Petunia, do you know him?” Uncle Vernon’s regimented voice took on a touch of anxiety.

Harry gripped the banister, pressing his face against the slats. His aunt’s voice was so low, so close to a whisper he almost couldn’t hear it.

“She… used to talk about you… before Potter…”

“You don’t mean…?” Uncle Vernon sounded very much afraid.

Harry frowned and thought about who the “she” might be. He knew Snape had known his father, that had been the whole reason for the antagonism between Harry and Snape last year, but Harry wasn’t aware of any other connection with his family. Unless… Snape had also known his mother. After all, she had gone to Hogwarts, too.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by feeling Dudley breathing on his neck.

“He’s a teacher of yours?” Dudley whispered in awe.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “He’s the Potions Master.”

He got the satisfaction of seeing Dudley’s fat face take on a look of horror.

“Scary, isn’t he?” Harry said seriously.

Dudley couldn’t say anything.

A moment later and the kitchen door opened. Only Snape came out. Harry stood and hopped down the stairs, meeting him at the bottom.

“I thought your father was bullheaded, Potter,” Snape began, “but your aunt and uncle might be some of the most disagreeable people I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

Harry had to laugh. “What’d they say?”

“They got used to the idea after some persuading,” Snape replied.

“So, do I get to come with you today?” Harry asked anxiously.

“A few days more. Your uncle insisted on having a solicitor check over the documents to make sure everything is actually legal.”

“Do I have to stay here all summer?” Harry knew he sounded like he was whining, but he couldn’t help it. He was just about fed up with the Dursleys.

Snape shook his head. “Not at all. The Weasleys invited you. Didn’t you receive their letter?”

“No,” Harry said sadly. “I haven't had any letters.”

Snape’s sharp eyebrows frowned. “That’s odd. Mrs. Weasley said she wrote weeks ago. I sent you a letter myself.”

“You did?” Harry broke into a grin.

Snape’s face reflected his with a small smile of his own. “I’m sure it’ll turn up,” he reassured him. “In the meantime, you’d better get ready to leave. The Weasleys will pick you up in a few days.”

A squeak came from behind Harry. He turned to see Dudley huddled on the stairs next to the wall, viewing Snape with wide eyes. Even without his usual dark wizard robes, Snape still was a very imposing figure.

Harry looked back to Snape. “You’ll be back?” he asked.

“Before you leave.” Snape nodded. “The Weasleys have also kindly offered to take you to Diagon Alley and Kings Cross Station with them, so your relatives needn’t bother themselves.”

Harry nodded.

A large commotion came from Harry’s room. Snape pulled his wand out of his sleeve and pointed upstairs. “Recludo,” Snape said. There was a click, as of something being unlocked. Snape replaced his wand.

“You’ll hear from me soon,” he said. His eyes flicked to Dudley. “Try not to torment your cousin too much, Potter. He seems to be of the nervous sort.”

“Yes, sir, I won’t,” Harry promised while internally plotting more ways to scare Dudley.

Snape gave Harry another smile and left.

Harry ran up the stairs past Dudley's quivering form and shut himself in his room. Hedwig greeted him happily from his desk, the door of her cage open, the padlock off. Harry grabbed up a sheet of paper and his quill and immediately started writing a letter to Professor Snape.

† † † †

Snape spent another evening alone, but it wasn’t as lonely as before. His visit to Privet Drive had done that much.

Snape had been a bit unconsciously worried about what his reception would be like. Not by the Dursleys, as they had been every bit unwelcoming and unpleasant as Snape had expected. He had been more concerned about how little Harry Potter would react. Snape needn't have worried. Harry had been very much surprised and equally happy to see him. The absence of a few weeks hadn’t been long enough to smother his childish esteem. Not even living with the Dursleys had done it.

Many of the recent empty hours had been spent by Snape questioning himself. Had he really made the right decision in becoming Harry’s guardian? Was it merely a rash choice done in the heat of feeling, as Albus Dumbledore had suggested?

Making rash or spontaneous decisions had never been Snape’s mode of operation. He thought things through very carefully and had never been the kind of man to act without a reason. Even when he had acted on anger or malice, there had been a strong line of reasoning behind it.

And this new step wasn’t founded on any of those feelings Snape normally let guide him. Petitioning for guardianship didn’t have a selfish motive, at least none which could present a clear gain or advantage, even if Snape’s actions were partly influenced by guilt. Looking after a twelve year old boy would be an entire upheaval of Severus Snape’s life. It would be inconvenient, impractical, totally nonsensical. But it was the right thing to do for Harry.

Snape’s venture of the afternoon had solidified his belief that he had been right. Privet Drive was a place made to stifle any joy or freedom. The very air had a feeling of repression. Then Harry had answered the door looking very much like a dirty house elf, with a rag in his hand and dirt and grime on his clothes, while the rest of the people in the house were clean.

The way Harry’s uncle had dismissed the boy had made Snape thoroughly indignant. Harry wasn’t even allowed to be a normal boy in that house. He was viewed as an inconvenience, a servant, an unwanted house guest, hardly fit to be tolerated. Snape’s resolve was satisfied. Harry would be leaving that place as soon as possible.

Snape woke up his barn owl and gave him a letter to take to the Weasleys, requesting a speedy rescue of Harry.

Hummel was offended at being asked to deliver more than one letter in a day. He wasn’t used to so much activity.

“It will do you good,” Snape said as he tied the letter to the owl’s leg. “You’re getting fat anyway.”

Hummel let out a squawk of protest.

“Yes, you are,” Snape said. “Flying a few extra hours won’t kill you. Go.”

Snape tossed the complaining owl out the window and went back to reading. Snape was compiling his lesson plan for the next term, from simple potions made of a few ingredients for the inexperienced first years to the very complicated recipes requiring many careful steps, immense concentration and often made from items very difficult to come by.

Snape’s time of planning was interrupted by a visitor. A hoot came from the open window. Snape looked up from his book to see a large snowy owl on the sill.

It was Hedwig.

Snape put aside his book. “What brings you here, Hedwig?” he asked.

The snowy owl scooted along the sill towards him and held up her leg. A folded paper was tied to it with what looked like part of a shoelace.

“From Potter?” Snape said, fully knowing the answer.

Hedwig bobbed her head as Snape took the letter. She turned her head from side to side and seemed to be looking at the corners of the room expectantly.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Hummel’s not here, if that’s who you’re looking for,” he informed the owl.

If an owl could look disappointed, Hedwig would have been the perfect example.

“He’ll be back in a couple hours, if you want to stick around,” Snape offered.

Hedwig shook out her tail feathers and took off with a single sad hoot.

“I’ll make sure he’s home next time,” Snape called after her.

He then turned to the letter. It was a sheet of plain paper, torn from an exercise book and folded in eighths.

Dear Professor Snape,

I’m sorry this isn’t written on parchment like it should be, but almost all my school things are shut up in the cupboard under the stairs. I think my uncle is afraid I’ll turn them all into bats otherwise. Part of me wishes I could. But I don’t want to risk getting kicked out of Hogwarts.

Anyway, thank you so much for visiting today. It made a nice break from scrubbing windows and floors. And it was good to see you, too. Not to sound selfish, sir, but I was beginning to think maybe you’d forgotten about me. But you hadn’t. Do you know what day the Weasleys are coming? I’m going to start packing in the morning if I can get my stuff back. Tonight Uncle Vernon has some boring people coming over and I’m going to be “in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not here.” After I finish this letter, I have to finish cleaning the front hall and then put compost on the flowerbeds.

See you soon,

Harry

This letter brought equal amounts of pleasure and displeasure to Snape. How he could have ever thought Harry was spoiled? Snape had been blinded by his biased dislike and Harry’s own obstinate nature.

A pang of anger followed by shame went through Snape as he realized he had treated Harry just as unfairly as Harry’s aunt and uncle did.

Snape carefully folded the letter from Harry and twisted the bit of shoelace around his fingers. The shoelace fell to the floor as a blur shot into the room from the window.

It was a great horned owl. The owl dropped something on Snape’s lap, swooped around the room, turned and went back the way it had come. It was almost a repeat of the morning, except instead of The Daily Prophet, this owl had delivered an official Ministry letter.

Snape frowned. What else could the Ministry want now?

All colour left the Potion Master’s face as he opened the letter and read the contents.

It was from the department of Underage Improper Use of Magic. As Snape was Harry Potter’s legal guardian, Mafalda Hopkirk was writing to inform him that a Hover Charm had been performed at number four Privet Drive at twelve minutes past nine this evening by said Harry, and to be reminded that any more misuse of spellwork would result in the boy’s expulsion, as dictated in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, etc, etc.

Snape crumbled the parchment. What had Harry done now?

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 25:

Flight to the Burrow

Out of all the times Harry had seen his Uncle Vernon angry, he didn’t ever remember seeing him as angry as he was that evening.

His mustache had twitched like a dying spider’s legs.

His face had gone purple when Aunt Petunia’s pudding had exploded in the kitchen. Then the owl from the Ministry of Magic had dropped a letter right on the heads of the Dursleys’ visitors. That was the last straw.

Not only had Uncle Vernon lost his potential clients, but Harry’s secret was out. He wasn’t supposed to do magic at home and now the Dursleys knew. Gone was Uncle Vernon’s fear of Harry or even worry about Professor Snape. All that was left was anger.

Harry cowered. A slap across the face wasn’t enough. Harry’s uncle dragged him up to his room by an ear and locked him in. Hedwig was stuffed in her cage, the padlock clicked in place. Harry’s books were taken, his paper and quill snatched. The next morning, thick metal bars were screwed over the window.

“You are never leaving this room,” Uncle Vernon snarled. “And you are never going back to that freak school. NEVER!”

And Harry knew it was true. He couldn’t use the telephone. He couldn’t use magic. He couldn’t write to anyone. He couldn’t even send a plea for help to Snape. He was trapped, with no escape in sight. At least not until later that night.

Harry was awoken by a strange sound, like an idling car engine. He put on his glasses.

It was a car, a car that was parked midair right outside his barred window, and in it were three redheaded Weasleys.

“Ron!” Harry gasped. “Fred! George! What are you doing here? How did-?”

Ron leaned out of the car window. “We’re taking you to our house, Harry. Didn’t you get our letters?”

“And why are there bars on your window?” George asked.

“No time,” Harry shook his head. “The Dursleys will kill me if they find out you’re here in a flying car. And I don’t see how I can get out without magic. I already got a warning-”

“Shut up and we’ll get you out,” said Fred with a grin.

Less than ten minutes was all it took for the twins to tear the bars from the window, sneak inside, unlock Harry’s door with a hairpin and get his trunk.

Harry nearly forgot Hedwig and nearly had his leg pulled off by Uncle Vernon who attempted to prevent the escape, but he wasn’t a match for the Weasley twins.

Fred grinned and gunned the accelerator and off towards Scotland the enchanted Ford Anglia flew with Hedwig flying along side.

Harry went from pure misery to pure joy. He had been sure he would die in his bedroom and the Dursleys would bury him in the garden along with his broom, cauldron, and schoolbooks without a second thought. Harry put Hedwig’s cage on the seat beside him.

He would have to send Professor Snape a letter to let him know what had happened to him in case he showed up at the Dursleys again. Harry grinned, picturing their frightened faces. Would serve them right. Then Harry’s stomach growled loudly.

“We’ll be home in time for breakfast,” Ron said.

Just the word breakfast made Harry’s mouth water.

“You been getting anything to eat?” George asked.

“Not enough,” Harry said.

“Mum’ll fix that,” Fred said.

“Oh yes, she will,” George agreed.

Mrs Weasley did much more than that. It was dawn when they arrived at the Weasley's house known as The Burrow. Fred gently landed the car and parked it in the garage, avoiding the rubber boots and chickens expertly. But not quite expertly enough, for the twins, Ron and Harry had barely made it to the front door with Harry’s trunks when Mrs Weasley appeared on the scene.

Harry had only seen her twice before and never angry, but to him she looked very much like a tigress about to dismember her sons.

George tried to brush off the mood by saying good morning. This caused Mrs Weasley to explode.

“Morning? Good morning? Where have you been?! Beds all empty, car gone, no note- YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!”

Nothing Fred, George or Ron said would make the slightest difference. They had to listen. The speech ended with “wait until your father gets home” and the boys slunk sheepishly inside.

“I’m glad to see you, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said, taking Hedwig’s empty cage.

“Um, thank you,” Harry replied, wondering what he should say. “I’m awful sorry about the car-”

“Not your fault, dear. Mr Weasley and I were coming to fetch you today, but here you are.”

“See, Mum-” Fred said.

“Don’t you start!” Mrs Weasley fumed.

“Harry was starving!” Ron protested.

“I’ll take care of that. Now you show him around, then come down for breakfast.”

“Frightening, isn’t she?” Ron muttered as he and Harry went upstairs.

The Burrow was a strange house with crooked rooms, many windows and twisted staircases, all held together by magic and love. The furniture was mismatched, the doors different sizes, with handmade rugs and curtains everywhere.

Harry thought it all was wonderful. Ron’s room was at the top of the haphazard building, just under the attic.

“It’s a bit small,” Ron said, poking at his rat Scabbers, who was snoozing on some books beside a tank of frog spawn. The entire surface of the walls in Ron’s room were covered with posters of his favourite Quidditch team, all the players waving at them.

“It’s awesome,” Harry said.

A duo of raised voices filtered up from the kitchen, one of them belonging to Mrs Weasley.

“Your sons flew that car all the way to Surrey! You speak to them, Arthur-”

“Sounds like Dad’s home from the Ministry,” Ron said. “He works in the department of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. Boring as anything if you ask me, but he’s right fascinated with Muggles. He’ll want to ask you everything about them.”

Harry nodded. “So the flying car is his?”

“Er, yes. Mum’s not too pleased about it,” Ron admitted. “Oh look, there’s Hedwig!”

Harry’s owl was outside the window, looking very happy to be free of her cage. She hooted at him and flew off over the garden.

“She’s going to love it here,” Harry said, feeling very much the same. “Uncle Vernon never let her go out. Are there mice in those fields?”

“You bet,” Ron said. “They like the chicken feed.”

Suddenly Fred and George burst into Ron’s room.

“You’ll never guess who’s here!” Fred said breathlessly.

“Dad?” Ron said.

“Yeah, besides him!”

“Dumbledore,” Ron rolled his eyes.

“Snape,” George said.

Ron knocked a pile of comic books on the floor. “WHAT? Snape?!”

The twins nodded, their hair looking on fire from being surrounded by all the orange Quidditch posters.

“What’s he doing here?” Ron whimpered.

Fred shrugged. “I don’t know. You must have done something colossal, Harry.”

“Truly colossal,” George said.

“Me?” Harry asked, feeling guilty.

“What’d you mean?” Ron breathed.

Fred shook his head. “Dunno, but whatever it is, Harry, we’ll back you up. Snape wants to see you.”

† † † †

The interior of the Weasley home oozed comfort and Severus Snape was very uncomfortable in it. It was a home filled with love, held together by family and the strength of that love. Warmth, light and colour equally filled every room and Snape felt thoroughly out of place. He had never been on particularly friendly terms with Arthur Weasley or Molly during their shared school years, and now to be standing in their dining room after having interrupted the proceedings of family breakfast was awkward to say the least.

Arthur Weasley had just returned from work, looking very tired as he watched Snape with a wary eye. Percy Weasley was pretending to be studying, with his nose in a book. Molly kept trying to press tea on Snape.

Only the twins acted normally and rushed from the table when Molly had asked if he wanted to see Harry. Fred and George had never been afraid of Snape, which had always been a source of irritation, as was their lack of respect for rules. However, at this moment Snape was glad for it.

There was the sound of running feet and Harry Potter appeared, breathless and with a big smile on his face.

“Hello, Professor!” he said, breaking the tense atmosphere in the room.

“Glad to see you made it here alive, Potter,” Snape returned with an air of humour in his voice.

Harry’s brightness slipped slightly. “Oh- did you hear about the car?”

Snape nodded. He noticed Percy was no longer pretending to study, as his focus was no longer on the book.

Harry’s eyes darted to Molly Weasley, who was frowning and giving significant looks to her husband, who was choosing to be much preoccupied by his toast.

“Please don’t blame them,” Harry said quickly, “Mr and Mrs Weasley were going to come, but Fred and George decided to- they wanted it to be a surprise- Ron, too- and Uncle Vernon had put bars on my window- so you see-”

Snape put up a hand. “It’s good they came when they did,” he said, casting a glance at the three heads of red hair peering from around the corner of the staircase. “And very lucky for your uncle it wasn’t me who showed up.”

Snape’s words left a slight tingling in the air. Those present who knew what he was capable of took his meaning.

“Don’t be too hard on them,” Snape said to Molly, motioning with his head towards the twins. “In this instance, they meant well.”

Molly set the teapot on the table with a huff. “Reckless!” she declared. “Foolhardy!”

“Doesn’t mean they are fools,” Snape said.

Whispered murmurs came from the stairs. Snape looked back to Harry.

“Did you get my letter?” the boy asked.

There were a few muffled exclamations from the hidden trio.

“I did,” Snape replied as if he hadn’t heard the eavesdroppers. “And I also got another letter.” He withdrew a crumpled parchment from inside his robes. The Ministry of Magic emblem was perfectly visible.

Harry went red in the face. “Er-”

“It was the shock of the day when we heard about it at the office,” Arthur said. “Harry Potter getting an official warning for doing magic in front of Muggles. I didn’t believe it.”

“He didn’t do it!” Ron Weasley finally burst into the room with Fred and George on his heels, and a little shadow Snape took to be the youngest Weasley, Ginny.

“It wasn’t him!” Ron insisted. “It’s all a lie-”

“Ronald,” Molly scolded him.

“But Mum!”

She silenced him with a stern look.

“I would prefer to hear Potter’s version, thank you,” said Snape.

Ron gulped.

Harry looked up at Snape.

“Let’s go talk in the garden,” Snape suggested, guiding Harry around the Weasley clan and out into the sunshine.

“Tell me what really happened,” Snape asked gently and kindly.

The boy shuffled his feet around for a moment, then looked up and told him. Snape listened to the tale of a house elf named Dobby appearing in his bedroom and the warning he had given Harry.

“He said I’d be in danger if I went back to Hogwarts,” Harry explained. “And when I refused to promise him I wouldn’t go, that’s when Aunt Petunia's pudding was smashed.”

“I see,” Snape replied.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me,” Harry said mournfully.

“I never said I didn’t believe you, Potter,” Snape replied.

“You mean you do believe me?” The clouds on Harry’s face cleared instantly.

“Yes. But your story does worry me.”

Harry sighed, kicking at a hen who was trying to peak his feet. “That’s what Fred and George said, too. They reckon Dobby was ordered to stop me from going back to Hogwarts.”

“It is more likely than a house elf warning you on his own,” Snape mused. “Of course, there is always a remote possibility that he was telling the truth, since he kept punishing himself.”

Harry looked up at Snape with worry. “But why did he steal all my letters? Would someone tell him to do that? None of this makes sense, sir.”

Snape had to agree. It didn’t make sense. Why would a house elf risk its reputation and defy its owners to try and prevent Harry from returning to school? And if the house elf had been lying, who had put him up to it? Of all the wizarding families Snape knew, he could think of only one who would. An old wizarding family, wealthy and entitled. The Malfoys.

“Should… should I go back to Privet Drive?” Harry asked in a choke of a whisper.

“Absolutely not,” Snape returned heatedly, causing Harry to jump.

“No?” Harry squeaked.

“No.” Snape dropped to a knee so he was about eye level with Harry. Snape noticed the boy had grown an inch or two.

“You’re not going back there,” Snape said in a soft tone. “For the rest of the summer you’ll be here. You will be safe here. The Weasleys will look out for you. Anyone who wanted to mess with you would have to get through Molly Weasley first.”

Harry smiled at this.

“And for any reason, you can send Hedwig to me. Alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded with a smile.

“No worrying. That’s an order,” Snape said, pointing a long finger at Harry’s chest.

Snape abruptly found himself enveloped in a hug, the surprise of which knocked him over.

“Potter! Have some class!” Snape said quickly, prying Harry’s hands from around his neck.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, looking rather hurt.

Snape softened, reached over and helped him off the grass. “Just don’t do that in front of the Weasleys,” he whispered, motioning with his head towards the kitchen windows where several redheads were peeking through the glass.

Harry giggled.

Snape held out his hand. “I will send you a letter soon.”

“And I will answer it,” Harry said with a grin and shook his hand firmly.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 26:

Summer Memories

The summer went by in a wonderful blur. Harry had the time of his life with the Weasleys. From de-gnoming the garden with Ron to practicing Quidditch and flying strategies with Fred and George in the field behind The Burrow. Harry didn’t even mind the moaning ghoul in the attic.

Rainy days were spent doing homework, or rather, that was the idea. Harry didn’t give as many hours to his school books as he should have. He instead kept up with his correspondence.

Hagrid sent him a note from Hogwarts where he was busy preparing the grounds for the students’ arrival in September.

Hermione wrote just as many letters to Harry as she did to Ron and filled many sheets of parchment.

Then there were the letters from Snape. The Potions Master’s letters were more formal then Hagrid’s and less enraptured than Hermione’s, but Harry treasured them all the same.

He’d had quite a time explaining Snape’s visit to the twins. Even after telling about the events at Hogwarts, about Snape, Quirrell and the Stone, Harry wasn’t all together sure Fred and George believed him. After all, they had known Snape longer, had him as a teacher for four years and had never seen any hint of the man even having a kind side.

“I’d be on my guard if I were you,” Fred advised. “He could be playing a game of his own, could old Snape.”

“He isn’t all bad you know,” Harry said in defence of the absent.

Ron didn’t say anything. Harry shot him a look, the kind Hermione liked to use.

“Um… he did save Harry’s life,” Ron ventured. 

Fred and George looked at each other conspiratorially.

“Rumour has it Snape was a Death Eater in the war,” George said in a low voice.

Ron paled and gulped.

“What is a… uh, Death Eater?” Harry asked. Whatever it was, it sounded like something utterly horrible.

George leaned close. “Death Eaters were the name for You-know-who’s followers.”

Harry swallowed. “You sure?”

The twins nodded.

“Best be careful,” Fred said.

Harry wasn’t sure what to think. He still wasn’t sure what to think when Hermione came for a visit in late August.

“Tell me everything you didn’t share in your letters,” Hermione said after giving him a hug.

Harry and Ron led her into the kitchen, away from where Mr Weasley was excitedly questioning her parents about everything related to being Muggles.

“Dad will keep them here for hours,” Ron whispered.

Once they were alone, seated at the kitchen table, Hermione repeated her question.

“Is it true, Harry? Has Snape really adopted you?”

Harry turned red. “Well-”

“You didn’t tell ME that!” Ron exclaimed.

“You see, it’s-” Harry began.

“Tell us! Spill all!” Ron shook him excitedly.

So Harry did. Up until now, he had kept the meeting between him and Professor Dumbledore and Snape to himself. Hermione and Ron listened with the utmost attention.

“Whoa,” Ron said when Harry finished. “So, are you gonna change your last name to Snape’s or what?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry replied. “He’s just my guardian, not my adopted parent.”

Mrs Weasley had left out a plate of biscuits and glasses of juice on the table. Ron was eating his second biscuit. Harry reached for a biscuit.

“I don’t know how Snape would feel about me changing my name,” he admitted. “He only calls me ‘Potter.’ If I did change it, he’d have to call me ‘Snape’ instead.”

Ron burst out in a laugh. “That’d drive all the Slytherins up a wall!”

Harry snorted.

Hermione took a sip of her juice, smiling. “Better keep it as Potter,” she said logically.

“Yeah, just imagine what old Draco Malfoy would think,” Ron put in. “He’d be SO confused.”

Harry nibbled on his biscuit. “I don’t care what he thinks,” he said.

“And so you shouldn’t,” Hermione agreed.

“But, there is something-” Harry said.

“Yeah?” Ron wiped crumbs off his chin.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry lowered his voice and repeated what Fred and George had suggested about Snape’s past.

Ron shivered. “I wouldn’t have put it past him,” he said. “He does seem the type.”

That was what Harry was worried about.

Hermione offered another view. “Remember we were wrong about him before.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ron mumbled. He seemed highly reluctant to believe anything good about Snape, even after witnessing him being kind to Harry.

“And Dumbledore wouldn’t have hired him to teach at Hogwarts if he was a Death Eater,” Hermione pointed out. “He trusted him enough to help guard the Philosopher's Stone.”

“And Quirrell,” said Ron.

“Quirrell was sharing his body with You-know-who,” Hermione replied. “It’s different.”

“Oh yeah? Well what about-”

“Snape isn’t in league with him,” Harry said firmly. “He doesn’t go out of his way to be kind just because he feels like it.”

“That’s true,” Ron admitted.

“Until we know more, we’ll just give Snape the benefit of our doubt,” Hermione said sensibly, leaving no room for argument.

Harry was glad. He didn’t want to argue. He just wanted to snack on Mrs Weasley’s delicious sultana and walnut biscuits with his friends and not worry about anything until September first. Not Snape, or the Slytherins, or school or anything.

Harry wasn’t sure what his second year at Hogwarts would hold. Would Snape return to his grumpy old self and ignore him? Harry supposed Snape wouldn’t show him any outward affection while the Slytherins were present. He was their Head of House after all.

Harry felt he would be okay with Snape being indifferent. It wouldn’t be anything he wasn’t already used to. Indifference was much preferred to open hostility, which he had lived with for eleven years at the Dursleys. Actually, anything was preferred.

Harry just hoped he wouldn’t do anything to get himself in trouble again. He was still thinking about that letter from the Ministry of Magic.

What if there was another incident and he was forbidden to do magic? Would Snape disown him? Would he be forced to live out all his days locked in his room at number four Privet Drive? And what about the warning from the house elf? Was there really danger waiting for him at Hogwarts?

Harry shook these questions away. He would just wait and see what autumn had in store for him.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 27:

The Beginning of Trouble

It was a warm summer's night. The crickets were down by the lake, strumming their song loudly. They could barely be heard over the din of noise in the Great Hall as the students filled the castle. New students and returning ones alike were bubbling over with excitement for the year ahead.

Severus Snape was also in the Great Hall and not hiding down in his office, par usual. He was sitting at the table with the other teachers, wondering exactly why he was putting himself through this form of torture. The babble of voices echoed off the tall stone walls and the noise seemed to gather in the space under the enchanted ceiling, mixing with the floating candles.

Snape felt some slight sympathy towards the group of nervous first years huddled near the middle of the platform. Most of them looked as miserable and uncomfortable as himself. Snape spotted a redheaded girl among the first years whom he took to be the last of the seven Weasley children.

Snape’s eyes automatically went to the Gryffindor table. The twins were easy enough to spot. Snape also saw Hermione Granger and her bushy mane of hair. However, there was an empty space at the table. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were nowhere to be seen.

† † † †

The entrance hall was empty. The only light was from the flickering torches on the walls. Two small figures crept slowly up the huge staircase, each dragging a hefty wooden trunk after them.

One black-haired boy with glasses had an empty owl cage on top of his trunk. The other boy with red hair and freckles had a cage with a rat under his arm and a broken wand in his pocket. Both boys looked like they had just fought in a battle, which in a sense they had. A battle with a Whomping Willow tree.

Ron heaved his trunk up another step.

“Dad’s gonna kill me when he finds out about the car,” he moaned. “And Mum, too,” he added, pulling out his wand. It was nearly snapped in half and shimmery unicorn hairs were sticking out of it.

“At least that tree stopped our fall,” Harry said, trying to be encouraging.

“By nearly killing us,” Ron grumbled, dragging his trunk over to where the rest of the students’ trunks, brooms, and pet cages sat.

Harry put his trunk next to Ron’s. He was worried about what would happen when it was found out how they had arrived at Hogwarts.

He and Ron left their trunks and quietly made their way to the doors of the Great Hall. The two boys eased open the doors a crack.

“Looks like the Sorting is over,” Ron whispered. “Wonder which House Ginny got?”

Harry had other concerns. He was looking over at the teachers’ table.

“I don’t see Snape,” he said, worried. “He should be there by now.”

“Maybe he forgot,” Ron suggested hopefully.

Harry shook his head. “Couldn’t be, unless-”

“Unless he is waiting to hear why you two didn’t arrive on the train like all the other students,” said a cold low voice.

Harry and Ron spun around to discover they were face to face with Professor Snape himself. He did not look pleased.

Harry gulped.

Snape looked much more alarming here than he had at The Burrow. His black robes and hair mixed with the long shadows on the stone walls and his impressive height made him appear to loom ominously over them. There was no trace of smile on his face tonight. Harry instantly knew he was in very deep trouble. He suddenly wished the Whomping Willow had finished him off. He waited for the tempest to hit.

Snape however only said, “Follow me.”

Harry and Ron followed him out of the entrance hall and down to his office in the dungeons. Snape was silent as Harry and Ron sat down.

Harry had never been in Snape’s office before and he wasn’t sure he liked it. The walls were lined with shelves of books and jars filled with strange and slimy things. The only light came from the fire in the hearth and there was no warmth to it. It was cold, just like Snape’s demeanor. The man was once again the cool, distant Potions Master Harry remembered from his very first lesson with him.

Snape sat behind his desk. “What happened to the car?” he finally said.

Harry swallowed. He knew it. Snape could read minds.

Snape held up the evening edition of The Daily Prophet. Harry didn’t need to read the headline, bigger than life. He only had to look at the moving photograph. It showed the Ford Anglia flying over London.

Snape tossed the newspaper over his shoulder.

“You were seen by at least six Muggles, if not more,” Snape said icily. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Ron gave a squeak.

Harry forced himself to speak. “It was the only way, sir. We couldn’t get onto Platform nine and three quarters. The train left without us, and the car was… well… it was either that or- we were stranded.”

Snape folded his hands in front of him. “You have an owl, Potter. You could have sent a message by her.”

Harry instantly felt like an imbecile and he and Ron exchanged a look. Of course. Why hadn’t they used Hedwig?

“Discounting the other charges, (and believe me there are more than I could count on each hand), severe damage was inflicted to a Whomping Willow,” Snape went on.

“The tree nearly damaged us-” Ron spoke up.

Snape silenced him with a stare. “That tree is extremely valuable and dangerous!” he growled. “It could have killed you. Not to mention you flew an enchanted car underage and without permission!”

Snape's fist connected loudly with the wooden desk. Harry jumped in his seat.

“Because of this,” Snape hissed, “you have caused great worry and risked the very exposure of our world.”

Ron coloured. Harry’s own face was warm with shame.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said.

Snape looked at him. His eyes lost a little of their anger. “That very well may be, but both of you still broke the rules. There will be consequences. As you are not in my House, the decision does not rest with me. If it did, I would expel you right now. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry and Ron muttered.

Harry felt sick down to his toes. This was worse than being hit by Uncle Vernon or ridiculed by his cousin Dudley. Snape was not only angry at him, but disappointed as well. Death Eater or not, Harry earnestly wanted his approval, and he might have just blown it. Completely. He could only hope Snape didn’t know about his first experience traveling by Floo Powder and how he’d ended up in Knockturn Alley. Accident or not, Harry was sure he wouldn’t be pleased. And it certainly wasn't the time to bring up about the meeting between the Malfoys and the Weasleys in the bookshop in Diagon Alley or Harry's suspicion that Mr Malfoy had slipped something into Ginny Weasley's cauldron.

Snape stood. “While the two of you think over what I have said, I am going to fetch Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore. Whatever they decide will be final.”

Ron and Harry nodded and waited in the shadowy room by themselves.

Harry was miserable. Snape was angry with them and Mr and Mrs Weasley were sure to be as well, then Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore on top of it. Hermione probably wouldn’t speak to them at all or she would lecture them on danger and foolishness, which was probably worse. They were toast.

Harry wished he and Ron were still stuck at Kings Cross station. They should never had taken the car.

“McGonagall’s not going to be pleased,” Ron voiced.

“No,” Harry agreed. Furious might be a better word, he thought.

“And Dumbledore,” Ron said. “What if we get sent to prison?”

Harry shook his head, staring at the low flames of the hearth fire. Whatever punishment they got, he felt they would deserve it.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 28:

Teaching Moments

So far, the school term hadn’t begun very well at all. Not that Snape had expected it to be smooth and uneventful, but he also hadn’t anticipated the explosive entrance of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

Stealing an enchanted car, flying underage, crashing into an ancient and highly valued tree and arriving late on top of it all. Snape wouldn’t have believed the boys could have committed all of these crimes at once. The Weasley twins, on the other hand, he wouldn’t have put it past. It was just the sort of thing they would do. Snape had hoped Harry would have more sense, but he clearly didn’t.

Snape was once more reminded of Harry’s father and his anger returned, not to be dampened by the verdict of Minerva McGonagall. She had been just as angry and displeased with the two delinquents as he was, if not more. Her face had gone white, her lips tight. The only other time Snape had seen her so upset was when Slytherin had won the House Cup for the seventh year in a row.

The Potions Master had fully expected her to expel the boys on the spot. Expel them and take points away from Gryffindor. She did neither and only gave them detention. The boys had been as surprised as he. Snape wanted to say much on the subject, but Albus Dumbledore had calmly told him to let them be and steered him away to sample desserts in the Great Hall.

However, not even custard tart was enough to distract Snape from Harry’s felonies. He made a point to take him aside the next morning and address the matter.

The boy had a haunted look as he once again followed Snape to his office. Harry flinched when Snape took out his wand, which he placed on his desk. Snape felt a little sympathy for him.

“I am not going to punish you anymore than you already have been punished, Potter,” Snape said.

Harry’s face lost some of its misery. “You’re not, sir?”

“No. I merely wish to discuss your actions.”

The boy looked visibly relieved. “I- I was afraid you might yell or send me away- or something. Ron got a Howler at breakfast, but of course you know that.”

Snape nodded. The entire Great Hall had been audience to the angry letter shouted in Molly Weasley’s voice before it had exploded in flames and reduced to ash on Ron Weasley’s plate.

“I am not going to shout,” Snape said quietly, “but you did act without thinking. You and Weasley could have gotten yourselves killed very easily.”

Harry turned a shade of pink. “I know, sir.”

“You are my responsibility, Potter. I can look out for your well being, but it is you who are responsible for your actions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Since it probably appeared in the Muggle news, I would like you to write an explanation to the Dursleys,” Snape went on.

For a moment, Harry smiled. “They’ll probably only be sorry I didn’t get killed.”

“Nevertheless,” Snape replied, “this is not a light matter and I hope you have learned something from it.”

Harry again looked humiliated. His eyes dropped to the floor. “I am very sorry, sir,” he whispered and Snape knew he meant it.

“Then we will drop the subject,” Snape said firmly, yet kindly.

Harry gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Snape nodded and almost smiled. “Go back to class.”

No more passed between them on the subject and Snape’s anger dissipated. But not his annoyance. Apart from his ward’s behaviour, Snape had another thorn in his side. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Gilderoy Lockhart.

Lockhart was exactly what Snape had expected him to be. Self-centered, flamboyant and so conceited it was amazing to him that the man’s head didn’t swell up.

Snape had of course read Lockhart’s books and his autobiography, Magical Me, but only out of requirement. Personally, he would have rather burned them. Even before he had met him in person, Snape had already formed an opinion of him. Anyone who claimed to have done even half as many extraordinary things as Gilderoy Lockhart was immediately suspect to Snape’s suspicious mind.

And he was right. The real Lockhart was even more revolting than his books and photographs. Snape couldn’t stand him. He couldn’t imagine why Albus Dumbledore had hired him, except that clearly no one else would volunteer to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Snape had once more requested the post and once more been turned down. So he had to swallow his pride and continue on normally, while the odious Lockhart sat next to him at every meal.

To add fuel to the flame, Lockhart also seemed to respect Snape and was constantly trying to get his assistance. He didn’t use the word “help,” but from Snape’s observation, the wizard who had won Witch Weekly’s “Most Charming Smile Award” five times running was clearly out of his depths as a teacher.

The very first morning of classes, Snape had been passing Lockhart’s classroom when the door slammed open and a stampede erupted from inside.

Slytherins and Gryffindors went off in every direction as the bell rang, followed by the high shrill laughter of Cornish pixies.

Snape glanced in. The classroom was a disaster. Pixies were yanking photographs from the walls and tearing pages out of books. Neville Longbottom was hanging by his cloak on the chandelier. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were hiding under a desk. Hermione Granger was looking shocked.

And in the middle of it all was Gilderoy Lockhart, trying to look like he had everything under control. He saw Snape in the doorway.

“Ah, Severus!” he cried, dodging an ink bottle, “how very good of you. Would you mind assisting me in rounding up these pesky pixies? Not that I can’t do it myself of course-”

One of the windows smashed. Blue pixies darted around with delighted shrieks. Neville Longbottom fell in a heap on the floor and Snape turned his back and shut the door behind him. He didn’t have time to deal with another man’s idiocy.

“How did he even manage to become a wizard?” Snape grumbled as he strode into the Great Hall the next afternoon.

“Who knows,” a voice crisply replied.

Snape looked up to see Minerva McGonagall near him. Her gaze was on Lockhart as he swept by in brilliant turquoise robes and his perfectly styled wavy hair.

Minerva pursed her lips.

“Insufferable idiot,” Snape muttered before he could stop himself.

“Indeed,” Minerva said in agreement, surprising him. “But even with idiots we should be patient.”

Snape sighed. “I suppose,” he replied.

“Just as you have become more patient with Harry Potter,” Minerva stated.

Snape startled and looked at her in confusion.

She merely raised an eyebrow over her spectacles. “You haven’t been as secret about your intentions regarding the boy as you may have thought,” she said with a thin smile.

Snape found he had no idea how to reply to this.

“It might do you some good,” the lady went on. “We all need something to take us outside of ourselves, Severus Snape. Children change us. They really do.”

Snape grunted. “I suppose they do,” he reluctantly said.

Minerva had a twinkle in her eye. “For example,” she smiled saucily, “I have observed that you have finally begun to wash your hair.”

Snape felt his face heat and he retreated to the other end of the table as quickly as he could go.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 29:

Practice Makes Perfect

Harry smiled to himself. He was feeling much better since the talk with Professor Snape. He still had to do detention, but at least the air was clean between him and his guardian. Snape hadn’t shouted or lectured him over the recent events. He had just given him a severe rebuke and left it at that.

Harry was very grateful to have not gotten anything close to the Howler Ron had received. Harry could still hear the echoes of Mrs Weasley's voice ringing in his ears days later.

“What’d yours say?” Ron had asked him. 

“The Dursleys couldn’t care less,” Harry said.

“What about… Snape?”

“Less than your mum and not as many adjectives,” Harry told him.

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “Man, did you get off easy.”

Harry guessed he was right. Harry had hoped to spend his Saturday doing nothing, but his dream of the ideal weekend had vanished when he’d been shaken awake at dawn by Oliver Wood, the Quidditch Captain. Harry found himself shouldering his broom and shuffling outside before he was fully alert.

In spite of missing breakfast, Harry’s energy returned as practice went underway. Until the Slytherin team showed up. It would have been alright if the despicable Draco Malfoy hadn’t been there, grinning as the new Seeker and as the team showed off the fast new brooms his father had bought.

Then Malfoy had to go and insult Hermione. An insult so nasty even some of the Slytherins had been shocked.

A Mudblood.

As if Hermione were dirty, unclean and unfit to study magic. When Ron had explained the word between puking slugs, Harry had been horrified. He almost wished Ron hadn’t explained what it meant and judging by how red Hermione’s face had gone, she didn’t like it either.

Harry was sorry Ron’s curse had backfired, but as the day went on, he had other things to worry about again. Such as detention with Professor Lockhart.

Harry would have rather cleaned the trophy room with Filch or even have gone to jail. Instead he was destined to help Lockhart answer his fan mail.

Harry wished he were dead.

† † † †

Sunday found Snape somewhat cheerful. Weekends at Hogwarts had long been for him nothing more than the two days he didn’t have to teach. Spent in quiet solitude, his only companion had been Hummel the barn owl.

Now Snape was away from the dungeons, mingling and mixing with the crowds. Avoidance was futile. It would have been the same as if he had suddenly turned jovial and smiled all the time.

As Minerva McGonagall had informed him, it was no secret about him and Harry. He didn’t need to be so abstruse. But being who he was, Snape wasn’t about to proclaim it from the rooftops either.

Snape met Harry in the courtyard just after lunchtime. The boy was dirty and looked tired. Since he was wearing red and gold robes and had his broom, it wasn’t difficult to determine he was returning from Quidditch practice.

“How’s the flying going, Potter?” Snape asked.

“Okay,” Harry said. “But, it’s going to be tough to beat Slytherin, sir.”

“Ah, because of the new brooms or the new Seeker?”

Harry tried not to scowl and failed. “The brooms. Malfoy is a brat.” Then the boy quickly realized what he’d said and stammered, “Er, that is, um…”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Snape said while trying not to smile. “But I wouldn’t recommend calling your classmates names even if you dislike them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If he practices as much as you do, he might turn into a good player,” Snape added.

Harry’s shoulders drooped. “Exactly what I’m afraid of,” he sighed. His glasses slipped down his nose. Snape reached out and gently pulled them off.

The pair of glasses was several years old, the lenses scratched and sellotape was still holding them together at the bridge and one of the arms. And by the way Harry had a tendency to squint even while he was wearing them, Snape guessed the prescription was too weak for his eyes.

Snape made a note to get the boy a new pair in the following year. In the meantime, he used his wand to repair the current pair, eliminating the need for the tape.

He handed the glasses back to Harry.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said with a smile.

“Don’t think about Malfoy, Potter,” Snape said. “Just focus on your team and your position. The game will sort it all out.”

Harry pushed his repaired glasses up his nose with a finger. “Yes, sir. Um… could I ask you something?”

“Of course, Potter.”

Harry bit his lip, as though he had a difficult question he was struggling with.

“Are you alright, Potter?”

Harry swallowed and quickly shook his head. “Fine.”

“What did you want to ask me?”

“Have you ever-” Harry began, then seemed to change his mind. “Nothing. I, uh, have to go.”

Snape watched Harry’s retreating form and wondered what it was he had wanted to know.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 30:

The Writing on the Wall

With October came rain, something which suited Harry just fine. Life at Hogwarts was turning into a seemingly endless drudgery of work. Between homework and Quidditch practice, Harry barely had any room left in his schedule for sleep.

Up at the crack of dawn to head down towards the pitch and practice in rain, wind and cold until his arms just about fell off.

Then the homework. Hermione never seemed to be behind on anything. She could write a four foot parchment on Professor Binn’s History of Magic in a very short amount of time and with tiny letters. Harry and Ron struggled to fill the required two feet never mind the extra credit.

The worst class of all was still Potions. Snape was piling on the assignments more than ever and Harry’s new relationship with him clearly did not transcend into easing the workload. Harry didn’t mind too much. He was still not the best at Potions, but he no longer dreaded it.

In fact, he had purposely lingered more than once after the other students had gone so he could talk to Snape. Harry really wanted to ask him about something personal, but each time he tried, he lost the courage.

During his detention with Professor Lockhart, Harry had heard a voice.

It wasn’t a voice he had ever heard before. It was cold, venomous, bodiless and definitely not human.

“Come to me… let me rip you… let me tear you- let me kill you,” it had whispered in icy menace.

“Weird,” Ron said when Harry told him. “Do you think it was a phantom?”

Harry wasn’t sure. It had sounded like a living voice. Whether the source was living or not was another story.

On Halloween night, Harry forgot about disembodied voices for a while. He, Ron and Hermione were off to Sir Nicholas’ Deathday party.

None of them had ever been to a party full of ghosts before and an hour later, they all concluded that they didn’t particularly ever want to go back again. From the black candles with the ominous blue flames to the hundreds of white translucent ghosts and the creepy music and the rotten food, it wasn’t something Harry was in a hurry to experience again. He shivered as he, Hermione and Ron left the damp chilly dungeons for the warmer levels of the castle.

“Talk about depressing,” Ron said, shaking himself. “Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?”

“Maybe it’s comforting to a ghost,” Hermione suggested. “Anyway, it is too bad Sir Nicholas can’t be part of the Headless Hunt.”

“Guess that’s the downfall of being nearly headless,” Ron grumbled.

Harry snorted, trying to get the smell of decaying fish out of his nose.

Then he heard it.

The voice.

Slithering, summoning, cold and evil.

“Rip… tear… kill.”

Hermione and Ron stopped and looked at Harry, who felt himself go white.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

Harry grabbed at the wall, straining to hear more. “The voice,” he said, then ran.

Ron and Hermione ran after him, as Harry went up the stairs and down corridors.

The voice was fading, somewhere above him.

“Harry, I can’t hear anything!” Ron gasped.

Harry paused, panting for breath, waiting for the voice. It came once more.

“Blood… I SMELL BLOOD!” it screamed, painful to his ears.

“It’s going to kill someone!” Harry cried, panic in his chest.

He ran as fast as he could, up to the second floor, knowing only that whatever the voice belonged to, it had to be stopped.

† † † †

It was Filch’s scream that brought them to the second floor landing. Just as the feast had ended, Snape heard him.

“You murdered her! I’ll kill yah! I’ll kill yah with my bare hands!”

Albus Dumbledore was instantly on his feet. The teachers all looked to each other in confusion. Snape and Minerva McGonagall stuck close to Dumbledore.

Instead of returning to their dormitories, students were clustered into the dim corridor above the Great Hall, all strangely silent.

Dumbledore made his way to the front, where everyone was standing back from the wall. In the middle of the wet floor was the trio of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, and baring down on them was Argus Filch, his eyes glaring, his face flushed in anger.

“You did it!” he was spitting at Harry. “I’ll kill you!”

Snape went to step forward, but Dumbledore caught his robes.

“Argus!” the headmaster said.

Filch stopped advancing on Harry.

Snape took in the whole scene. The stiff, lifeless body of Filch’s cat was hanging from a torch on the wall, her tail wrapped around the bracket, her eyes glazed and staring. But it was the wall that got Snape’s attention. On the wall were written words in a shimmering red substance. Snape’s nose told him it was blood. With unease, he read the message.

“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware.”

The letters dripped down the stone towards the water on the floor. Snape’s eyes went to Harry, standing directly below the letters. His face was white with fear.

Dumbledore calmly took the cat off the wall and told the three children to come with him, along with Minerva, Snape and Lockhart.

In Lockhart’s office, Dumbledore laid the cat on the desk. Filch was sobbing and spouting menace at Harry.

“He did that to her, he killed her!” he snarled.

Snape kept himself stationed between Filch and Harry so the caretaker wouldn’t strangle the boy. Harry slunk behind Snape’s robes, clearly wanting to be as far away from the angry Filch as possible.

“A student couldn’t have done this, Argus,” Dumbledore said, examining the cat.

“I heartily agree!” Lockhart declared, causing Snape to bite his tongue to refrain from saying something he would regret.

“But you saw him! You saw him standing in front of her body!” Filch returned, jabbing a long bony finger at Harry.

“I didn’t touch your cat!” Harry cried from behind Snape. “I didn’t write those words on the wall. I couldn’t have! They were there when I got there. I don’t know what’s happened to Mrs Norris!”

Filch snarled several unsavory words. Lockhart was babbling on about various curses and possible cures while Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall were looking over the cat.

Snape looked over the trio beside him. Their faces told many stories. Ron Weasley was confused and worried. Hermione Granger also, as she shivered and drew her robes closer. Harry’s emotions seemed to be the most complex of all. Worry and confusion, yes, also fear. There was deep fear in those green eyes and when he raised them to meet Snape’s gaze, he saw a touch of guilt, too, but what kind of guilt was it?

Dumbledore stepped back. “This cat is not dead, merely Petrified,” he said. “And I assure you, Harry Potter could not have done it.”

“No first year could have,” Minerva chimed in, her face serious.

“No no, of course not,” Lockhart agreed.

“Only someone with an advanced knowledge of Dark Magic could achieve Petrification on a living being,” Snape said quietly in a cold, low voice.

Harry’s frightened eyes went to his face.

“Potter could not have done this,” Snape said.

“Exactly what I think!” Lockhart butted in.

Harry’s face regained some colour.

“However,” Snape went on, “he was in the corridor and not at the feast with the rest of the Gryffindors, neither were Mr Weasley or Miss Granger. It could be these three were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps they can explain.”

The children quickly told of a Deathday party filled with ghosts. Snape’s suspicious mind would hardly have given this credit, if he hadn’t heard the imploring honesty in their voices.

“We went for Nearly Headless Nick,” Hermione was saying. “We didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“And you were on your way back to the Great Hall?” Minerva McGonagall asked.

Here Harry swallowed, nervousness coming over him. “Um, we were, but then…” he stopped.

“And then?” Minerva prompted.

“I heard…” Harry trailed off. Ron and Hermione were shaking their heads at him.

“You heard what, Potter?” Snape asked.

The boy looked up at him, then down at his feet. “Nothing,” he mumbled just as he had each time he stayed behind after class.

“I could whip up a Truthfulness Potion at the same time as a Restorative Elixir for the cat,” Lockhart boasted. “I know of a really good formula I used-”

“Pardon me, Gilderoy, but I do believe Severus is the Potions Master here,” said Dumbledore gently yet firmly.

“Oh yes, of course.” Lockhart shut up, much to Snape’s comfort.

Filch was fuming in the corner, demanding restitution for the Petrifying of his cat.

Dumbledore looked to the three children. “You may go.”

They bolted. Harry glanced back at Snape as he went.

Once Filch had been calmed and Mrs Norris taken to the hospital wing, Snape returned to the second floor corridor alone. He silently studied the bloodied letters as the torchlight flickered.

“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened,” Snape repeated to himself. He felt concern in his cold heart, but he was more concerned about Harry. What was it he knew? And why couldn’t he tell him?

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 31:

Murderous Murmurs

It was being whispered everywhere. “The Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry wasn’t sure how anyone managed to get any work done at all. The only thing that was talked about was the writing on the wall and the attack on Mrs Norris. Not too many students had sympathy for Filch. He was going around giving out detentions if any one so much as smiled or giggled in the halls. Students took to finding shortcuts just to avoid him, and the second floor corridor where those bloody letters gleamed.

Still Harry couldn’t get it out of his head. The legend of the Chamber of Secrets was all any of the students wanted to learn about and finally the teachers gave in.

The legend was Salazar Slytherin had built a secret chamber housing a monster under the castle of Hogwarts. Only the heir of Slytherin would be able to open it.

Harry felt uneasy. There were more whispers going around; weird looks his way. Harry knew what they had to be thinking. That he was Slytherin’s heir.

“Ridiculous,” Hermione said. “You couldn’t possibly be the heir. You didn’t write those letters. You didn’t Petrify Mrs Norris.”

“Not to mention you’re in Gryffindor,” Ron added. “You’d have to be in Slytherin to be the guy’s heir!”

Harry didn’t tell them about the Sorting last year and how the Sorting Hat had almost put him in Slytherin.

† † † †

Snape knew the legend of the Chamber well. As head of Slytherin House, he had thoroughly acquainted himself with the history of its founder. He didn’t know if the Chamber of Secrets was real, but he did know it was now the most talked of subject at Hogwarts. The students in his class kept whispering behind his back when they thought he wasn’t listening.

A sharp look and the single word of “Silence” quickly restored order.

Little Harry Potter seemed out of sorts. He was more quiet than usual. Snape made him stay after class the next Wednesday with the excuse of needing him to scrape tube-worms off desks. This was merely a ruse.

Harry stayed behind without a protest and started scraping. Snape let him clean two desks before he put aside the parchments he was sorting.

“Potter, you can stop now.”

Harry poked his head up from the desk he was kneeling under. “But, I haven’t finished, sir,” he said.

“Leave them,” Snape replied. “I asked you to stay so we could talk.”

Harry suddenly changed colour, like he’d been turned into a ghost. “Oh,” he said. He stood and brushed tube-worm bits off his robes.

“Come here, please,” Snape said.

The boy approached warily, his eyes focused on Snape’s hands folded on the desk rather than on his face.

Snape knew without having to ask that something was bothering him.

“What is it, Potter?”

Snape dropped his usual malicious tones and spoke not as a teacher, but as a man speaking to a frightened child. As a guardian to his ward.

Harry responded. He stopped studying the desk and looked up. His face was pale, but his eyes were clear. “Have you ever heard voices?” he asked.

Snape stared at him. “Voices?”

Harry nodded.

“I can’t say that I have,” Snape replied slowly. “What sort of voices do you mean?”

“I … don’t know. Just a voice,” the boy wavered, his cheeks flushing pink. “Ron told me hearing voices isn’t good even in the wizarding community.”

“No, it isn’t,” Snape said. “Could you give me a little more to go on? How often have you heard voices?”

“Twice and it’s only one voice,” Harry said. “I first heard it during detention with Professor Lockhart, then on Halloween night, right before the message and Mr Filch’s cat were discovered.”

“No one else heard the voice?” Snape questioned. “Did Lockhart or your friends?”

Harry shook his head in distress. “No, sir.”

Snape felt a strain of disquiet run through him. He leaned forward. “Can you tell me what the voice said?”

Harry uttered a few disconnected and dismaying sentences of “come to me… let me tear you… hungry, so hungry… and time to kill.”

Alarm sounded in Snape’s mind. Harry had more.

“Right before we ran to the second floor, it screamed and seemed to be moving upwards. That’s why we ended up there, not the Great Hall.”

Snape nodded slowly, his concern increasing. “What did it scream?”

“I smell blood,” Harry replied.

Even though he wasn’t bothered by the cold, a chill went through Snape. He had one more question to ask.

“What did the voice sound like, Potter?”

Harry’s green eyes met his gaze with visual fear.

“It sounded evil, sir.”

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 32:

Thoughts and Worries

The first Quidditch match of the season was just around the corner. Harry wasn’t entirely sure if he was more looking forward to it or dreading it. He was, he had to admit, excited to play in a game again. At the same time, it also distracted him.

Harry felt a little more at ease since he had told Professor Snape about the voice. That was one less thing for him to worry about.

Then there was the heir of Slytherin. Ron was convinced it was Draco Malfoy. Hermione had an idea of how they could find out for sure, though it involved breaking the rules. A lot of rules. And Hermione didn’t care. Harry would have worried about that, but he had other things to think about. Heavier things.

Harry had just left Ron and Hermione in the library. He had wanted to be alone. Harry was thinking. He was worried about the first Quidditch match. Those Nimbus 2001s would make the Slytherins hard to beat, even if they hadn’t been practicing every day, rain or shine, like the Gryffindors. Harry often wondered if the team captain Oliver Wood had ever heard of the word “rest.” Quidditch was the only thing on Wood’s mind.

Harry wondered how Professor Snape felt about the upcoming match. He had given the Slytherins permission to practice the same morning as the Gryffindors, but Harry wasn’t all together sure that had been on purpose, in spite of what Wood or the Weasley twins said. Snape was still his grumpy, brooding self, yet his nasty streak had all but vanished. Even Fred and George had noticed.

Harry also was thinking about something else.

Ever since the twins had hinted at Snape’s past, Harry wondered.

Had Snape really been one of Lord Voldemort’s Death Eaters?

It didn’t seem unlikely. Snape’s general disposition had caused Harry to think many things about him over the first year he’d known him, from the brief idea of him being a vampire to him being the devoted and loyal servant of Voldemort.

All wrong and all based on false first impressions. As Dumbledore had said, Harry had judged based on appearance, as had Snape.

Yet Harry still wondered. He wanted to ask Snape himself, to talk to him personally, but he didn’t know how. What would he say?

“Excuse me, Professor Snape, but were you ever a Death Eater?”

No, that wouldn’t do. Snape was sure to get angry. The last thing Harry wanted was to make Snape angry. Snape enraged was a sight Harry wished to avoid.

He didn’t acknowledge it to anyone, but Harry found anger very frightening. He had grown up with it, endured it in silence for eleven years and much of the time it had been aimed at himself. No, he didn’t want Snape to be angry with him. When Snape was angry, he looked mad enough to kill.

But Harry didn’t think Snape had ever killed anyone. In back of the anger, Harry had also sensed pain.

Harry put his hands in his pockets and plodded on towards the Gryffindor common room. He was avoiding Lockhart again. And that irritating Colin Creevey and his camera. Colin was an annoying first year kid who kept following Harry around to take pictures of him like he was a rock star or something. Colin tried to document everything Harry did, from eating to studying. It was sort of like being followed by an amorous puppy, only one armed with a camera.

Harry grumbled and glanced out the windows at the rain. Then he thought he heard Colin’s voice.

Colin and some other Gryffindors were coming down the next passage. Harry panicked. He burst into a run. He turned a corner and ran right into Professor Snape.

† † † †

There was something not right at Hogwarts. Snape wasn’t sure what it was, but he felt it keenly. It didn’t have anything to do with the ludicrous Lockhart or Filch’s Petrified cat. Even the Chamber of Secrets wasn’t the top priority in Snape’s mind, even though he was spending many hours reading about it. He was of course still teaching, still deducting points from misbehaving students and being strict and foreboding. But he was also thinking about Harry.

Hearing strange voices was never a good sign for anyone, either wizard or Muggle. Snape believed the boy was telling the truth. Snape had seen honesty in those green eyes. And fear. Hearing a voice no one else could and at times preceding unsettling occurrences would make anyone afraid. It was possible Harry possessed powers he wasn’t aware of.

Snape was deep in thought on this when Harry himself came barreling around the end of the hall and collided with him.

“Potter!” Snape exclaimed, steadying the boy.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry apologized, hastily trying to gather up his dropped books.

“Studying?” Snape asked.

“Yes. Um, research,” Harry said, looking slightly guilty. “Er, do you remember talking about Polyjuice Potion a few weeks ago, sir?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Naturally. Why do you want to know?”

Harry was turning colour rapidly. “Hermione was talking about doing some extra credit and neither Ron or I had a clue what she was on about.”

Snape stepped aside to let a group of Hufflepuffs pass, then turned and started to walk with Harry.

“Polyjuice Potion has the ability to transform its drinker into someone else,” he said.

“Really?” Harry’s voice held interest. “Sounds kind of dodgy, sir.”

“It is. The potion is very difficult, even for an experienced wizard.”

“Is it in a book?”

“The book it’s in, Most Potent Potions, lives in the Restricted Section of the library,” Snape replied. He had in fact just returned the book.

Harry looked disappointed. “Hermione was hoping to study it,” he said.

“For extra credit?” Snape inquired.

“Um, yeah, I guess so,” the boy stammered, like he was trying to not say the wrong thing.

“And I gather Miss Granger would wish to take the book out?” Snape went further.

Harry nodded, his whole face red even to the tips of his ears. Snape could well believe Hermione Granger wanting to do extra homework for fun in her spare time. She was that kind of student. But a book from the Restricted Section? Harry’s face was practically screaming guilt at him. Even his thoughts weren’t innocent.

“You need a teacher to sign a note to get a book from there,” Snape said.

Harry nodded again as the pair reached the corridor leading to the Gryffindor common room. “I know, Professor. Hermione told me. She was planning on asking Professor Lockhart if he’d give her permission.”

Snape felt heat rise to his cheeks. Lockhart again.

“I don’t think that would be a wise idea,” Snape said.

Harry looked up at him. “Yeah, he’d probably want to autograph the book for her,” the boy stated.

Snape almost smiled. Apparently he and Minerva McGonagall weren’t the only ones who didn’t care for the blond peacock. Snape knew he shouldn’t, but his dislike for one teacher overrode his better judgment.

“Have Miss Granger come and see me after class,” Snape said. “I will give her a signed note.”

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 33:

Broken Bones and Bludgers

The morning of the Quidditch match dawned with distinct mugginess to the overcast sky. It smelled as if there could be a thunderstorm at any moment. But unless lightening actually slashed through the clouds, the match wouldn’t be canceled.

Severus Snape got to the pitch early. He was among the first who arrived, amid yawns and shivers from the cold November chill. Snape was fully awake, the dampness not bothering him in the least.

The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams walked to the field and faced each other, cheers and boos coming from the crowd.

Snape applauded for his own team as he always did, but he also clapped as the smallest of the Gryffindor players shot upward on his broom. No one noticed over the roars of the spectators except for Albus Dumbledore and also Minerva McGonagall, who caught Snape’s eye with a discerning smile.

The game took off in a blur. The Slytherins were unstoppable on their new brooms, scoring point after point. Overhead the clouds decided to open and it began to rain.

As Snape brushed strands of wet hair out of his eyes, his gaze went to Harry.

The boy wasn’t sitting off to the side, watching for the Snitch. He was darting over the field, suddenly turning and dropping, then zipping upwards. The reason why was a Bludger. The ball seemed to be following him.

Fred Weasley hit it furiously with his club and the ball immediately shot towards Harry. George Weasley, the other Gryffindor Beater, got the Bludger before it clobbered Harry in the face.

But no matter what they did, the Bludger continued to aim towards Harry and Harry only. It was as if someone had tampered with it.

Snape’s eyes scanned the crowds, going over the faces. Only a few seemed to be watching what was happening above the game.

George Weasley frantically signaled to the Gryffindor captain and Madame Hooch blew her whistle for time out. The Slytherins jeered as the players in scarlet landed.

Snape couldn’t tell what was being said, but the look of confusion on Oliver Wood was enough. Then the shouting started. Madame Hooch strode over and play resumed.

Harry went back to his position by himself with the Bludger right on his tail. Snape kept his sights on Harry as he performed loops, twists and complicated moves in the rain to keep the rogue Bludger at bay.

The rain increased and Snape had to squint to keep Harry in focus. Draco Malfoy had stationed himself so he could watch Harry’s dance and yelled out something like “Trying out for the ballet, Pottah?”

There was a hint of gold hovering by Malfoy’s ear.

Harry paused. The Bludger got him.

A pang hit Snape’s heart as he watched Harry crumple, his left arm limp. He started to slip off his broom. The Bludger was zooming at him again.

The boy regained his footing and charged at Malfoy. The Slytherin Seeker dodged.

Harry let go of his broom, only holding on with his knees. Then he fell.

Snape stood, his eyes locked on the boy as he dropped from the sky.

Harry hit the ground, sliding through the mud. His body came to a stop, and he lay gasping in the rain, the Snitch in his hand.

The rain poured down in rivers, increasing its flow as the crowd stirred in confusion. Snape had to push his way through to get out of the stands and onto the pitch. He left the stands and ran.

Harry’s still form was lying in a pool of muddy water.

Snape hadn’t heard Madam Hooch’s whistle. He didn’t even care if the game was over. He only cared about the boy.

The first to reach him was Gilderoy Lockhart. Then the rest of the Gryffindor team. Snape was up against layers of broom-welding, burgundy robe wearing, worried students, whom he peeled back one by one until he got to the middle.

Harry was trying to sit up. The Golden Snitch was fluttering against his clutched fingers. His left arm was limp and definitely broken. Harry was looking up at Lockhart and saying, “No, I don’t want you to.”

Lockhart patted the boy’s shoulder. “Not to worry, Harry. Just a quick charm will do the trick. It’s just a broken bone.”

“Lockhart, broken bones are Madame Pomfrey’s domain,” Snape interjected sharply, causing more than one Gryffindor to gasp loudly.

Lockhart fixed a gleaming smile on Snape. “Of course, Severus, and I am sure she is a most excellent nurse. However, I also have some small experience in these matters.”

He dramatically took out his wand.

“Please don’t,” Harry begged.

Oliver Wood boldly ventured to say, “I agree with Professor Snape, sir. I think Potter should go to the hospital wing.”

“Oh nonsense!” Lockhart waved him off and raised his wand.

“Professor!” Harry struggled to move out of the way and collapsed in the mud.

“Lockhart.” Snape stepped in front of Harry. Gilderoy tutted at him like a teacher would to a well-meaning student and pushed Snape aside.

“I have this well in hand, thank you, Severus. Now, Brackium Emendo!”

There were more gasps. Colin Creevey’s camera clicked away, documenting everything. Where Harry Potter’s arm had been was now a limp, rubbery tube with fingers on the end. Harry stared at it.

“Holy cow,” Ron Weasley muttered.

“Er, dear me. Yes, that can sometimes happen,” Gilderoy Lockhart said quickly, fumbling with his wand. “But, no broken bones now, are there?”

Snape blew out of his nose. He shoved Lockhart to one side and shot a glare at the boy with the camera.

“Put that thing away, Creevey,” he growled.

The clicking abruptly came to a stop.

Snape knelt down and studied Harry’s arm. Harry looked up at him imploringly.

“Idiot,” Snape muttered. “Not you,” he added at Harry’s expression. “Can you move it?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s… like the bones are gone.”

And so they were. Snape picked up Harry’s hand and it merely flopped over limply as cold spaghetti.

“Just a side effect,” Lockhart announced cheerfully. “Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, why don’t you just help Harry up to the hospital wing? Nip along now.”

“They will not just ‘nip along,’ ” Snape said, standing and assisting Harry to his feet. The boy nearly fell headlong into the mud, the boneless arm dangling uselessly.

“Oh, he’ll be fine, Severus,” Lockhart insisted. “No need to fuss. His friends can take care of him. Besides, he’s not even in your House.”

Snape took Harry’s working hand and gently pried the Snitch out of his fist.

Without looking at Lockhart, he said in his deep voice, “When a student is injured, it is the duty of a responsible teacher to make sure he receives the treatment he needs, regardless if that student is in his House or not. Just as a smart wizard does not use a charm on anyone unless they ask them to.” Snape looked at him with a cold stare. “Don’t you agree, Gilderoy?”

The face with the perfect smile under the blond curls had gone a shade of pink. “Er-”

Snape dropped the Snitch into his hands. Lockhart fumbled to keep a hold on it before giving it off to Oliver Wood.

Snape resisted a sneer.

“Come, Potter,” he said, guiding the boy through the gaping throng of wet Gryffindors. “You two, as well,” he added to Ron and Hermione.

The small procession made its way off the Quidditch pitch in the pouring rain.

† † † †

Chapter Text

Chapter 34:

Petrified

It was a very long and uncomfortable night. For Harry, it was probably the longest night he could remember, lying in bed in the infirmary waiting for the bones in his arm to regrow.

Madame Pomfrey had been right. Regrowing bones was painful. All night Harry’s arm felt like there were pins stuck in it. He didn’t get any sleep at all. And it wasn’t entirely because of his arm.

Snape had stayed with him just long enough to make sure he was taken care of, but not long enough to arouse suspicion from Madame Pomfrey or the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Ron and Hermione had stayed a little longer and talked about the rogue Bludger.

“That Malfoy,” Ron growled. “I’d like to grind his face right into the floor.”

“You can do that after we drink the Polyjuice Potion,” Hermione said. “And we don’t even know if it was Malfoy.”

“I’d bet a thousand Galleons it was,” Ron said.

Then Madame Pomfrey forced them to leave. Harry wasn’t alone for long.

In the middle of the night he had a surprise visitor in the form of Dobby the house elf.

Harry wasn’t sure if he was pleased to see him or not. The last time he’d seen the elf, he had gotten Harry in trouble.

Dobby was tearful and grieved that “Harry Potter had come back to school.”

“I had to,” Harry said. “I couldn’t stay with the Dursleys. Or the Weasleys. The house would have been empty. And Snape’s here-” Harry broke off.

“But Harry Potter would have been safe,” the elf sniffled. “And Dobby wouldn’t have had to protect him.”

“What’d you mean?”

Harry listened and felt himself get angry as the elf confessed it had been him who had made Harry and Ron miss the train to Hogwarts and also the one who had tampered with the Bludger.

“You tried to kill me!” Harry hissed, wishing he could strangle the elf.

“Oh no, never kill you, sir!” Dobby squeaked. “Never kill you! If only Harry Potter knew. Such danger, sir. Such danger. Since the Chamber of Secrets has been opened again-”

Harry then had to stop Dobby from hitting himself with a water jug.

“Who opened the Chamber, Dobby?” Harry demanded. “Who opened the Chamber of Secrets? I must know.”

The elf would not tell him, implored him not to ask. “Please, sir, Harry Potter must go home,” Dobby sobbed, tears staining the ratty pillowcase he wore.

“No, this is where I belong. Everyone I care about is here and I can’t just leave them,” Harry said.

“So noble, so brave,” Dobby moaned.

There suddenly came the sound of footsteps and hushed voices. Dobby vanished. Harry quickly pretended to be asleep, but was actually completely wide awake.

It was Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore who came into the hospital wing, and between them, they were carrying a stiff form.

Harry held his breath as they laid the statue-like figure on a bed. Even in the darkness, Harry could see the worry on the old headmaster’s face.

Madame Pomfrey appeared in a nightdress and robe. “Oh my gracious,” she breathed. “Not-”

“Another attack,” Dumbledore said in a serious whisper.

“I found him on the stairs just outside the infirmary,” Professor McGonagall said.

Harry sucked in a breath. He stared at the face of the frozen figure on the bed. The moonlight showed it to be Colin Creevey.

“Petrified,” Harry whispered.

Dumbledore took the camera from Colin’s hands. Harry smelled burnt plastic as the back of the camera was opened. He could only guess the film had melted.

“What can it mean, Albus?” McGonagall said with tense urgency.

Dumbledore put the useless camera aside before he answered.

Harry felt a terrible lurch of fear, though he didn’t know why.

Then Dumbledore spoke and Harry’s stomach flipped with dread.

“It means that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened.”

† † † †