Harry tapped his fingers on the library table while he watched the other boy set out his books and parchment. He didn't need some egghead tutoring him! He was the Boy Who Lived; His grades were good enough. The other boy finally looked up and stuck his hand across the table.
"Aaric Snape."
Snape! Harry's jaw went slack. The boy didn't much look like Snape. He had soft, curly brown locks instead of oily black strands, and a rather non-distinct nose. The moment stretched on and Harry couldn't bring himself to take his hand. Dumbledore really had lost it.
"Very well," Aaric withdrew his hand. "I'm taking the NEWT for history of magic and independently studying the linguistic nuances and etymologies of spells in various languages. I don't imagine that much interests you, but the headmaster wishes for you to learn the history of magical war."
Harry groaned. "And what, you volunteered?"
"No," Aaric tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "My field is very specialized. I've my eye on a residency in Italy and would like to improve my resume. We'll focus on wars and conflicts of the 20th century to begin with. Is there anything specific you wish to learn?"
He barely heard what Aaric said. Somebody had had sex with Snape? Disgusting! Were they still together? As soon as he realized he was staring, he moved his gaze to the table. Ron would never believe they'd been going to school with a Snape the whole time.
"Voldemort, obviously," he said as he looked back up.
Aaric hummed as he wrote. "Even the Dark Lord's tactics have a historical basis. Though his spell work and preferences are considered to be unique." He chewed on his lip as he wrote bullet points. "While I am aware of your claims regarding the supposed return of the Dark Lord, we will not be discussing it. I do not need trouble with the Ministry."
"Then call him by his name," Harry pushed. Snape was supposedly on their side, so his son should be as well.
Much like Snape, Aaric blinked in rapid succession, like Harry was the most annoying thing he'd ever seen. "Here," he slapped one of his books down in front of Harry. "Chapter 8, history of the imperius curse." He shoved his parchment and books into his bag and fled.
Clearly he was just quick to temper like his father. It was the only answer Harry could think of. He tapped the book against his thigh as he walked back toward the tower. Maybe the purpose of the tutoring was for him to convince Aaric not to become a Death Eater.
-:
He couldn't believe he'd let Hermione talk him into this. Yes Umbridge was a miserable bint, but didn't he have enough to do with Quidditch, weekly tutoring sessions with Aaric, and homework? His only hope was that showing initiative might incline Dumbledore to stop the history lessons. It was pointless anyways. Why should he care that the imperius curse originated as a spell for keeping children in line? Or that the verb in Italian was imperare, which became impero fanciullo: I command the boy. Or the Latin, imperō puerae: I command the boy. Which entered English directly to become the word imperious.
He winced as they approached the Hog's Head. Hadn't Hagrid once warned him about the odd sort that hung around there? It didn't look like the sort of place they ought to be. "Are you sure about this?" he asked Hermione one last time.
"I've checked the student handbook over. We're not doing anything wrong." She huffed as she pushed in front of them and stormed in.
It was one large room that smelt faintly of goat. For a moment, Harry thought he was walking on dirt. On closer look, it was probably a century's worth of accumulated dust. Disgusting. There were few patrons: a mummy-wrapped man at the bar, two hooded figures at a table near the window, a hooded figure in a chair near the fire, and a familiar form seated at the furthest table from the bar bent over a piece of parchment.
Hermione growled softly and Harry knew she was looking where he was looking. "Who is that? He goes to Hogwarts, doesn't he? That's the best table."
Ron grunted his agreement.
"It's Snape," Harry muttered. They could go or Aaric could go. Either way they could not have their discussion with the spawn of Snape there. It was a sure way to earn a good month's worth of detention. "I'll talk to him."
He tried to imagine what Aaric was reading. Something dorky probably. Unsure of what to say, he stood uncomfortably close to Aaric, where he could incidentally read the parchment. Dear Mister Eads: my dad gave me your name many years ago in relation to a question regarding how I came into being. I am uncertain if the two of you have an agreement according to which you cannot contact me—which is why I'm writing.
"Potter," Aaric said softly. "If you want my attention there are subtler ways to do it."
Harry grimaced, momentarily questioning if he was about to be cruel. "Er, what are you doing?"
Aaric shrugged and finally looked up. His red, puffy cheeks told Harry he had been crying, but there was no use in calling him on it. "Nothing important. Did you need something?"
"Yeah, but who are you writing to?"
"My father," he replied casually.
Harry's face messed up. If it was Snape plus a father that meant…. But it wasn't possible!
"My dad," Aaric continued with a Snape-sneer, "says you are exceptionally dense, but surely you are aware of the male birth fold. You have one after all." He looked past Harry to Hermione and Ron before returning his gaze to the parchment. "You can sit if you like."
He continued writing. I would also like to make it clear that I have no expectations of you. I know you have a family. Harry held his breath as he walked away. He'd seen too much. He couldn't possibly ask Aaric to leave now.
"Uh," he ran his hand through his hair. "We need to reschedule."
The bell jingled as the door opened, announcing the arrival of Neville and then Dean and Lavender. They drew his attention so that he almost missed Hermione puffing out her chest and storming over to Aaric. He ran to catch her. "No wait!"
"You need to leave," Hermione said in a disturbingly cold voice.
"He can stay," Harry yelled, even though he was standing right next to her. He tried to smile as he looked down at Aaric. "If you don't want trouble with the Ministry, keep out of our business okay."
Aaric nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world before tucking his head back down to continue writing. It almost bothered Harry. Almost. He couldn't imagine having his parents alive and them being Snape and somebody he didn't know. Snape was probably as bad as the Dursleys. He kept his eyes on Aaric as more and more people entered. This was a bad idea.
"You don't have to do anything yet," Hermione whispered, "I'll speak to them first."
They sat around a single table, each giving a quiet greeting first, until there was no space left and chairs had to be pulled up. He hadn't expected so many people. Neville, Luna, Cho—they didn't seem like the sort to be participating in something against the rules, even something only questionably against the rules. When there were no more chairs, the chatter died down. What would they expect from him? He didn't particularly want to be their leader.
Hermione stood. "Er. Well—er—hi."
Harry looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Aaric still hunched over and writing. He was still hunched over, but his gaze was solidly and curiously on Harry. Their eyes met for a long moment, only broken when Aaric looked back down.
"We…I mean—I had the idea that it might be good…if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts—I mean actually study it, instead of the rubbish Umbridge is teaching—well, we should take it into our own hands." She paused and bit her lip hard while watching people nod. "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but real spells." She looked to Harry.
"Yeah I'd like to pass the O.W.L.s too," Michael Corner laughed.
"We all do," Hermione snapped. "But it's more than that. I want to be trained properly because…because Voldemort is back."
Harry turned back to Aaric again while Hermione argued with someone he'd never met. The letter had been moved to the other side of the table to air out. Instead he was bent over a notebook—his hair falling around his face in a very Snape-ish way. He was probably researching some spell, looking for the root language.
"Is it true you can produce a patronus charm?" someone asked.
He returned to the conversation.
-:
"What are you working on?" Harry asked as he sat.
Aaric flipped to the next page in his book. "Do you actually care?"
Harry shrugged. As much as he was interested in what he'd learned about the Snapes, he wasn't interested in the slightest in Aaric's work. "Did you send your letter?"
"I've taken interest in the spell homenum revelio," Aaric continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "It is generally agreed that it moved from the Latin into English, but I certainly would not have formed the spell that way. Exponentry, as you may or may not know, is the art of creating spells. The exponenter carefully crafts a spell with respect to linguistic nuance and practice. Certain languages are easier to do that in. Latin for example, though the results of Latin-based spells can be less focused. Latin phrases can have varying meanings."
He stopped to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear and Harry refrained from interrupting. It would be rude. Aaric trying to be friendly was like Hermione trying to be friendly—boring and slightly overwhelming.
"I would have phrased it… homines rescisco. I find the humans. Instead some asshole exponented homenum revelio. They used the Anglicized word reveal instead of revelo because they wanted it to sound like revello instead, which means to wrench off or tear out." He paused and tapped his finger on the table. "I didn't send it yet. He didn't want me, so…."
Harry winced. Aaric wasn't so bad—as a son he'd probably be great, low-maintenance. "Maybe it's different now." He took out his own parchment and tried to remember whatever he'd just learned. "But would…" His eyebrows kitted together, "would your spell work?"
Aaric made a positive noise and nodded. "It's complicated, Potter. He has a family. Grandkids my age probably."
They drifted into a not-uncomfortable silence. Maybe he should remind Aaric not to tell anyone about what happened at the Hog's Head—but so far he seemed less agitated, like maybe he sort of trusted Harry. He pulled out his reading for potions, just to waste time while Aaric did whatever. With Umbridge teaching Defense, Potions might be his most interesting subject, even if it still wasn't a particularly enjoyable subject.
"So," Aaric eventually said. "Do you follow football?"
Harry smirked and caught himself by surprise. Snape struck him as the pure-blood supremacist type, not as the sort of man that would let his son watch Muggle sports. "No. My uncle thinks it's foolish and unbecoming of a man to obsess with athletics." Aaric's eyes grew wide. "Do you?"
"Aye lid," his voice changed entirely, "I'm a kopite. Me an' me arl fella from Liverpool."
"You're bloody scousers?" Harry hissed. He couldn't for the life of him imagine Snape with such an unrefined accent. Petunia and Vernon wouldn't be caught dead socializing with scousers.
"An yer a posh twat."
Harry blushed. The accent was both annoying and cute. "I guess I am, yeah."
The smiled at each other for what seemed like forever. As soon as Aaric looked away and began shoving his things into his bag he realized how queer it was: a couple of blokes staring into each other's eyes smiling. He wasn't even sure he liked Aaric.
"Qui' sagging off ya meff," Aaric said as he pointed to Harry's book bag.
Harry's blush deepened as he watched Aaric leave.
-:
He almost put his papers away when Ron's snoring unexpectedly stopped. He still wasn't sure why he'd agreed to let Aaric write it out for him or why he'd said he'd learn it. Latin didn't interest him in the slightest. And if he learned Latin, Aaric would insist on Italian. But there he was, awake when everyone was asleep, reviewing vocabulary.
Present Indicative Active
Laudare: to praise
Singular
Plural
Laudo: I praise
Laudamus: we praise
Laudas: you praise
Laudatis: you praise (pl)
Laudat: he/she/it praises
Laudant: they praise
Monere: to advise
Singular
Plural
Moneo: I advise
Monemus: we advise
Mones: you advise
Monetis: you advise (pl)
Monet: he/she/it advises
Monet: they advise
Present Active Imperative
Singular
Plural
Lauda: praise!
Laudate: praise!
Mone: advise!
Monete: advise!
Vocabulary:
Me: me, myself
Quid: what
Nihil: nothing
Non: not
Saepe: often
Si: if
Amare: to love, like. -are
Cogitare: to think, ponder, consider, plan. -are
Debere: to owe; ought, must. -ere
Dare: to give, offer. -are
Errare: to wander; to make a mistake. -are
Laudare: to praise. -are
Monere: to remind, advise, warn. -ere
Salvere: to be well, be in good health. –ere
Salve, Salvete: hello
Servare: to preserve, guard, save. -are
Conservare: to preserve, conserve, maintain. -are (stronger in intention than servare)
Terrere: to frighten, terrify. -ere
Valere: to be strong, have power. -ere
Vale, Valete: good-bye, farewell.
Videre: to see, observe, understand. -ere
Vocare: to call, summon. -are
-practice with imperatives. Ama me! Vale!
Love me! Be strong! He was almost certain Aaric didn't mean it. They were just examples. He took a spare sheet of parchment that he'd meant to write vocabulary on and instead addressed it: Dear Snuffles. He pressed the quill into the parchment for so long it bled through. I know it sounds odd, but Dumbledore has Aaric Snape (yes you read that right, Snape's son!) teaching me history of magical war. No. He crossed it out.