A/N: Many thanks to guest and guest and hamlet. And yes, hamlet, Polly P is there for a reason!
The Note
4:30 pm, Easter Sunday, 1995
"Found him!"
Brilliant, thought Harry. Alicia Mayhew. Just what I sodding need. The pudgy first-year, a vision in pink angora, clattered over to where he sat, and gave him a gentle-ish kick in the shin.
"What's your problem, then?"
Harry could only look at her. Not because he thought himself above responding to first-years, rather because he didn't know where to start. How could he tell her what his problem was in any way she'd understand? He dropped his gaze to his lap, and felt Alicia plonking her ample bottom down beside him. Next came a nudge.
"Big second-year, eh?! Don't want to talk to a firstie!"
The short girl gave him a cheeky grin as she referenced his night of ignominy in the second-year dorm. Unaccountably, Harry put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze; then moroseness beckoned.
That morning, he'd returned to his own dorm only to be showered in scarlet confetti the second he walked through the door.
"Oh bravo, Malfoy!" Cheered Zabini.
The Platinum Pillock strode to the centre of the room.
"Yes well, the saliva was acidic, which turns the parchment anything from salmon pink to deep red."
Zabini and Crabbe nodded, but Goyle looked bamboozled.
"Why?" He asked.
"Parchment has the same properties as litmus."
Malfoy supplied tersely before waving away Goyle. The last thing he wanted was Gregory Goyle butting in with his dim-witted questions and comments; he was busily working up to something here.
"That's why I had you eat the orange, Vince. Orange is very acidic, hence the scarlet. And we had to have scarlet what with Potter being a Gryffindor!"
"But he's a Slytherin now." Said Goyle.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he turned slowly to the lumpish boy.
"What's special about today, Goyle?"
Goyle wasn't sure, so Harry helped him.
"It's Easter Sunday, Greg."
"Chocolate!" Roared Crabbe.
At the mention of the word, Goyle began to visibly salivate. Even Zabini looked excited,
"We've got to get to the chocolate before Snape comes in and starts rationing it! Remember last year? He made us give half of it to the poor brats in Hogsmeade."
The three boys raced to the common room, leaving only Harry and Malfoy.
"Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! Easter Sunday, Potter … Time's up." Said Malfoy, before he left too.
oOo
Snape had been wrong about Malfoy claiming glory for inventing 'Incantatio Catapultum!' As a matter of fact, over breakfast that morning Malfoy went to great pains to give his housemaster full credit. Though certain other details did veer into the realms of fantasy …
" … Snape kept me up until half past one in the morning teaching me his new spell! You know, I think he realises we've all been a little down after what happened to Theo …" Malfoy said.
"Could've spent more time with us then," Grumbled Pansy, "we've barely seen him this week."
"Be fair, Pansy." Said AB, "He's had an awful lot on his plate. Theo was in a shocking state; Snape had to spend most of his time with him, and he had to sort out Theo going to live with Archie's family."
"Why has he gone there?" Asked Lara Templeman.
"You know why." Replied AB.
"I don't know why, but I think it's great!" Said Archie, "I can't wait to go home this afternoon; I've got a brother now!"
Malfoy gave Archie a sweet, tolerant smile, and Harry could sense a barb was about to fly.
"Archie?" Said Malfoy, "Theo's parents are both dead now, and his only living relative is a horrid aunt. Snape wouldn't allow Dumbledore to force Theo into living with an aunt who'd mistreat him. Other heads of house may do things like that, but it's not what Snape does with his Slytherins."
Harry remembered the evening he'd been trapped in the sarcophagus with Malfoy, and all the details of Dursley life he'd shared. He wanted to kick himself now. A thought occurred to him about The Prat's cleverness. Hermione was smart - everyone knew that. But how brilliant could Malfoy be if only he didn't devote 95% of his effort into being a monumental shit?
"And don't forget, Pansy," Said Sophie Blishwick, "you have us prefects. We're here to listen and help."
Those words, albeit unwittingly, stung Harry just as much as Malfoy's. He looked around the table at Sophie, Pucey, AB, and Latimer. The Slytherin prefects were great; he loved spending time with any of them, but though they'd certainly listen, none of them could help him. Oh bloody hell! Malfoy had piped up again.
"That's right." Agreed The Platinum Ponce, "You have the prefects, and you also have us senior students."
The scary sound of someone choking panicked everyone, and Crabbe leapt up to slap Millicent on the back.
"What?!" She cried, still coughing up bits of porridge. "You're calling yourself a 'senior student'?!"
"I'm not calling myself anything;" Malfoy said, "I'm only repeating what Snape told me."
"You're having a laugh!" Jeered Arno Van Den Berg.
"Snape's words, not mine." Snapped Malfoy.
"Bollocks they were!" Said Harry.
"What would you know, Potter? You barely know Snape." Hissed Malfoy, before lightening his tone for the others. "Who was it Snape dragged out of bed at midnight to show that new spell? Me, that's who. And why? Because he knew we were all feeling a little neglected and down in the dumps about Theo. He wanted a quick learner to master it, and come in to cheer you lot up. He said I was invaluable to him. It's not my fault he called me a senior student. Complain to him, not me."
This was brilliant, thought Harry. Malfoy had really shot himself in the foot this time. No way had Snape done that, and Millicent wouldn't let it rest. She'd keep probing until he was exposed as a lying, stinking fraud. Harry leant back in his chair wearing the smug smile of satisfaction. Two seconds later, and Harry's dream came true. Snape let himself into the Great Hall from the teachers' entrance, nimbly hopped off the dais and came striding over to them. As he got closer, Harry nearly wet himself with excitement. Here it comes, Malfoy! Total humiliation!
Pausing to pluck out some orange parchment from Elsa Tobin's hair, Snape's eyes roamed until he found Malfoy.
"Been teaching them your new spell, I see?"
"Not my spell, sir. That honour goes to you! I told them how you'd taught me it at one o'clock this morning."
"Impressed with your old housemaster, are you?" Snape asked everyone, before patting Malfoy on the shoulder, "Well done, Malfoy."
Oh, shitting, bloody hell! It was all true. Harry couldn't believe it.
"Now! Listen to me. I have important business today …"
"What's that, sir?" Asked Malcolm Baddock.
Snape picked up a spoon and rapped Malcolm on the head with it.
"Never question me, Mister Baddock. However, as I'm such an indulgent soul, I shall let your impertinence slide this once and tell you. I have an urgent meeting in Hogsmeade, so I may as well take all the excess chocolate with me …"
A groan sounded around the table.
"Quiet!" Warned Snape, " 'He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have.' " If you don't like that piece of advice, take it up with Socrates."
He turned and pointed a finger at Archie.
"Later, Delingpole, I shall be taking you to Gloucestershire; your parents have been warned not to give you more chocolate."
Snape swivelled on his heel, and Harry found himself squarely in the housemaster's sights.
"And before I leave this afternoon, Potter, you and I are having a talk. Don't wander off anywhere."
Snape swept out of the hall, and the Snakes started quizzing each other about how much chocolate they'd managed to hide before Snape snaffled a hefty portion for the poor children of Hogsmeade. Harry didn't join in with that though; his thoughts were on his talk with Snape. He was being sent back to Gryffindor. Why was he being so mental about it? He'd always known Slytherin was a temporary affair, and if he'd forgotten that, Malfoy had certainly reminded him enough in the last few days. But there was just something so final about hearing it from Snape. Final and awful. His throat tightened, and he worried he might start weeping at any moment. He staved off that humiliation by taking quick, deep breaths.
"You alright?" Asked Harriett, "You're panting again. Nose blocked?"
"Yeah." Said Harry quietly, "I've got a potion in my trunk … think I'll go and take some."
He left the hall and he ran and ran - not to his trunk, in fact nowhere near the dungeons. He simply ran in whichever direction he thought he might find solitude.
oOo
He lasted outside in one of Hagrid's store sheds for a few hours, but the fickle Scottish weather had changed to single digit temperatures. The cold got to him, and he moved back into the castle. The third door along from the library was where Madam Pince kept all the damaged books that were waiting to be repaired. Harry suspected they'd been forgotten about; they were rotting and the whole room stank. It was a horrible place to sit, but handy if you wanted to be alone.
He was jolted from his recollections of breakfast by Alicia leaning into him.
"If you talk to me, I won't tell anyone what you say. Promise."
He believed her, and something about the honest decency choked him up. In lieu of reply, he gave her another squeeze.
"Are you in massive trouble with Snape? I heard him at breakfast. He said you and he are going to have a talk, and we all know what that means."
Harry shrugged the universal 'dunno' signal.
"Here's something for you." She whispered conspiratorially.
She pressed a small glass jar into his hand.
"It's chest rub for a cold - my secret weapon!"
Choked up or not, Harry had to ask her what the heck she was going on about.
"How does that help when you're in trouble with Snape?!"
"He can spot forced tears a mile off, but he doesn't know about this. You put the teensiest dab in the corner of your eye, and bingo! You're crying buckets. Snape'll get all sniffy and say, 'Mister Potter, I sincerely hope you're not under the misapprehension that your snivelling is in any way going to lessen the thrashing I have planned for you.' But, guess what? It does! Every time!"
"Thanks, Lissy. But you keep it; no one needs it more than you."
"You make a fair point." Replied Alicia.
She pocketed the rub, and went back to swinging her stumpy legs on the bench. Harry remembered he'd disliked her when he first came to Slytherin. She was one of the few Snakes that seemed to embody all his prejudices; she was moody, sulky and sly. She caused trouble and argued with the rest of the first-year girls constantly; even they didn't speak to her a lot of the time. And she was far too cosy with Marcus Flint - always smirking as she did his bidding. But like the rest of dungeon life, she'd grown on him, and he wished she hadn't.
"Where is he?" Mumbled Alicia.
Harry didn't hear; he was too ensconced in his thoughts. They were embarrassing thoughts - petty, childish, and just plain undignified. He was jealous Snape had woken up Malfoy and shown him that spell. Harry was sure he could have learnt it just as fast as Malfoy. Jealous that Snape held The Prat in high regard. Shamefully, he was jealous that Snape had made such an effort to find a decent home for Nott. Bloody hell! How could he think that after what Theo had been through? He felt guilty, but couldn't help feeling that way all the same. He was jealous of Alicia; her biggest worry in life was getting into trouble with Snape. He had some half-formed idea in his head about what a good position to be in that was, and wondered if he should tell her. Not the getting in trouble bit, but the bit that had Snape, or anyone, so concerned about you that he got cross. But he couldn't get the words to sound right, and he knew she'd never understand. He was singing from a different song sheet to the folks that belonged somewhere.
The sharp ping! of leather soles sounded off the stone. Bollocks! She'd led Snape to him. Harry dropped his head, closed his eyes, and imagined The Git's cutting comment …
'Potter, your disreputable belongings have been packed in your trunk. You will kindly remove both it and yourself from Slytherin House forthwith.'
He knew he'd have to summon the courage to say something insolent in return when all he really wanted to say was: please let me stay.
"He's here, but he's not talking much!" Declared Alicia.
"He's not talking much? Why ever not, Potter?!"
The jolly tones of Pucey brought instant relief.
"Not to worry. No time for chatting anyway. You were expected up in the Headmaster's study forty minutes ago. Snape and Professor McGonagall are waiting for you."
Harry closed his eyes briefly, then walked past Pucey to the door.
"Sure you don't want it?" Asked Alicia, pointing to the small bulge in her pocket.
"No thanks, Liss. It won't help."
oOo
4:55 pm, Easter Sunday, 1995
AB stood at the head of the seventh floor staircase.
"Too late, Potter. He had to leave."
Was that good or bad, Harry wondered.
"But he gave me this to give to you."
AB handed over a violet envelope containing a small square of delicate mint coloured parchment. It had a decorative border of silver phoenixes mingled with lemon sherbets, and looked like an invitation to a little girl's fourth birthday party. The incongruous spiky script gave Harry a smile, as he imagined Snape's distaste at having to use Dumbledore's personal stationery. It was, however, the only joy that small note held …
Potter! Where in Merlin's name have you been? You will recall it was the
Headmaster's wish you stay in Slytherin House and under my care until
Easter. The fateful day is now upon us, and Professor McGonagall, for
reasons best known to herself, is anxious you re-join her house.
Perhaps a note was kinder than hearing it from Snape directly. Perhaps … but those four lines still managed to flood Harry with sadness. He breathed in deeply, and attempted to swallow down the welter of emotions.
"Are you alright, Potter?"
AB, who'd stood at a discrete distance while Harry read the note, came over just as he shoved it in his back pocket.
"Yeah." Said Harry, straining to keep his voice light, "Usual Snape bollocking, that's all."
"Ah well, occupational hazard of being a Slytherin!"
"Yeah." Said Harry, the forced lightness all but gone.
"You look upset. Are you in trouble over something serious?"
"Don't you know what it is?" Harry asked AB.
"Crikey, no! Snape never divulges details unless it's important. But if you need to talk, I'm happy to."
The prospect of pouring his heart out to AB was at once both enticing and awful. Kind and gentle AB was the perfect listener. But, really, how could he help? And Harry hated the thought of being reduced to a whimpering, craven mess. In any case, he'd been unwanted for as long as he could remember. Dealing with that was a skill he'd long since mastered. Yes, the Slytherin sojourn had caused him to fall out of practice, but all he needed was a bit of time and space alone and he'd have those skills honed again in no time.
"It's all good, AB." He lied, "Just never like the thought of going to Snape's study!"
"Who does?! But you can enjoy tonight; he's dining late with the Delingpoles. And talking of dining, you're late for supper. So am I," AB dropped to a whisper, "but I'm heading off out with Cecily. Foursome at The Three Broomsticks with Sophie and her new chap! Don't tell a soul!"
A very daring move on the part of AB. Harry couldn't help commenting on it.
"Sneaking out of Hogwarts at night? Blimey! I'll probably bump into you and Sophie in Snape's study tomorrow then!"
"I don't think so. I've been to dinner at the Delingpoles, rather a grand affair. I doubt they'll touch the cheeses before eleven thirty. We're safe tonight."
Always lovely to chat with AB, but Harry was eager to be alone. Point of fact, he was desperate to be alone; he'd mentioned two words that were tugging at him.
"See you later." He said quietly.
"Cheerio!"
He watched AB go off in search of Cecily, and wondered where he was going to go when behind him he heard the grinding of stone. He expected her, but he really didn't want to see her. Not now. Not before he could sort himself out and give her the excited response she deserved. He decided to duck into an alcove until she passed, but the staccato click of heels came straight to him.
McGonagall placed two cool hands around his face, and spoke.
"Don't be embarrassed about how you feel, Harry. You are a Gryffindor through and through! And I'm done with all this house turmoil; the tower password is In Arduis Fidelis. Very fitting for you, no?"
It might have been, but Harry wasn't much cop at Latin. She turned, and he heard short, fast steps grow quiet.
oOo
He backed further into the alcove, and his backside found a ledge it could perch on. The two words that had nearly made him cry like a baby returned to him: Snape's study. He'd told AB that he'd been summoned there tomorrow, but in all reality, he'd most likely never go in there again. Admittedly, that brought one great benefit, but the place held a lot more for him besides blistering assaults of the slipper.
It was the place where the most unlikely bastard in Hogwarts became the first adult to acknowledge his dismal life back in Surrey. He'd sent Harry off to Hogsmeade with AB to get decent clothes and new glasses, and managed to avoid being in any way nice about it. That took a lot of doing, but The Git had been up to the challenge. It was also the only place Harry had cried in front of an adult. As cringe-inducing as the memory was, it meant something. And Snape had spoken to him, really spoken to him. The Git didn't sugar-coat anything, and Harry liked that. He knew how Snape felt about houses; they were rubbish. And points, too. Though Harry did wish he'd been able to tell Snape that without the points system, he'd miss out on an awful lot of pleasure taking them from Gryffindor. Probably never get the chance now.
Harry had begun to believe that Snape saw some sort of purpose for him being there. He felt like he'd really got to know Snape. But more than that, he thought Snape had got to know him, the real Harry, and not just some annoying Gryffindor upstart that was always ready with a smart alec comment. He didn't need to read that note again to realise that he hadn't. Malfoy had been right; he barely knew Snape. Harry remembered something Pucey had said to him the day he'd skived off lessons by the greenhouses; 'Oh, the games that lonely children play!' Pucey had said. It had been gobbledygook to Harry at the time, but now he understood Pucey's words. He'd tricked himself with his own mind game; read far too much into this whole house-swap thing, and he had no one to blame for that but himself. Time to see things as they really were.
oOo
Which idiot said self-reflection was a good thing? It was grim! He could see the past six months as clear as day now, and it wasn't pretty. He'd pissed off everyone when he'd blasted the points jar; that's why he'd been moved. Pure and simple. Snape had just been following Dumbledore's orders, same as McGonagall would've done had the Platinum Ponce been put in Gryffindor. Oh, buggering hell! Harry put his head in his hands, and gave a long groan. He felt like the biggest idiot on the planet. Well, what do you do when you feel that bad? That's right: you run away from it. Harry knew what he was going to do, and it didn't involve any Snakes or Lions.
