Got caught up in Camp NaNoWriMo, and then there were these computer issues that you don't want to hear about. I /think/ I have it figured out. Apologies for a month of no updates. :)
Thank you to CrazyCoco50, biancaruth, sunneedee, Teallama, mingthemusical, Ginger-Ginny, Guest, The arithmancer, LilyIsAwesomerThanYou, fanficfantasies, IceDragon19, Mystical G Panther, Trumpet Lover, EbonyWing, mizzrazz72, Wilona Riva, saggyherman, enchantedlight, notwritten, SNHfvr, Lon Wolfgood, B00kw0rm92, Anne Camp aka Obi-quiet, Nightshade's sydneylover150, musicgal110189, Guest, GOKOA, Zireael07, DarkRavie, and geetac for the awesome reviews!
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Allergic to Potions
A Harry Potter FanFiction by Cordria
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Snape murmured yet another spell under his breath, swishing his wand and the peering at the corner of the blanket. Harry glanced up from his spot in the armchair. The man gave a disgusted snort and leaned back against the pillows, his eyes closing.
"I don't think Madame Pomfrey," Harry was quick to accent the name of the nurse, even though his voice was barely loud enough to carry across the room, "wanted you to use magic."
Dark eyes flickered up to him, shadowed under the man's furrowed brows. "Then she should have dealt with the noxious color of these blankets," he snapped. Knuckles curled white around the wand. "Not even a blasted color-change charm sticks to them."
Fidgeting quietly, Harry picked at the blanket he'd thrown around his shoulders. The strange purple tinge – caused by the fumes from the destroyed potion, most likely – seemed to be a color that could only found in the magical world. Harry quite liked it. He'd actually switched all the sheets on his cot for ones the house elves claimed were 'destroyed'.
"They'll just have to be replaced," Snape muttered.
Harry nodded his half-hearted agreement, wondering if he could hide a few sets in his trunk to bring back to the Dursleys. The thought of their reaction to how the blankets got to be this color brought a grin to his face. Perhaps he'd drape a few around the house. Or, even better, learn how to sew and make himself a set of clothes out of the worst-stained sheets. It'd be like Dursley-proof armor.
"I would like a cup of tea, Potter."
Shaking himself out of his imaginings, Harry slunk out of the chair and into the kitchen. He was just setting the kettle on the stove and trying to remember the spell to light it when a chair scraped. Harry shot a glance over his shoulder. Snape was settling heavily into the kitchen chair.
"I thought-" Harry started.
Snape cut him off with a wave of his hand. At the same time, there was a whooshing noise as the stove lit. "I have been on that couch long enough."
While the water was heating, Harry leaned against the counter and studied the man who had taken him in. Almost given his life for him. Had given up… something… so that Harry wouldn't have to. Snape's skin color was certainly much better. It was still white as bone, but that was normal. At least the pink flush and the waxy appearance were gone. His black eyes seemed sharper.
Very strangely, there was something about the knife-sharp gaze that settled the little knots working themselves together in Harry's stomach.
"Does my appearance not meet your approval?" the man said sharply.
Harry, startled at being caught staring, shrugged a non-answer. Looking away, Harry studied the cracks in the thick floor until the kettle started to whistle.
"Two cups," came the command as Harry grabbed for a cup.
Harry hesitated, then pulled two cups from the cupboard and set them on the table, along with the hot water. Snape was already fixing both of them cups of tea.
"You have been extremely quiet since our talk yesterday." Snape leaned across the table to set a steaming cup of tea in front of Harry. "While I have been enjoying the vacation from your idiotic prattle, I have begun to wonder if something more than usual is wrong with you."
Blinking at the strange combination of insult and show of concern, Harry found himself not knowing what to say. He settled for another shrug.
The man took a slow slip of his tea. Like almost everything else he did, Snape drank his tea with a sort of grace and refinement that was almost hypnotizing to watch. Harry found himself feeling completely inadequate, fixing his gaze firmly on his tea. He didn't try to drink any.
"I suppose it is necessary to reiterate the fact that you are not solely responsible for my current state of affairs."
"I know," Harry said. The tea in his cup swirled slowly, little waves lapping at the edges of the cup. Feeling like 'I know' wasn't a good enough answer, Harry scratched through his mind for something else to say. But yet again, he found absolutely nothing worth saying to the man who had saved his life on multiple occasions. So he shrugged.
There was a dark sigh. "Potter…" the name was growled out warningly. "I will glue your shoulders to your ears if you shrug at me again."
"I'm fine," Harry said, this time a little sullenly, studying the grain of the table. "Maybe I don't like to 'prattle' all the time."
Silence stretched, broken only by the tiny clicks of Snape's teacup against the saucer. Then another spell was muttered. Harry didn't bother to look up from the table until something slapped the table next to his teacup. He flinched slightly, glancing over to find the Darke Creatures book now resting on the kitchen table.
"Madame Pomfrey brought that down from the hospital wing for you. You shouldn't leave borrowed items lying around."
Harry reached over to grab the book and stuff it into his pocket, but his hand froze when one of the dark shadows of magic curled into existence on top. It seemed to be staring at his hand. Pulling his hand back, Harry watched the little dark thing vanish into the shadows.
"Are you truly that afraid of books?" The sharp barb that would usually accompany such an insult was missing. "Perhaps you have inherited your father's allergy towards learning."
Shaking his head, Harry swirled his finger in his tea. It was only lukewarm by now. "There was one of those shadow things," he muttered.
"Pardon me?"
Fixing his eyes firmly on his tea, Harry repeated himself a bit louder. "It was one of those shadow things."
"You are still seeing dark magic."
Harry nodded. "Do you know why?"
When there was no answer, Harry dragged his eyes away from the tea and back to his potions professor. The man was studying him with those razor-black eyes. "You realize that scar on your forehead is special." He took a sip of his tea, apparently waiting for Harry to nod. "When powerful magics come together, they will leave marks behind. Traces of their existence. The best minds in the wizarding world have spent the base decade trying to figure out how you survived a killing curse."
"It was my mother," Harry stated. "She loved-"
Snape cut him off with a sharp movement of his hand. "You are not the only one to have a mother sacrifice herself for her child. Don't feel so proud. I know the Headmaster believes firmly in it, but there is a fundamental gap of logic in the idea. There is more to your survival than simply your mother's death."
Finding his fingers more interesting than Snape's white face, Harry went back to stirring his tea with his finger. "Than what else was there?"
"You are a true idiot," Snape snorted, "if you believe I know the answer when nobody else does after years and years of work and research."
Harry found his lips tightening. "What does this have to do with seeing the shadows?"
"Some marks are visible, Potter. Others are not." There was the sound of a chair creaking as Snape leaned back. "The only other person in England with the ability to see dark magic is the Dark Lord – a skill he acquired only after a lot of work. A lot of death. I find it interesting that the child who survived his wrath so many times can do the same thing the Dark Lord can."
Harry thought that through. "I don't understand."
Snape just arched an eyebrow in return. "Than you haven't thought about it enough."
"I've thought about it plenty," Harry complained.
"If you are not going to drink your tea, take the dishes to the sink." Snape struggled to his feet. "It would do you better the read and learn than to pout over cold tea."
Harry found his eyes narrowing slightly as the man stumbled back into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. Finally he grabbed the two cups, took them to the sink, and rinsed them out. On his way back to the living room he stopped and stared down at the book.
The little bits of dark shadow stared back.
Working up enough courage, Harry snatched up the book and held it gingerly as he walked into the living room and dropped into the armchair. He gazed down at the cover, trying to reassure himself that the book was no more dangerous than it was before. Snape wouldn't knowingly give him a book that would hurt him.
Would he?
He chanced a glance over at his professor. The man seemed to be asleep already.
Fluttering his fingers over the cover, he flicked the book open to a random page. As usual, it opened to the beginning of a chapter. This one on dark magic shadows. Harry sat still, startled, then shot a second glance over at Snape. He glanced from the book to Snape a few times, then shook his head. "Magic," he muttered.
Starting to read the chapter, Harry caught sight of a dark thing sitting next to his finger. He drew his hand back and sent a glare at the bit of magic. It didn't seem intimidated. Harry let out a dark sigh and did his best to ignore it.
The noise that came from his sleeping professor sounded almost like a laugh.
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"Potter!"
Harry startled out of his half-asleep nap and jerked to his feet. Stumbling out of the little den, Harry found Snape leaning against the wall of the hallway. There was a weariness to the man's posture.
The dark eyes searched Harry's gaze. "Come along," the man snarled. "I haven't got all day." He turned and started towards the door to his potions lab.
Harry hesitated, then quickly followed. "Madame Pomfrey," he started, but stopped. He had a feeling bringing up the mediwitch's directive to stay on the couch for forty-eight hours would do nothing but bring Snape's wrath down around him.
The lab was nearly empty. Only a few potions ingredients sat on the shelves in little box and vials. Each was marked with Snape's spidery handwriting. A cauldron sat over a fire in the middle of the room, bubbling sluggishly. The thick, green ooze inside had a sickly color to it and it plooped with each popping bubble.
A hand on his shoulder directed him to stand near the cauldron. "What is it?" Harry found himself asking, peering at the potion. Whenever Ron or Neville created a potion of that color, Snape would vanish it and send nasty comments in their direction. Surely this wasn't a correct potion?
There wasn't an answer. Snape just positioned himself on the other side of the cauldron and held out a hand, waiting.
Harry gazed at him. "What?"
With an annoyed sound, Snape grabbed Harry's wrist. He pulled on it until Harry's hand was above the cauldron, the steam uncomfortably warm on his arm. There was a flash of silver in Snape's hand, then the knife made a little slice in the crook of Harry's arm.
"Hey!" Harry yelped, trying to pull his arm out of Snape's grasp. Snape's fingers were surprisingly strong, not allowing him to move. Harry fought down the trembling in his body as little drops of blood leaked from the cut, trailed down his arm, and dripped into the potion.
"Don't allow people to use your blood in potions. The outcome is rarely pleasant," the man murmured as his wand appeared in his nimble fingers. "Episky."
Harry was finally able to free his hand, scowling at the man as he rubbed his arm, smearing some of the remaining blood. The skin tingled from the healing. "I know that," he muttered.
Snape held his own arm over the cauldron, made a little slice, and watched several drops of blood drip into the potion as well. There was another quiet Episky as the cauldron slowly swirled from sickly green to a darkish blue.
"What is it?" Harry asked again, looking around for the potions book Snape was using.
"Shut your mouth, pay attention, and you might figure it out," Snape said blandly. "I have been told you are quite intelligent, despite the fact you do not deign to use it in my class."
Harry narrowed his eyes, but watched quietly as Snape pulled two vials out of his pocked. There were small bits of reddish dust in the bottom, tiny swirls of silver smoke filling the rest.
Tapping the twin vials against his hand, Snape selected one and held it out. "This is the most expensive ingredient you will ever see. Be careful with it."
Harry, who had been reaching out to take it, paused a moment, then took it gently from Snape's grasp. Holding it up to the flickering lights, Harry shook it and watched the dust swirl and start to settle. Little bits of dark shadows danced in the falling dust. He couldn't quite hold back a shudder.
Glancing up at the professor's blank eyes, Harry found himself asking the same question over again. "What is it?"
This time, the man arched an eyebrow. "Can you not guess?"
Harry looked down at the dust, then at the thick blue potion, then at Snape. He blinked a few times and shook his head.
There was a heavy sigh. "Tell me, boy. Why was the Stone hidden at Hogwarts?"
Startled, Harry started to shrug until he remembered the warning from earlier. Snape was not one to forget his threats, especially where Gryffindors were concerned. "To…" he hesitated, pulling his thoughts together. "To keep it hidden from Dark Lord until you destroyed it, right?"
The man's eyes narrowed. "How many people knew the Dark Lord was trying to return at the beginning of the year?"
"Uh…" Harry licked his lips. "Professor Dumbledore, I guess," he tried. "He had the Stone moved from the bank vault…"
"There are many people who can hear whispers about the Dark Lord, Potter. People who knew the Dark Lord was starting to move, beginning to regroup, looking for a way back to life. The Stone was a logical choice for him to go after, however nobody – not even the headmaster – figured that Voldemort would make an attempt on the Flamel's vault. The Stone was brought here so I could formulate a potion to destroy it, but it was mere coincidence that we got to it before he did." Snape peered at him. "But why, Potter? Why destroy it now?"
Finding himself transfixed by Snape's eyes, Harry stared up at him. "The Dark Lord was coming for it?"
Snape let out a disgusted sound. "Your logic is flawed. The Flamel's are several centuries old. They've seen the rise and fall of several Dark Lords bent on immortality and world domination, but they've never agreed to have their Stone destroyed before now. Why now? Why this one? Over little more than rumors and whispers in the dark?"
Harry shook his head. "Voldemort's the worst one ever?"
Snape sneered at him. "Everyone always believes their dark lord is the worst ever. It is usually not the case. Try again. Surely your feeble little mind can come up with something better than that."
Predictably, Harry's mind went completely blank.
"I am not surprised. You don't take the time to see the whole story. Events are set in motion you can't even begin to grasp because you don't look. "
Harry was quiet as Snape stirred the potion a few times, testing its thickness by dribbling a bit off the end of a spoon. Harry shook the dust in his vial again, watching it swirl. Bloody red. Bits of dark magic still clinging desperately to the powdered dust. "This is the Stone," he whispered, stunned.
Snape made a noise in his throat Harry had decided was a sort of agreement.
Harry's eyes drifted from the vial to the bubbling, dark blue potion. "You're going to pour this into your potion?"
Snape glanced up at him, arched an eyebrow.
Staring, Harry's fingers were tight around the vial as he tried to fit the pieces together. "You… Dum… Professor Dumbledore needs a potion that was made from a Stone… from a destroyed Stone… " Harry blinked a few times, then shook his head. "But why? What does this potion do?"
Snape made another noise and picked up the small vial he had – half the powdered Stone. He yanked out the cork with a practiced twist and then sent a sharp glare at Harry's unmoving hand. Harry pulled out the cork with a bit more work, fumbling slightly. Snape dumped his vial into the potion, the red dust cascading down like bloody snow and the silvery smoke trickling in.
Harry quietly poured his in too, watching the potion bubble violently. Steam and smoke rose into the air, making Harry take a startled step backwards. The potion sizzled, and then calmed suddenly. Harry peered over the side of the cauldron to see that only a small cupful was left at the bottom of the cauldron, the dark blue having become a smoky, beautiful liquid silver.
"Wow," he whispered.
Snape let out a snort. He picked up a ladle and carefully measured out two vials of the liquid. There was barely enough. The vials were almost see-through, swirling with shimmers of mirror-like silver. Snape held them up to the light, studying them, but then secreted them into his robes without another word.
"What are you still standing here for? Go find us some lunch." The words were a sharp command, but devoid of most of the coldness usually found in the man's voice.
"What does the potion do?" Harry asked, not moving.
Snape glanced at him, darkness creeping into his eyes. "Use your brain for once. Scram."
Harry stalked out of the professor's lab, somewhat more annoyed about being told to 'scram' than having a new mystery to puzzle over.
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"I won't let you have it," Harry told Quirrell furiously, his fingers reaching into his pocket to wrap securely around the Stone. He backed slowly away from the mirror.
Quirrell stalked forwards, slowly unwrapping the turban from around his head. "Let me talk with him," came a whispery voice.
Cold pin needles of dread curled down Harry's spine. He stumbled backwards, tripping over a step. Dropping to his hands and knees, Harry felt his heart pounding in his chest. "Stay away from me!"
The turban fell to the ground in a cascade of smelly fabric. Quirrell turned on his heel. And then the face was staring at him.
Steely black eyes. Sharp cheekbones.
It was Snape. "Give me the Stone, boy!" Snape hissed from the back of Quirrel's head. Cold, white fingers reached forwards to touch him -
Harry startled awake for the fourth time that night, brushing sweat off his forehead and sitting up in his cot. Snape's cold laugh was still echoing in his mind. He pressed his hands against his temples and leaned forwards.
He sat still for a long moment, chasing away the remnants of the nightmare through sheer willpower. His fingers still trembled slightly as he reached over to grab his wand and muttered a soft "Lumos". As the light swirled gently around the room, Harry picked up the picture of his mother on the swing.
There was no telling how long he sat there, staring down at the picture and running his finger over her face, before he fell back to sleep. His wand slowly flickered and died.
A shadow broke off from the wall and slipped over to his bedside. White fingers quietly removed the wand and picture from Harry's grasp and tossed one of the purple-stained blankets over his form. The shadow stood still for a long moment before vanishing back from where it had come.
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Ron –
Harry sat still at the kitchen table, glancing towards the living room. There was an odd sound coming from the vicinity of the couch. Something that sounded like choked-off laughter.
Not for the first time that afternoon, Harry fought down a snicker at the sound of Snape's snoring. He'd never heard anything like it. Shaking his head, he looked back down at his parchment.
You'll never guess everything that's happened to me. Voldemort attacked the castle, and Snape almost died twice! I have to live with him for awhile until I get better-
Harry's quill slowly stopped scratching out letters. He reread the last line, feeling something strange churning in the pit of his stomach. Have to live with him?
Get to live with him?
Don't have to live with the Dursleys?
Closing his eyes, Harry let out a breath and tapped the tip of his quill against the tiny inkpot. Snape was a cruel, hate-filled, unpleasant man. Who in their right mind would enjoy that sort of living arrangement?
I think I've got a little crazy, since I'm not completely against the idea. Maybe Hermione's right – maybe I have gotten hit on the head a few too many times during Quidditch practice. Know where I can buy a good helmet?
Shifting on his chair, Harry grinned as an exceptionally loud choke-snicker rang through the apartment. He quickly checked over his shoulder to make sure the man was still sound asleep.
Snape doesn't live like a vampire, by the way. His place looks really normal, with the exception of how purple everything is. The one thing that makes it bearable is what he sounds like when he's sleeping. No telling him I told you, though.
I'm really hoping I can get out of here before August and spend the rest of the summer with you. Dumbledore thinks I should go back to the Dursleys for awhile, but I'd rather never see them again.
Write back soon! -Harry
Harry sat back in the chair, waiting for the ink to dry. It would be awhile before he'd be able to bring it up to the owlery for Hedwig to deliver, but at least it was written now.
As he picked up the parchment and folded it into a letter, Snape's snoring descended into something best described as a hyena with hiccups. Harry snorted out a laugh, trying to keep himself silent as he raced back to the tiny den. When the door clicked closed, he dropped onto his cot, quiet laughter shaking his body.
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To be continued...