Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.
Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. Please exercise understanding of personal sensitivities before and during reading.
Author's Note(s): Back in May of 2018, I wrote a fic called Fleur de Lys, which was about how instead of being a bully, Snape decided to get his revenge in a different way. Due to many factors, I had to stop wrap up that fic before getting too far into Snape's grooming of Harry. I recently went through various bookmarks of Fleur de Lys. It was more than a tad bit distressing the number of people who felt the need to praise Snape and/or add variations of "Good Guy Snape" to the tags. I know that I cannot stop anyone from interpreting that fic or this one as fluffy or commenting the same idea, but I am asking that no one adds tags like that to either fic. It does not match the contents of the work.
Challenge/Competition Block:
Stacked with: MC4A (SpB; TrB; Hunt; SN; BAON; Star; Fence)
Individual Challenges: Gryffindor MC (x3); Slytherin MC; Magical MC (x4); Professor MC (x2); Lunar Era; Old Shoes (Y); Short Jog; The Story Goes On; Two Cakes
Other MC4A Challenges (Prompt): Sp Bingo [3C](Planting/Sowing); Tr Bingo [4C](Damsel in Distress); Hunt [Sp Settings](Castle)
Representation: Severus Snape; Harry Potter
Primary & Secondary Bonus Challenge(s): Nontraditional; Bee Haven; Fizzy Lemonade; Machismo; Peddling Pots; Second Verse (Persistence Still); Chorus (Endless Wonder; Pocky Pockets)
Tertiary & Generic Bonus Challenges: SN (Rail; Spare)
Word Count: 2901
-= LP =-
Viper Triumphant
-= LP =-
Why are you at my side?
How can I be any use to you now?
Give me a chance, and I'll let you see how
Nothing has changed.
– "You Must Love Me", Evita
-= LP =-
"I must admit that I'm surprised, Severus," Albus said as he poured out tea for both of them. The teacups were from the set that Severus had given him last Christmas. He would recognize the delicate lines of copper webbing through the porcelain anywhere. "No one expected you to give points to Gryffindor, let alone so many in quick succession. Minerva checked the record twice to verify that you hadn't meant the points to be detracted."
Severus hummed in acknowledgement, letting the silence stretch. He had learned years ago that Albus, like most people, would draw his own conclusions if given room to do so. Silence had its own value, after all, as did letting people's own perceptions blind them. So Severus just took his time fixing his tea instead of answering the implied question from the headmaster.
"Young Harry must have made quite the impression on you," Albus continued. The old man took a sip of his tea. Severus mimed doing the same while watching Albus over the rim. "Of course, with his parentage, the boy was certain to do so. The Potters were always a charismatic bunch, and Lily had her own sort of charm about her. It is a pity that he doesn't seem to be quite up to their caliber academically. Don't you agree, Severus?"
"As you say, headmaster," Severus agreed. Albus gave him a knowing smile complete with that damnable twinkle. Knowing that the potion neutralizer dose that he had slipped into his tea would have had time to fully work, Severus finally took an actual sip from his cup. The tang from the neutralizer was unpleasantly cloying as it lingered on the back of his tongue.
"Well, I trust you not to favor the boy too much," Albus said in a chiding tone that said the exact opposite. Severus kept his outer stoicism, despite the temptation to throw his tea in the other man's face for his audacity. It would not do to act out in such a manner and ruin the whole game. "After all, we wouldn't want the other students to get jealous now, would we?"
"I understand, headmaster." Severus took another careful sip of his tea to hide his pleased smile. "I shall endeavor to be more discreet with my regard."
-= LP =-
"Sir?" Harry asked after all the other first-years had left the classroom. Professor Snape had been straightening some rolls of parchment on his desk when Harry had spoken. Now he was looking at Harry with that dark gaze of his that seemed to see just as much as Aunt Petunia's beady squints. Harry forced himself to take a deep breath before bursting out his question. "Did I—what did I do wrong, sir?"
"What makes you think you did anything, Potter?" the professor asked with sibilant softness. Harry's palms grew clammy as the balls of ice that had been in his stomach for the past few weeks tumbled over each other threateningly. Aunt Petunia liked to play this game, too. No matter what Harry said, he would invariably miss at least one transgression while giving her at least one additional one. He could never measure up in her regard. He had hoped that things would be different with the professor—had hoped to earn more of the man's praise. He should have known that it had been too good to be true. Now he had to list out what he must have done to have the man turn from him so abruptly.
"I don't know, sir," Harry admitted, clinging to what had impressed the professor during that first lesson. "I don't know what I did. You just—I just seem to have done something wrong, sir. I study hard—or at least, I try to. I can probably do better, but there's a lot—"
"Breathe, Potter," Professor Snape commanded, interrupting the babble coming out of his mouth. Harry snapped his mouth shut before obeying. The man frowned before gesturing sharply for Harry to come to him. Harry nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to follow the order. Then he did trip because the professor drew his wand and magically slammed the door to the classroom. "On your feet, Potter!"
"Sorry, sir," Harry muttered. For one dreadful moment after getting to his feet, Harry worried that his knees weren't going to hold. Thankfully, they did. He wiped his palms against his robes and kept his gaze lowered to the ground. "Sorry."
"Stop apologizing, boy, and breathe. You'll neither of us any good if you faint."
"Yes, sir." He did his best not to flinch at word boy without the adjective that he longed to hear from the man. Had he really messed up so badly? Would he even get a chance to fix it? His eyes prickled.
"Deep breaths," Professor Snape ordered as he moved around his desk to stand close to Harry. Gently, he took Harry's hand and pressed it against his own chest. "Copy me. There's a lad." Harry dared to look up only to find the professor looking down with a soft expression. "Good boy."
"Am I really?" Harry asked before he could think better of it. Instead of scolding him for being so needy, Professor Snape used his free hand to brush Harry's fringe out of his face. His fingers drifted down the side of Harry's face afterwards. The touch left a tingly feeling in its wake. Harry held as still as possible to keep from leaning into those fingers. It would be just like him to be greedy when the professor was being so nice already.
"What do you think?" the professor asked. His voice didn't give Harry any hint of what he wanted. Or maybe it did, and Harry was just too much of a stupid freak to be able to understand. The fingers on his face gripped his chin only a bit too hard, forcing Harry to look at him fully. "I asked you a question, Potter. Don't disappoint me by being less than truthful."
"I want to be," Harry admitted. His eyes prickled again. "I want to be good." He swallowed as the fingers tightened their hold. "If you tell me what I did wrong, I'll fix it, sir."
"What makes you think you did anything?" the professor asked again. Harry barely managed to keep from crying. He didn't like when he had to explain what he had messed up, not when he didn't know. What if he says something that makes the man even more mad at him? Professor Snape made a shushing noise as he rubbed the back of Harry's hand as it was still pressed against his chest. "Let me rephrase: what makes you think that you are at fault?"
"It's always my fault," Harry admitted after a long moment. He closed his eyes. He had already fallen so far in the professor's regard that the man ignored him completely during classes. He didn't want to watch the last bit fade. "Everything wrong is because of me, sir."
"Tch, how arrogant," Professor Snape scolded softly, just as he had when Harry had messed up answering that first question. Harry's heart pounded as something fizzy began to fill his stomach. He opened his eyes to stare up in confusion. "For that to be true, you'd have to be the one who controls everything. Do you control everything, boy?"
"No—No, sir. I just, well, it's gotta be my fault, doesn't it? Why else would—"
Harry tried to look away, but the professor's grip kept him in place.
"If this is about my recent conduct in class," Professor Snape said with a carefulness that Harry didn't understand, "then you should know that the headmaster took me to task over showing you any favorable regard."
"Why—why would he do that, sir?"
It didn't make any sense. The professor had not been any nicer than Professor Flitwick or Professor McGonagall. He wasn't even as nice as Professor Sprout was to all her students. Sure, from the way the older kids had complained about Professor Snape, Harry had been expecting him to be a lot meaner than he was, and there had been a lot of whispering going on about how Harry managed to be the first Gryffindor to ever earn points from the professor. None of that explained why the headmaster wouldn't want Professor Snape to do it in the first place. Harry had earned those points, after all, and they weren't amounts that were any larger than any of the other professors gave first years.
"The headmaster has often voiced a concern about you developing an inflated ego," Professor Snape replied. His tone still had that confusing carefulness to it, like he was picking his words like Aunt Petunia did her cards while playing bridge. He also still held Harry's hand against his chest like it was delicate thing that might break. Yet his grip on Harry's chin was a steel vise, forcing Harry to look into his dark and deep eyes. "He even arranged for you to grow up in the Muggle world to avoid it. He wants your fellow students to have no reason to be jealous of you."
Harry felt his insides turn to ice. Amidst the speculation about why the headmaster would tell of a professor for giving him points, the knowledge that the headmaster had arranged for Harry to live with the Dursleys was such a small thing. Yet it was something which had nagged at him since he had learned about magic and the war that had claimed his parents. The Dursleys hated anything to do with magic, so it didn't make sense that his parents would send him to live with them if something had happened to them.
But if the headmaster had arranged it somehow, superseding any wishes his parents had made, then it started to make sense, and considering how many different things Dumbledore seemed to be in charge of, probably no one could have stopped him.
"Why does he hate me, sir?" Harry asked through lips that had gone numb. Because that had to be why the headmaster had done that—was still doing it even. What was so wrong with him that he had made the headmaster think he needed to be reminded of how bad he was, that he shouldn't dare to think he might be anything more than the good-for-nothing freak in the cupboard under the stairs?
"Because you are a very special boy," Professor Snape whispered. "You are so very, very special. You have the potential for truly great things, things that could change world, but to do that, you require support and love, just like any other child."
He let go of Harry's chin to rub the back of his fingers over Harry's cheek. This time, Harry couldn't stop himself from pressing into the touch as if he was a cat. The professor's breath hitched before he pulled back entirely, leaving Harry whirling from the loss of sensation. Suddenly, Harry felt more alone than he ever had at the Dursleys'.
"You should go, Potter," Professor Snape told him briskly. He turned away towards his desk, starting to tidy the papers once more. "It wouldn't do to give the headmaster any further cause for concern."
"What if—" Harry started to ask. He swallowed around a lump of nerves and squared his shoulders. He was a Gryffindor. He could be brave. "What if he didn't know? What if he didn't know that you were teaching me how to do those things?"
"You don't know what you're asking," Professor Snape said, still looking down at his desk with his back to Harry. There was a quiver to the air, like the magic of the castle was anticipating something. Harry closed the gap between them.
"I don't need to know," Harry said. He pressed against the professor's side. "I trust you, sir."
"You shouldn't," the professor whispered, like it was a secret. He wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders. It wasn't quite a hug, but it was the closest to one that Harry could ever remember receiving. It made the icy feeling start to melt. Impetuously, Harry threw both his arms around the professor's waist. Professor Snape grunted a little in surprise but shifted to better return the hug.
"Will you teach me how to do those great things, sir?" Harry asked. He met the professor's eyes on his own this time. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I would understand if you didn't want to bother. But—" Harry took a deep breath before making one last daring request. "But I would really like for you to be the one, sir."
"Oh, my dear boy," Professor Snape breathed like he had been hoping for this for years, "of course I will teach you. I would be honored." He pressed a finger against Harry's lips. "It would have to be a secret, you know. The headmaster would be so upset if he discovered us."
"I understand, sir," Harry said. His lips felt weird as they moved against the professor's finger. "I won't tell anyone, not at all."
"Good boy," Professor Snape praised. Harry grinned at the words. He really would do anything to earn those words from the professor. Thwarting the will of the man who sent him to live with the Dursleys was just an added benefit. Harry had learned the trick of such things from the Dursleys.
-= LP =-
"Hey, Harry, where are you going?" Ron asked as Harry broke off from the group of students heading back to the Gryffindor common room. The rest of the group moved on without them. Harry hesitated, mentally shuffling through what excuses he had given Ron most recently. Then an idea came to him that would be perfect for covering things.
"Professor Quirrell wanted to see me after dinner," Harry said. Ron shuddered just as Harry had known he would. No one liked the stuttering Defense professor who always smelled strongly of garlic and death. Ron wouldn't ask to go with him, while he also wouldn't try to get him to skip it. Both of those were starting to become common if Harry tried to say he was doing personal Quidditch training. "I don't know how long I'll be."
"That's fine," Ron told him. "I'll get Neville to play chess with me. You better leg it or you'll be late."
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said before taking off down the corridor. Around the corner, behind a tapestry, was a stairwell that would take him all the way to the dungeons. The entrance was just a bit down the hall from the door to Professor Snape's personal lab.
-= LP =-
Harry could tell that he had startled Professor Snape as soon as he had done it, but after the argument that he had just had with Ron, he couldn't help himself. He had thrown himself against the professor's waist as soon as he had gotten close enough to do so. No matter how many times Harry may have told Ron about visiting Professor Quirrell in the past couple weeks, there was no way that he would have just hugged the Defense professor like he did the Potions professor.
Not that needing to make excuses to Ron was going to be a problem any longer.
"Oh, Harry," the professor said even as he wrapped his arms around Harry as well. He even added a small swaying movement to the embrace. "What is wrong?"
"Ron—" Harry hiccupped. "Ron blames me for Percy getting hurt—and, and, and he's right." Harry pressed his face into the professor's stomach. "If I hadn't told Percy about Hermione being in the bathroom, then he wouldn't have been there with the troll. Ron's right, sir. I'm cursed."
"Oh, my dear boy," Professor Snape said, "that's not your fault. Even if you hadn't told a prefect about Miss Granger—as you should have, so that was good—then someone would have been sent out when the head counts were done, and she was discovered missing. As one of the newest prefects, Mr. Weasley would have been sent out with the message anyway. While certainly tragic, Mr. Weasley's injuries were inevitable."
"Ron hates me," Harry muttered into the professor's robes. He hiccupped again, like his body wanted to cry even though he hadn't actually done that in years. Even tearing up at the Dursleys was enough to earn him a slap across the face. "He doesn't want to be my friend anymore."
"That will be his loss then," Professor Snape said briskly. He rubbed his fingers against the back of Harry's neck. The hard pressure felt nice, like every touch from the professor always did. "You know…" The professor trailed off like he was hesitant to continue. "You know, you are always welcomed to visit more, if you find yourself at loose ends. I'm certain that I will be able to find sufficient occupation for you."
"Thank you, sir!"
Harry didn't see how Professor Snape's eyes glittered with triumph because he was too busy making a vow to himself that the professor never had reason to regret making the offer. To the child who had spent so many long, lonely hours locked away from the world and wishing for some shred of affection, the expression wouldn't have made sense anyway.
-= LP =-
Another Ominous Ending
-= LP =-