Child of the Dark Moon

by Sw-0608

Fleeing from Dudley and the 'Harry-hunters' under a full moon, Harry Potter saves his hated cousin from a giant wolf and is nearly killed. Severus Snape comes upon the bloody body not ten minutes later and takes the child into his home, against his better judgment. Can Snape come to terms with the vulnerable boy and help him to adapt to being a werewolf? (Manipulative Dumbledore)

12. Chapter 12: Speaking of Snakes

Rated T

(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Just doing it for fun.)

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Chapter 12: Speaking of Snakes

Harry was bored. He had been sitting in this big, too-squishy chair for what felt like hours, but the Professor and the Nurse did not look any nearer to being done. He shifted uncomfortably and sighed softly. He had to go to the bathroom and his short legs ached from dangling so long, but he didn't want to interrupt. He couldn't hear anything but mumbles from that side of the room, even though they were pretty close, but if he tried harder to listen, his ears filled with a buzzing sound that was vaguely annoying. He stopped paying attention and the buzzing went back to mumbles. They were talking about him, of course. What else would they be talking about? He knew there was rather a lot to talk about, since Madam Pomfrey had showed him the charts and lists she had gotten from all those uncomfortable 'di-ag-nos-tics' she ran yesterday.

He was careful with his new word, as he was always careful with his new words. They were like candy that he savored and sucked on, and carefully repeated to himself until he could trust himself to use them in a sentence. Some words were easy and they were easily understood and digested, like frame and cot. Some tasted nasty and he put them away as soon as he understood them, like freak and cupboard. But some were like peppermints. They lasted a long time and gave him a tingly, happy feeling when he mulled them over. Big words like symptom and energize, and now, diagnostics. He sucked on his new word and smiled to himself, eager for the day when he would use his new word without stumbling over knew that he was daydreaming. It was something he always got in trouble for, but the Professor told him to forget all the stupid rules his Aunt and Uncle gave him before. Plus, nobody was really paying attention to him right now.

He was actually supposed to be amusing himself with this book in his lap, but it was confusing and heavy and it was hurting his legs. He wasn't reading it anymore, and instead he was watching the Professor and the Nurse, and looking out the window every now and then. It was raining now, and everything was gray and soggy outside. There was a big lake, a forest, and acres of grass in between. It all looked like it would be quite exciting in the sunshine, but right now it all looked very gloomy and wet. Between the building and the lake, Harry could see some bleacher stands around a large open area. The weirdest thing about the open field inside the bleachers was a set of high poles topped with circles on either side of what looked like a playing field. But he had never seen a playing field like that before, although the stands made him think of a football field. He only just now realized that he was at the school where the Professor worked and whatever it was that he was looking at was likely for some kind of school sport he had never heard of.

Harry sighed and glanced over at the Professor and the Nurse again. The Professor did not look happy. In fact, he looked like he was going to be sick. The man was white in the face and he was squeezing the arms of his chair with white knuckles. Sweat was beading on his face and the Nurse looked worried. Harry was about to jump off his chair, never minding his orders, when the Professor seemed to relax. He took a deep breath and reached up to wipe his face before he buried his hands in his greasy hair. Harry watched anxiously until the Professor stood up, looking calm and in control again. The boy looked away and focused on the raindrops rolling down the windowpane, feeling embarrassed. Was the Professor getting upset over him? He hoped not. The Dursleys had been nasty to him, but it wasn't a big deal. He was safe now, and the Professor wouldn't beat him or lock him up, he knew that. He didn't see why the Professor should be getting upset about him. He stared resolutely out the window and didn't notice when the indistinct mumbles became suddenly clear. He could hear distinct words, but he didn't pay much attention. He was a bit confused and he was feeling shy. Again, he realized that the Professor was really taking a lot of trouble over him and he didn't really understand why, since the man said he wasn't related to him or sighed and gazed listlessly out the window, counting raindrops and watching them roll down the glass.

"Would you like to go for a walk, Harry?" the Professor's voice startled him. Harry jumped and turned to look up at the man who was gazing down at him with a calm expression, though his dark eyes radiated concern.

"Yes sir," Harry nodded, trying not to look too eager. He managed to get the heavy book off his aching legs, and the Professor took it away from him, setting it back in its bookshelf. The boy hopped off his chair, took the Professor's hand, and followed him out of the office. Harry waved at the nurse as they left, and the plump woman smiled kindly as she waved back.

"I'll see you sometimes next week, alright Harry?" she called after them. Harry just nodded before he turned his face forward. Professor Snape poked his head out the door first to check that the coast was clear. Harry didn't ask why the man did it, but he was grateful anyway. He didn't really want to meet a lot of strangers right now.

They left the clean white infirmary and entered a wide stone corridor. The Professor tugged on his hand and led him up the hallway as Harry looked up at him in surprise.

"You will come to school here when you turn eleven," the man told him casually. "I don't think we will meet too many people in the corridors at this time of day. Everyone is having lunch in the Great Hall."

Harry perked up at the mention of lunch and the Professor shook his head at eth boy's eagerness. "I know you're hungry, but we'll get something to eat a little later. We have to go see Headmaster Dumbledore, and then I want to stop by my quarters to pick up some ingredients for a potion I need to work on."

"I can help," Harry said shyly. "I can cut stuff up for you." He glanced up hopefully at the Professor's face. The boy was pleased to see that the man looked a little surprised, and thoughtful.

"I suppose you could help me a bit," the Professor said slowly as they continued walking. "Potion-making is a lot like cooking, and you've proved that you're a fair hand at that."

Harry beamed, feeling oddly proud and pleased with himself. But some instinct, long honed into him by his relatives, viciously pushed down that feeling of satisfaction. Harry squirmed as his own mind seemed to insist that he didn't deserve to be proud of any accomplishment or talent he happened to have. The Professor gave him a quick look, but he didn't say anything. Harry sighed and trudged after the man through the stone hallways, not bothering to look around. He couldn't understand the sudden mood that seemed to have descended over him, and he still had to use the bathroom. Thankfully, the Professor didn't comment.

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"Snickers," Professor Snape muttered at the gargoyle. The grumpy stone statue jumped aside, revealing the revolving stairs leading to Dumbledore's office. He glanced down at Harry to gauge his reaction before tugging him toward the now open doorway. The boy looked mildly interested, but he also seemed distracted by his own mind again, as he had been all during the long walk from the Infirmary. Except for that one question about helping him with potions, the child had been silent. An odd gloom had fallen on Harry after he asked that question, and although Snape had asked the child once if he was alright, Harry had not said that anything was wrong. It had not been a very long walk, but he would be sure to floo down to his quarters from Albus' fireplace to save the boy's short legs. Harry was looking weary already.

The boy glanced down at the moving staircase they now stood on, looking perplexed. "Does everything move around here?" he asked quietly, almost as if he hadn't been planning on saying anything.

"Pretty much," Snape quipped. They reached the door of the Headmaster's office and the Professor raised his fist to knock.

"Come in, Severus!" the old man's voice called out before his fist even connected with the door.

Snape rolled his eyes and shoved the door open, directing Harry in first so he could close the door behind Dumbledore sat behind his desk, blue eyes a-twinkle and white beard a-flowing.

"Such a pleasant surprise!" the Headmaster said cheerfully and picked up his candy dish. "Lemon drop, Severus?"

Snape wrinkled his nose in disgust. "When will you learn how much I abhor those things?" he retorted.

"It won't stop me from trying," Dumbledore chuckled. He held the bowl out to the boy still clutching Snape's hand. "Would you care for a sweet, Harry?"

"No thank you, sir," the boy said softly.

Severus glanced down at the subdued child. "You may take one if you like, Harry," he said just as quietly, attempting to sound reassuring. "I may not like sweets, but I know most children have an inexplicable taste for such things."

"Thank you sir, but I don't want any," Harry replied quietly, with remarkable poise. He blinked calmly up at Severus before returning his gaze to the Headmaster.

Snape frowned at the boy's odd attitude, but they would come back to that later. He shook his head and turned to Dumbledore, forcing his mouth to form the painful words. "I came up to talk to you about … Lupin."

The old man arched a white eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"No, I'm Severus," the Professor snarked, recalling a joke utilized by the Marauders on a fairly frequent basis. Hopefully it would diffuse the tension that he could sense gathering in the room. To his relief, Dumbledore burst out laughing, and even Harry giggled. Snape smiled a bit and relaxed at seeing Harry's tense shoulders smooth out. He guided the boy to a chair and Harry obediently sat down, but he had a pinched look on his face.

"Need something, Harry?" Severus asked quietly, hesitating to take his seat opposite the child if he was feeling claustrophobic or something.

"Water closet," the boy replied in whisper, his face reddening painfully.

Dumbledore wiped tears of mirth from his face and pointed at an almost-hidden door in between two of his bookshelves. "The facilities are through there, dear boy. Do help yourself."

"Thank you, sir," Harry smiled shyly and bounced off his seat. In seconds, he was behind the closed door and the two men were left alone in the office.

"Severus, you never struck me as a man who would make a joke like that," Albus chuckled. "That was quite unexpected, but it was just what I needed. You made my day, dear boy. Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about? Something about Lupin, you said?"

"I've decided to contact Lupin, but I need to do it myself," Severus said quickly, rushing through his words before he lost his nerve. "Do you have his floo address? Assuming he has one, that is."

"Remus has never shared that information with me, I'm afraid," the old man replied with one of his little smiles. "But an ordinary owl should find him wherever he happens to be. May I ask what prompted your, shall we say, change of heart?"

Severus frowned and folded his hands tightly in his lap. "I have been reading a good deal of information on Werewolves," he said quietly. "There are many things about them that I never could have guessed." Snape paused and focused his gaze on his folded hands. "I realized that it was selfish of me to keep the boy all to myself. Harry will need someone to help him, someone he can trust, especially during his transformations. I have no suitable place to keep him during Full Moons … and I was hoping you would allow him to use the Shrieking Shack on those nights."

"But of course he can, Severus," the Headmaster replied quietly. "I believe Remus actually lives in the Scottish highlands not terribly far from here, surrounded by miles and miles of rough is likely that he retreats there for the Full Moons. He might end up taking Harry along with him on those nights. It would be more comfortable for a Werewolf than the Shrieking Shack, obviously."

"Fine," Severus snapped, feeling peeved and upset over who-knew-what. "Now, I also would like to take some Potion ingredients from the school's store. The Wolfsbane Potion is not safe for pre-pubescent children, so I'm planning to tweak it a bit. Hopefully I can modify it enough so that it will be safe for children."

"Go ahead and take whatever you need. I trust you to be prudent," the Headmaster smiled. His face turned thoughtful. "You know, we don't see as many children turned by werewolves nowadays. But I can imagine a Hermes Award in store for you if you can successfully do that."

Severus shifted uncomfortably. It was true that he had been given many different awards for his work in tweaking and inventing several Potions in the wizarding community, but the recognition always made him a bit shy. He disliked being in the spotlight and he preferred to work anonymously when possible. But his status as a Potions Master demanded that he submit any significant potions work he did to the Ministry and to the worldwide community of Potions he succeeded in tweaking the Wolfsbane Potion for use in children, he undoubtedly would gain worldwide recognition. Again. It was shocking that no other Masters had tackled this problem before now, actually. But perhaps the fact that nobody had been able to safely modify the potion yet was proof of how very difficult his work would be.

"Having Lupin around to babysit would give me more time to work on the Potion," Severus muttered. "It would be good for Harry to form a … friendship, with the Wolf before the Full Moon. After all, I believe they will be forced to, er … undress beforehand, correct?"

"Unless they want their clothing shredded beyond any sort of repair when they transform," Dumbledore said drily. He took in Severus' uncomfortable and slightly disturbed expression and smiled kindly. "And don't worry; Lupin is an honorable man and he would die before he hurt a child. Additionally, Werewolves tend to be a bit less modest than most other people. It's the wolf side, as I'm sure you guessed." The old man chuckled, sounding cheerful. "I do think Harry and Remus will get along splendidly."

Of course they will, Severus thought acidly. Harry will simply love Lupin, and I will become a forgotten figure in his past, only to reappear as his nasty Potions Professor when he turns eleven. But what do I care? I was the one trying to convince the boy that he would be better off without me. What is wrong with you, Severus?

Harry came out of the Headmaster's bathroom, looking a good deal calmer. His cheeks were rosy and his hair was somewhat damp, as if he had splashed his face with cold water. Snape sometimes did the same thing to regain his composure and he was glad to see the boy in slightly higher spirits.

"Alright there, Harry?" the Potions Professor asked, quickly pushing aside his self-pitying thoughts and turning all of his attention to the boy.

"Yes Professor," Harry replied, giving him a tiny smile. Severus briefly smiled back, feeling his whole body relaxing. Harry didn't smile often, but when he did, it meant that he was truly happy. The last time Snape had seen that smile, the boy was cooking an omelet at the stove.

"Then I suppose we must be going," the Professor said as he stood. "Thank you, Albus, for your help. I'll see you tomorrow, and I'll bring Harry back to see Poppy next week."

"He's doing well?" Dumbledore asked gently, glancing at Harry and looking him up and down with concern.

"Poppy seems to think so," Severus replied shortly, irrationally irritated with the self-satisfied old meddler. "Good afternoon, Albus. Might we be allowed to use your floo to get to my quarters so I can pick up the ingredients?"

"Of course, dear boy, and good afternoon to you too," the old man stood up and smiled genially at them as they utilized his fireplace. Harry glanced nervously over his shoulder at the Headmaster as Snape scooped the tiny boy up in his arms.

"Severus Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts!" he shouted as he stepped into the green flames. The floo spun them round and round, finally depositing them in the Potions Master's private quarters.

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Harry looked around with interest at the Professor's rooms here at the magic school. It was cozier than his gloomy, rickety little house, with comfortable armchairs, a nice plump sofa, and elegant coffee table, and there were two lovely abstract-ish paintings on the walls. They weren't like some of the other portraits Harry had passed in this weird school, with painted people that talked and moved and whispered and pointed like real people. They were swirls of cool, calming colours, subtly implying rather than actually portraying. One was above the fireplace and one was across the room.

There was a large, elaborately carved door that led out of the sitting room, and through a different archway he could see a small kitchen. A smaller door near the kitchen was closed and Harry wondered if there was a bedroom through there. One entire wall was lined with bookshelves, and every inch of the shelves was lined with books. It was so cozy and so like the Professor that Harry felt himself smiling contentedly.

"Like it?" the Professor asked suddenly. They had stepped out of the green flames only a few seconds ago, but the man had already cleaned the ash and soot off their clothes somehow. He'd probably used magic, and Harry found that he really didn't mind anymore. He was surprised at how quickly he had grown used to it, and he hoped that he would never have another panic attack concerning magic again. It was so wonderful, when he wasn't cringing away from it and calling himself a freak.

"It's very nice, Professor," Harry replied honestly.

"That it is," the Professor agreed with a fond little smile. "Why don't you sit down and wait for me? I will be a few moments fetching ingredients." The man let go of Harry's hand and swept toward the biggest door. As he grasped the handle, he turned in a swirl of black robes and looked at Harry over his shoulder. "Try not to touch anything, alright? There is a water closet through there." He pointed at a narrow door Harry had not noticed before, in the corner near the bookshelves. Without another word, the Professor tugged open the big door and slipped out, letting it shut behind him with a hollow thud.

Harry sat down in one of the armchairs. It was comfortable, but not as plushy as the one in the nurse's office. With a happy sigh, Harry relaxed into the chair and ran his fingers over the soft, almost satiny cushion cover. He amused himself by looking at all of the pictures, letting his mind relax as he considered them like clouds. One caught his attention. It was a swirl of dark blues and dark grays and flashes of white and looked like a crashing sea under a lightning-storm. One wavy streak of green might be a sea monster swimming through the deep. As Harry let his eyes half-close, he was mildly surprised when it actually seemed to coalesce into just that. The waves seemed to move, slowly heaving up and down, and the sea-serpent was swimming in lazy loops under the surface, ignoring the tempest above it. The lightning flashed in the boiling clouds and Harry felt at peace, despite the storm raging in the picture.

The sea-serpent turned to him and whispered softly. Welcome, new little one. You are young to grace these halls.

"Professor Snape is taking care of me," Harry whispered back, keeping his eyes half-closed to be able to keep the sea-serpent in his sights better.

Ah, that explains the man's strange moods lately, the serpent mused, coiling up and raising its fish-like head. But I think you have been good for him, young one. How are you able to speak with me?

"I don't know," Harry whispered doubtfully. "I think I'm dreaming."

You are calm and at rest, but you are certainly not sleeping, the serpent laughed, a strange hissing noise. I have not met many speakers in my lifetime. The last one was a rude, arrogant boy. I am glad he is gone. I never liked him at all. He preferred to speak with other serpents in the castle, and only spoke with me once, and under the effects of a calming draught, no less!

"I've talked to some snakes before, I think," Harry said slowly, blinking sleepily. "I remember there was a beautiful black and white snake in my Aunt's garden. She hates snakes so I told it to leave quick."

You are a very good child, the serpent said fondly, coiling in lazy loops and making interesting designs with its coils. Most humans dislike our kind.

Harry nodded. He knew that for a fact, having seen many people scream or shriek when seeing a snake. Harry had never been like that. Somehow he always knew that the snakes would not hurt him. It was also true that he had talked to snakes before as well. He couldn't remember exactly how many he had spoken with, but it was more than one. It really wasn't surprising anymore. It was simply another way that he was a freak. He flinched as he realized that he had used the 'F' word again. The Professor would be disappointed if he found out, so Harry quickly shoved the word away before he said something stupid. But now his good mood was evaporating and the painting of the ocean seemed to be blurring again.

You will be able to come speak to me often, I believe, the sea-serpent suddenly announced. If the good Professor has made you his ward, that is. Of course, you'll have to stay calm or you won't be able to hear my voice.

"I'm sure I'll come back," Harry said honestly. "Can I only talk to you if I'm calm?"

That is the magic of the portrait, yes, the serpent hissed thoughtfully. I am surprised at how quickly you were able to relax this very first time. I sense much conflict within you.

Harry squirmed, and as his emotions spiked, the portrait became less clear. The boy sighed as the sea-serpent was lost suddenly in the swirl of color and he could no longer hear the creature's soft voice. He blinked hard and stood up, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. He blinked in shock to realize that the Professor had silently returned, and was carrying a satchel slung over one shoulder, likely full of his ingredients. But the man's face was dark as a thundercloud and his eyes snapped black fire. Harry gasped and stumbled back, hitting the chair and unceremoniously falling back into it. He had never seen the man so angry before, and his first, wild thought was:What did I do?

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Severus Snape methodically went through his potion supplies, knowing exactly what he needed. Only two days ago, he had swallowed his pride and meekly sent a note to Dumbledore requesting his needed basilisk skin. It hadn't arrived yet, but he trusted that it would arrive in time for him to start his work on the Wolfsbane potion. He accioed a satchel from the back of his supply cupboard, (though it was really too big to be called a cupboard) and began placing the vials and jars of ingredients inside its snug inner pouches. It was a special satchel for carrying potions and ingredients, and it had been a very useful Christmas gift from Professor McGonegall a few years ago. He didn't use it often, but when he was forced to carry large amounts of jars and bottles that he couldn't just slip into his voluminous pockets, he was grateful for Minerva's thoughtfulness all over again.

He nodded in satisfaction to himself and closed the knapsack before slinging the strap over his shoulder. He had plenty of ingredients to brew the boy's restorative potions, and to start his experiments with the Wolfsbane Potion, and it would not be wise to leave Harry alone for too long. He was a meek, well-behaved child, but he was still only eight years old. He would get bored quickly, as all children did with their short attention spans.

Severus locked up his supply cupboard and hurried back to the door that led to his quarters, black robes billowing around his legs. As he silently pushed open the door, he froze, hearing a sound he had not heard in almost eight years; a sound that still haunted his darkest nightmares.

Parseltongue.

Someone was hissing the snake-language softly inside his private quarters, and he had left Harry all alone in there! Drawing his wand, the Potions Master slipped into the room, senses on high alert and ready for a fight. But to his consternation, Harry was the only one in his sitting room. The boy was sitting in one of the armchairs, looking quite comfortable and relaxed. His green eyes were fixed on one of the abstract paintings, and most disconcerting of all, the soft hissing was coming from the boy, and from the painting.

Severus narrowed his eyes dangerously, flicking his gaze between the boy and the swirling blue and gray painting where the other hissing was coming from. Was the boy having a conversation with something only he could see, in parseltongue, no less? He stepped closer to the boy, surprised that Harry had not noticed him yet. Was the boy being influenced by an outside force? Possessed or Imperiused, possibly? He cast a silent reveleo, twitching his wand at his side, but there was absolutely no one in his quarters or office besides him and the child. He flinched when Harry began to hiss again, a small crease of concentration appearing between his eyes. Snape eyed the boy uneasily, struggling not to allow the dreadful flashbacks of the Dark Lord and those terrible years to overwhelm him. How was it possible for Potter to be a parselmouth? That sort of skill was usually hereditary, and he certainly didn't know of anyone in the boy's immediate family tree to have had such a talent. Harry suddenly sighed and seemed to come out of his … trance; or whatever it was. The boy stood up and stretched, glancing around the room in a distracted fashion. But when he spotted Severus, he gave a comical gasp and fell back into his chair, staring up at the Professor with huge eyes and a suddenly white face.

Snape stared at the boy for several seconds before he spoke, his voice soft and dangerous. "Just what do you think you were doing, Potter?" he snarled. "Or do you even know what you were doing?"

The boy blinked in shock and started to tremble, but he didn't speak.

"Answer me!" Severus shouted, making the child flinch violently. Did the brat even understand how very serious this was?

"'M sorry," the boy whispered, his eyes filling and overflowing with tears.

"Do you even comprehend what you were doing?" the Professor demanded, his voice low and hissing with venom. His fear from before was mixed with anger and horror. He didn't want to think about the implications of this … whatever it was. The boy needed to answer him and he needed to talk now. Severus shoved his wand back in his sleeve and stepped menacingly toward the boy. Harry cried out and put his arms over his head to protect himself, curling up in the armchair as if to hide from the Professor's wrath.

At the sight of the child's obvious terror, Severus' anger dissipated just a bit, and he rubbed a shaking hand over his face, which he quickly found was almost dripping with cold sweat. What had he done? He had frightened the boy again. Some guardian he was. What was wrong with him? Silently cursing himself, Severus Snape carefully put his satchel of potion ingredients down on the sofa before he knelt beside Harry's chair. He said nothing, as he couldn't really think of anything to say right now in his mollified state. Instead, he gently placed his hand on the boy's knee. Harry flinched at the contact, and watched him with cautious fear on his pale little face.

"I'm sorry for frightening you," Severus said softly. His anger was nearly gone, but the fear was still there, curling in his gut and making him nauseous. His rage was just at the surface, however, ready to come back up in an instant.

"I d-don't know wh-what I did wrong," the boy whispered pleadingly. "But I'm r-really sorry, sir. I d-didn't know it was bad to t-talk to the sea-monster."

"Sea-monster?" Severus repeated with a scowl. "Is that who you were talking to?" Harry nodded wordlessly. The Potions Professor looked around disconcertingly. "Can you …?" he hesitated. "Can you tell me where this sea-monster was?"

"He's right there," Harry said in a small voice, pointing up. Severus followed the child's thin, trembling finger and stared at the swirling blue painting the boy had been staring at before. It always swirled, as it was still a magical painting despite not being a portrait. The shifting colors were still the same as they had always been, but he couldn't see a sea-monster in the jumble of paint strokes.

"Where?" Severus finally demanded, turning his scowl on the boy.

Harry flinched again at the look on the man's face and more tears spilled down his face. His green eyes were filled with confusion, hurt, and fear, and Severus felt like someone had stabbed him in the stomach.

The Potions Master sighed heavily and rubbed his face again. "You frightened me," he said frankly, still not looking at the child. "I heard you … hissing. And I thought someone else was here. But you tell me you were … talking … to a smudge of paint?"

"It's not … not really a smudge," Harry said softly. "If you're calm you can see him. He said not too many people talk to him." Then the boy suddenly frowned. "And I wasn't hissing. Snakes only hiss when they're mad. Most of them talk. I thought all freaks could hear them." Harry's eyes widened as he suddenly realized that he had used the forbidden word, and he whimpered in fear as he curled up tighter.

Severus stared at the boy, feeling incredulous. Did he need to pensieve the memory for the boy to see it? He had been clearly hissing, and so had the painting, obviously. He sighed again, shook his head, and got to his feet.

"Potter, I came in here and you were hissing at that … that swirl of paint. I know what I heard. What did you hear?"

"…English?" the boy said after a brief hesitation. "I wasn't hissing," he added stubbornly.

"You didn't hear any hissing?" Severus demanded incredulously. "You heard plain English? How can you speak another language without knowing it?"

The child shrugged uncomfortably and sat up straight in his chair. "I wasn't hissing," he repeated in a fierce whisper.

"Alright, alright," the Professor grumbled, putting up his hands in defeat. "I believe you."

"No, you don't," Harry muttered rebelliously, folding his arms and blinking hard, making more tears run down his thin cheeks. "Nobody ever does," he added softly.

The Professor blinked at that, and he felt even worse than before. Way to go, Severus. Do you need to keep proving what a terrible guardian you are? The man closed his eyes tightly and rubbed his aching forehead. He couldn't keep doing this. It was so draining, physically and emotionally, and he knew how hard it was on Harry as well. But for now, they just needed to drop this. He could come back to it when his head was clearer.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Severus said tightly. "But whether I believe you or not, or whether you believe me or not … I don't want you talking to any more snakes. Not until I figure out what happened … or how you are able to talk to them in the first place."

The child didn't reply. He sniffled and reached into his pocket. To Snape's surprise, Harry pulled out the handkerchief he had given the boy on that first night. He wiped his face and blew his nose. His green eyes still churned with resentment and confusion, but honestly, Severus just wanted to get out of here and go back home, and hopefully salvage as much of his Sunday as he could. He really could use a glass of firewhiskey right now.

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Harry lay sprawled on the big bed, staring at the blurry picture on the wall in the afternoon light. It was a lot like the ones in the Professor's quarters at the school, but it didn't swirl or move, no matter how long he stared at it. Time ticked slowly by, and Harry was bored to death. Lunch had been silent and for the first time, the Professor ordered him to clean up after himself and go upstairs to bed. The man then disappeared somewhere, leaving Harry all alone and dreadfully confused.

The Professor had been so mad and he still didn't know why. For the first time, Harry realized that he was mad at the Professor too. He hadn't been mad at the Professor for anything before, not even when the man threw his coffee mug at the wall and nearly made his heart jump out of his chest. But this was too much. The Professor had been decent, and then got mad for no reason at all and left him alone so he could go off and do who-knew-what away from him. Harry could not understand why it was so terrible to talk to snakes, even if it was a painted water-snake. In fact, the whole thing was just so bizarre when he thought about it.

Harry let out a long and heavy sigh and sat up, stretching his aching back. One would think you couldn't get sore, just lying on a bed, but Harry felt stiff and achy, and his mood was decidedly grumpy. He sighed and folded his arms, but that position was uncomfortable too, so the boy flopped over on his belly and rested his head on his arms. That position seemed better for his aching back, so he stayed there, staring at the whitewashed wall. It really needed another coat of paint, Harry thought listlessly. He was good at painting. Uncle Vernon liked to have the shed in the backyard repainted all the time, and Aunt Petunia had him paint the front fence at least once a month. Maybe the Professor would let him repaint the room. The powdery off-white coating would look better if it was a bright, cheerful white. It would go well with the blue window curtains …

The bedroom door clicked open and Harry jerked in surprise. The Professor arched one dark eyebrow at him and swept into the room. He had not changed out of his floaty black cloak, and it flowed around him like a dark shadow. Harry warily sat up and realized uneasily that the Professor could actually be scarier than his Uncle if he wanted to be. The anger had not left his black eyes and his posture was rigid, as if he was having trouble controlling himself. Harry found himself wanting to scowl right back, but he was too smart for that. He knew he had made the man really angry this time. The last few times Harry had done wrong, run away from the Professor, tore open his cuts, came downstairs without permission, asked that stupid question … Harry had not been punished because he hadn't really made the Professor mad. But this time, it was different.

Harry gulped as the seriousness of his predicament came home at last. His own self-righteous frustration and anger drained away leaving only the familiar sensation of terror. Harry hurriedly sat up and crawled off the bed, standing warily between it and the Professor's armchair, which always disappeared at night for some reason. He nervously clasped his little hands behind his back and stood as straight and still as possible. Would the Professor scold him? Punish him? Tell him that he didn't want the brat staying with him anymore? Tears suddenly burned the little boy's eyes. He didn't mean to mess things up so badly. The Professor was still staring at him, his dark eyes smoldering and his pale face tight with controlled emotion.

"I'm sorry!" Harry blurted out, hating the tears that spilled down his cheeks. He hated it that he started crying at the least thing nowadays. His bones were aching fiercely and his muscles trembled. He wanted to get back in bed and go to sleep, but he forced himself to stay standing. He could do this. The Professor had a right to punish him, he knew. It was long overdue. "I'm sorry," Harry repeated softly, unclasping his hands from behind his back and clenching his fists at his sides instead.

The Professor shook his head and sighed, sounding frustrated. He marched closer, and Harry couldn't help but cringe as the man towered over him. The Professor pulled something out of his robes and held it out to Harry. It was a card with a picture of a crest and a snake on it. The card was magical, because the snake was moving.

"Is this snake talking to you?" the Professor demanded stiffly.

Harry gulped and looked down at the card. The green-eyed, silver snake was slithering around a green and silver shield with a banner overhead that read 'Slytherin House'. The snake stuck its tongue out and eyed him curiously.

Why's the Head taken me out of the school, eh? The snake muttered grumpily, coiling itself around and around the shield. I don't like this place. It's cold and dull. Take me back, inconsiderate human. I want to go back on the mantelpiece where I belong.

Harry swallowed hard. He really didn't know what the Professor wanted. Did he want Harry to tell him the truth? Or would he punish Harry for saying he could still understand the snake? The boy looked up at the scowling Professor.

"It's not talking to me, sir," Harry whispered honestly.

The Professor narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "What is it saying, then?" he hissed, almost sounding like a snake himself.

Harry really couldn't understand why the Professor, who knew everything, couldn't hear the snake. It was talking as plain as anything, and Harry could talk back to it if he wanted to. But after the Professor got so mad earlier, the boy didn't dare. Harry swallowed hard and focused his gaze on the restless snake.

Get me out of here, the snake was muttering. Nobody gives a thought to a painted snake. I'm just a stupid picture …

"It's … not saying anything," he whispered, hoping that the Professor would believe him, but Uncle Vernon never believed him either, so it was a stupid gamble. "It's hissing," Harry added hopefully, he peeked up at the Professor, who looked even angrier.

The man tossed the card on the bed and quick as lightning, grabbed Harry by the arm and jerked him around. His other hand descended in a solid smack on his bottom. It wasn't too hard really, but Harry yelped in surprise and clapped both his hands over his backside, fighting the tears that burned his eyes and spilled down his face. His bottom stung for a few seconds, but his bones started aching worse from the force of the blow. He wanted to collapse and never get up, but he was firmly determined not to be a baby.

"Don't. Lie. To me," the Professor snarled, getting down on his level. "Tell me the truth. Could you understand what that snake was saying?" The man's dark eyes drilled into his own, though they were blurry with tears.

Harry opened his mouth, but only hiccupping sobs came out. He shut his eyes and trembled. There was no use in lying, and although the Professor had smacked his bottom, it would only take him getting madder to start hitting him elsewhere, he knew that.

"It says it doesn't like it here," Harry whimpered, keeping his eyes closed. "It wants to go back on the mantelpiece."

"Where did you learn to talk to snakes?" the Professor demanded after a slight pause.

Harry opened his eyes in shock. "Nowhere," he said indignantly. "It's something only freaks can do." He gasped in horror and clapped both hands over his mouth. He said the forbidden word, and the Professor was already mad. He was really going to get it now.

But to his surprise, the Professor didn't seem angry any longer. Instead, he looked stricken. He was still on one knee so he could see into Harry's eyes, and he let go of Harry's arm as he backed off. The man started rubbing his hands together with something like nervousness. Unconsciously, the Professor rubbed his left forearm and shivered.

"I ... I hit you," the man said softly, and covered his face with his hands as if … Was he ashamed?

Harry shifted his feet uncomfortably and didn't answer.

The Professor groaned and slumped over, sitting on the floor, still covering his face. "I can't believe I hit you," he repeated in an even quieter voice. "Minerva was right," he added almost under his breath.

"It didn't hurt," Harry said quietly. He relaxed slightly, and wrapped his arms around himself and shivered slightly. He was cold and tired and his bones still hurt fiercely.

The Professor looked up at him, and the boy was shocked to see tears on that granite face. There were more tears shining in his black eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry," the man whispered. "I … I had no right … And I'm sorry." The man groaned again and hunched over, covering his face again, muttering under his breath. It sounded like he was cursing himself, and it made Harry supremely uncomfortable. Apologizing for scaring him was well and good, but apologizing for giving him a little smack was ridiculous.

"Please stop," Harry pleaded helplessly. "I … I deserved it. I lied. And I'm sorry."

"I still had no right," the Professor muttered into his hands.

Harry sighed. He was confused too, but he just wanted to lie down and sleep, even though it wasn't even tea-time yet.

"Why is it so awful to talk to snakes anyway?" Harry asked timidly. "I … I've always been able to talk to snakes."

The Professor sighed and looked up. For several minutes, they simply stared at one another. Harry shifted first. His aching legs were starting to tremble and he couldn't stand up much longer. Carefully, Harry lowered himself to the floor and sat near the Professor.

"It is a rare skill," the Professor said in a low voice. "One that I have had … some bad experiences with. I apologize for allowing my emotions to dictate my actions, Harry. I should not have hit you."

"You spanked me for lying," Harry huffed, getting annoyed with the apologizing and the stricken look in the Professor's eyes. "And it didn't hurt. It just … startled me. I shouldn't have lied to you, sir. But … I was … scared."

"I frightened you … again," the Professor groaned, thumping his head against the bed. "So you still want to live here with me?" he sneered.

"Of course," Harry replied, as if it were obvious.

The Professor sighed and shook his head. "Anyway," he murmured, staring at the wall. "Being able to speak with snakes is a hereditary skill, but I cannot figure out where you got it from. I know that your … your mother did not have anyone in her family that could speak with snakes, and I am nearly certain that no one in your father's family could either. So … I was simply afraid that you learned the skill somehow from … someone else."

"Someone … bad?" Harry whispered.

The Professor nodded. "The last time I heard someone speaking the language of snakes … it was not a good person. He was very evil and cruel. In fact … this same man tried to kill you, and killed your parents."

Harry's heart pounded hard. He couldn't see, or think for several seconds. When he found his voice, it sounded dead, even to his own ears. "My mum and dad weren't murdered. They died in a car accident."

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Professor Snape stared at the boy in shock. He couldn't speak or move. The child's words, delivered in such a cold, dispassionate voice, cut into his soul and he found himself getting angry all over again. But this time, he was angry at Petunia.

"Your Aunt and Uncle told you that, did they?" Severus snarled.

Harry flinched at his angry tone and focused his green eyes on the floor. He stared tracing the pattern in the bedside rug he sat on. "My dad was drunk," Harry whispered. "He crashed the car and killed himself and my mum. I survived, but I got cut on my forehead."

Professor Snape shook his head in disgust. Of course they would lie to their hated nephew, making the child believe … what? That his parents died in some muggle accident instead of while fighting the most evil Dark Lord on the face of the earth? On second thought, that sounded completely like saw red and clenched his fists to control his temper. He hated feeling so volatile; so at the mercy of his emotions. Why was he feeling like this? He was angry, yes; but before his rage had been mixed with fear. Now, it was pure, unbridled rage. He wanted to kill the Dursleys for what they had done, the lies they had told. No, he wanted them to suffer. But he could not indulge his fantasies right now. He had to talk to Harry. He had to tell the boy his own story and he had to do so calmly.

"It is all a lie," the Professor growled, barely keeping himself from exploding all over again. His whole body still felt hot with shame from what he had done earlier. While he wasn't above giving his Slytherins a little swat every now and then when they got cheeky or told lies, he had never imagined he would lose his temper so readily with Harry. It frightened him. He fell into silence as the boy digested his words.

"A lie?" Harry repeated in a tiny voice. He looked up at the Professor with tears in his eyes again. There was hope there too. "So … they were … killed by somebody else instead?"

"You were just a baby," Severus sighed, allowing his rage to fall behind his occlumency shields. He focused solely on the boy and his green eyes, so much like his mother's. "In those days, there was a Dark Lord, an evil wizard, who wanted to dominate the Dark Lord targeted your family, and they went into hiding. There was a spell called the Fidelius Charm which they used to protect their home, and you, from discovery. No one was able to find your house unless their Secret Keeper told them where it was." The Professor paused, watching the boy's expressionless face carefully. "Are you following me?" he asked.

"Not really, sir," Harry answered with a cringe. "But … I can sort of understand. My parents were hiding … and there was only one person who knew where they were?"

"Something like that," Severus muttered. "Anyway, the Secret Keeper betrayed your family to the Dark Lord, and he came. He killed your parents, and then he tried to kill you. But … something went wrong. He disappeared, you survived a curse that no one has ever survived before … and here you are."

"I don't understand," the boy said softly. "How did he disappear? What happened?"

"He cast a curse called the Killing Curse," the Professor explained. "The … wand movement is like a lightning bolt. All anyone knows is this: your mother and father were killed by that curse, yet you were alive, and you had a scar on your forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. The Dark Lord was gone, and has not been seen since. Nobody knows what happened. But … among the magical community, you are well-known, or at least your name. You are known as the Boy-Who-Lived. You survived what no one else has ever survived and I don't know why."

Harry was silent for several long moments, and Severus did not speak anymore. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the bed, feeling tired and worried. He needed to talk to Dumbledore right away about the fact that the Boy-Who-Lived was a parselmouth. It was beyond disturbing, but now that Snape was quiet and had time to think, he felt ashamed of himself for making such a fuss about it. Had he been secretly afraid of the Dark Lord, his former master, possessing the body of this sweet child he was starting to … love? Yes, he supposed. That was his first fear. He had been terrified and angry, but his rage had not really been directed at Harry. Not really. He had been so horrified by the prospect of Harry not really, completely, being Harry. But even those fears did not excuse his appalling behavior. He had become violent in his fury, and he was afraid of making such a mistake again. He did not want to hurt the child. Not after all he had suffered. It really would be good to write Lupin as soon as possible. Maybe he could go down and write a nice long letter right now, and send it when he returned to the school in the morning.

"Sir?" Harry's voice intruded on his thoughts.

Severus roused himself and opened his eyes. The boy was chewing his lip and frowning in concentration. "Yes?" he said quietly.

"Why … why did he want to kill me? I mean … I was just a baby. What could I have done to him, anyway?"

"Good question," Severus muttered. "Well, it is a long and rather complicated story. But the simple version is that there was a supposed prophecy about someone who would be able to defeat him one day, and he wanted to make sure that he eliminated such a threat before they were old enough to challenge him. But he was a fool. I don't believe in prophecies."

Harry darted him a nervous look. "But …" the child whispered. "What if … I survived … because the prophecy was true? How else did I survive?"

"Dumbledore has a theory that your mother's love protected you," Professor Snape said gently. "Apparently, love is very powerful, especially in magic. Or at least, so the Headmaster believes. I am no expert in matters of the heart."

"What happened to … the bad guy?"

"I don't know," Severus sighed. "A burned-out shell of his body was found, and it is pretty much accepted that he is dead. But Dumbledore believes that the Dark Lord will return one day. So … perhaps he is not all the way dead. He may be some sort of wandering ghost."

Harry shivered and hugged himself. He bowed his head of messy hair and was silent for a few more minutes. "He could talk to snakes, couldn't he?" the child whispered, his voice dull and strange. "That's why I can talk to snakes. He … I dunno; stuck the language in my head when he gave me this scar, right?"

Severus shivered apprehensively at the child's innocent wisdom. Now that … that was actually a theory he had entertained. Of course, if the Dark Lord's wandering spirit had taken up residence inside the boy's body, it would explain the parselmouth ability. Or perhaps only a small bit of the Dark Lord's essence had entered into the boy, giving him only the ability. He dearly hoped that the child wasn't unconsciously harbouring the spirit of a Dark Lord.

"I do not know," he said honestly, meeting the child's worried gaze with what he hoped was reassurance. "I was afraid … that something to that extent might have happened." Of course, to be absolutely sure he would need to use Legilimency, but it was dangerous to use on children, and would certainly cause the boy a good deal of pain.

"But he could talk to snakes, right?" The child repeated, almost desperately.

"Yes, he could," Severus whispered.

"So …" Harry said slowly, the wheels turning in his little head. "You heard me talking to the snake and it reminded you of that bad wizard … so you weren't really mad at me, were you?"

"Not … exactly, no," the Professor replied uncomfortably. He was not used to being read so well by children, obviously. This boy was very astute, a lot like his mother.

Harry's face lit up and he suddenly flung himself forward and hugged him tightly. Severus grunted at the unexpected impact and managed to untangle his own arms so he could hug the child back. "I'm sorry I got mad at you," Harry whispered into his shirt. "I'm really sorry."

Snape scowled, more at himself than the child, but he was glad Harry could not see his face right now. "There is nothing to apologize for," he said, a bit sharply. "I am the one who was in the wrong. I must ask … for your forgiveness, child. I was not … right to project my own emotions onto you."

"Okaaay," Harry said slowly, tilting his head to squint up at him. "I forgive you, Professor … but I was bad too. I lied to you, and I knew what I was doing. And I said … the 'F' word."

Professor Snape did not really know why that struck him as funny. He started laughing. After a few seconds of confusion, Harry started laughing too, and hugged him harder. They laughed and held one another, and the air felt bright and cheery with the storm clouds of fear and anger gone far away … at least for now.

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Here you are! A chapter full of angst and fluff all wrapped up in one!

Technically, I'm killing time while we wait for people to find out Remus is in Azkaban and for word of Sirius Black's escape to go public. Don't worry, the news comes out in the next couple of chapters. I have been having trouble with my computer and lost about a chapter's worth of work this weekend. I may have to slow down production of chapters in order for me to catch up a bit as I'm still on chapter sixteen since the computer breakdown. Now I have rewrite what I had. You know what Anne Shirley once said, "Nothing is as good when you have to think it all out a second time"? I feel like that a lot, especially now. But I'm sure it will be satisfactory in the end, even if it just takes me a little extra time.

Thanks for understanding and THANK YOU for your encouraging and helpful reviews! You inspire me to keep going!