1.06 Prying Hearts Open

This time Snape was at his bedside before he'd even stopped screaming. Harry gasped for breath, feeling his hair sticking to his neck and face. He pushed the sheets aside and sat up.

Snape handed him a glass of warm water and then another vial. Harry was getting rather sick of the potions, but Snape was trying to cut down on them, which was why he'd had the nightmare in the first place. Apparently, he couldn't sleep without the Dreamless Sleep.

He emptied the vial and then, in a sudden burst of frustration, flung it at the wall, where it shattered with a decidedly satisfying sound. Snape stood still for a second, before he flicked his wand and uttered a quick Reparo. He'd known about this charm; they had used it on the vial he'd broken. That had been an accident, but they hadn't cared anyway. It was Sectumsempra for foolish little boys like him.

Snape bent down suddenly and he flinched away, still fresh from the memories re-stoked by the nightmare. Snape stilled, and with a deliberately slow motion, he moved back and stood upright.

"Do not do that again."

He didn't say anything.

"Why did you do that?"

He stared at the wall away from Snape, his arms crossed. Harry's face was still sweaty, but his breathing had slowed down.

He exhaled loudly in frustration. "If you do not speak to me, I cannot help you, Potter. Open your mouth and speak."

"I hate those potions, I've been drinking them for forever, but I can't stop because then I get nightmares and I hate that too!"

"The nightmares will pass."

"Not soon enough for me," he muttered.

"Are they still about the cellar?"

"Mostly," he said, drawing the word out thoughtfully. "Sometimes it's Mrs. Figg."

Snape conjured a straight, hardback chair and sat. "It would help, Potter, if you told someone what you have experienced."

His brain rejected that thought even before he'd processed it fully. He softly said, "I thought an Obliviate would do the trick better," trying to hide the hopefulness in his voice, because he had been thinking about this ever since he'd read about it in one of the books he'd read soon after the first nightmare began. Wipe away all memories of the cellar. No nightmare. Problem solved.

He shook his head. "Obliviate tends to be tricky, especially when the memories to be Obliviated are spread over a long timeframe. And while it would remove your memories, it might not necessarily remove your nightmares. Speaking of which, your nightmares are replaying a lot of the original memories, so they'd have to be Obliviated too. Also, some shadow of the memories tends to get left behind. You might see something that 'reminds' you of something in the cellar, and feel afraid without knowing exactly why because the memories aren't there."

He closed his eyes to stop an eye-roll coming on. "All right, all right. I get it."

"Respect, Potter. The concept seems to elude you."

"I respect plenty," he said indignantly. "Like my teacher from elementary. She was great. And there was a gardener some streets away, too, who helped me out a lot."

"Two people make quite the list, Potter." He breathed in and out in a curiously mechanical gesture, and Harry wondered if he was counting to ten in his head. "What makes you the most afraid when you think about the cellar?"

"What all, you mean."

"I thought we'd start small with just one, but if you want to elaborate…" he waved a pale hand.

He took a breath and opened his mouth and immediately felt the first effects of nausea coming on. "I," can't, can't do this. He felt tears pricking his eyes, and wiped them harshly. "I hated that they could do whatever they wanted to me. I was supposed to be so powerful, but they tied me down and I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything."

Snape's face gave away about as much as those white masks did. Was he paler than usual? He couldn't make out. "You said they were afraid of you, though," he said.

Harry blinked in surprise. Somehow, in nearly three months, he'd never considered that. He shook his head. "I wasn't powerful enough to save her."

She'd been dead for three months. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Harry was tuned in enough to Snape's expressions to know that the look that suggested 'bored' at a first, casual glance wasn't that at all. "You were nine," he said finally. "You're not expected to save anyone at nine."

"You're not expected to get kidnapped either," Harry pointed out.

"No," he said, as if thinking very carefully over the monosyllable. "But you weren't in control of your powers, and you had just witnessed someone's death."

After a long silence, Harry whispered, so softly Snape had to bend forward to hear him, "She would've been fine if she wasn't trying to save me." And then he began to cry, in controlled breaths at first and then in earnest, with big heaving breaths and soft wailing sounds. He buried his face in his hands, and it was a whole minute before he looked up.

"That is not in your hands," Snape said.

He stared at Snape, who conjured a boxful of tissues and handed them to him. He took one, peering discreetly at Snape as he wiped his face. His stiff shoulders seemed to be less stiff than before, but that was about the only indication that he'd even seen him cry.

"It's funny," Harry said as he absently played with the tissue. "I didn't even like her very much. She was always on at me about her cats, showing pictures and talking about everything they did. Her whole place smelled of cabbage for some reason, I didn't even see any cabbage there. I thought she was a little mad, actually." He took a deep breath, feeling like he'd rambled too much. "And then she tried to save me," he finished.

"She wasn't mad," Snape said. He had a thoughtful look on his face. "Nor did she particularly like cats. I wonder why she gave that impression."

"She really acted weird, sir—"

"I'm not questioning you, Potter, merely wondering why she would pretend to be 'weird'. Do you want any Dreamless Sleep?"

Harry answered yes and Snape gave him a vial. He was at the door before he stopped. With his hand on the knob, he said, staring at some vague point in the distance, "Good night, Harry."

Snape found the boy in his kitchen, glancing rather aimlessly at the bottles on the counter. "What are you up to, Potter?" he asked, rather snappishly, because the alarm had gone off and interrupted his work.

Potter jumped, a blush already forming on his face as he faced Snape. Really, that boy could not control his emotions for the world. "Sorry, sir."

"That does not answer my question."

"I just finished the books you gave me, and—well there was nothing else much to do. I was wondering if I could cook something."

"Eager to get back to work, are you?"

Harry looked a bit wide-eyed. "I thought that you've been very busy looking after me, and I feel fine now, so maybe I could do something to help for a change."

"The house elf prepares the meals, Potter."

Harry looked rather deflated. "Oh."

Snape considered the boy standing in his kitchen with his head hanging. He did not imagine this. He'd imagined James Potter, in all his easy confidence, strutting about like he owned the world. "Come with me, Potter."

He led the way back to his Potions lab. Potter trotted in, quiet for a boy his age, Snape noticed—no dragging his feet or heavy footsteps. "Step up to the counter." He set a pestle in front of him, along with some puffer fish eyes. "Crush these, Potter."

He stared at them, making no attempt to begin his task. "Are those eyes?"

"A common Potions ingredient, Potter. You will find that there is no room for squeamishness in my class."

"I'm not squeamish," Harry said quietly, taking an eye and plopping it into the pestle. It broke with a soft squelch but Harry's expression didn't change.

Snape was suddenly reminded of another green-eyed student who'd stood by him and made potions.

After about fifteen minutes, Harry's voice called out, "I'm done, sir."

Snape inspected his work and gave a short nod. "Wash out the pestle." He picked out some Bicorn horn as Harry walked over to the basin. "These next."

And so they continued, in silence, for a while, before Harry said, "May I ask you something?"

"I doubt I could stop you if I wanted to, Potter," he replied. Potter bit his lip and lowered his head. "What is it?"

"Did my parents have any friends?"

Potter was looking at him through the fringe of hair that seemed to be perpetually on his forehead and hiding his face, and curtaining his eyes. Snape kept his eyes on the potion he was stirring. Parents. That's all Potter wanted to talk about. "Yes, they did."

"You didn't like them either."

Snape looked at him in some surprise. "What makes you think that?"

"Your face. Do you like anyone?"

"I'm quite fond of anyone who doesn't insist on asking me personal questions, Potter."

His cheeks reddened. "Sorry. Where are they?"

"Most of them are dead. They were in the war."

This information seemed to unsettle him. "Who's left?"

One is in prison and the other is a werewolf, and the other one is me, Potter. "One."

"Who?"

"Why do you want to know?"

His expression became shuttered. "I just—thought they'd have something to say about them, that's all."

"If you want information on your father, Potter, I suggest you go through the newspapers covering the Dark Lord's death. There was ample coverage of the Potters. Potter is an old Pureblood family."

"What's a Pureblood?"

What's a Pureblood. James Potter would have been mortified. "Someone who has magical parents and grandparents, going back many centuries."

His mouth gaped a bit. "There are people like that?"

"You are almost like that."

"Oh, because my mother was not." He was dicing dittany leaves now. "The Malfoys are like that?"

It was almost not a question, but Snape nodded anyway.

"Are you like that?"

"My father was a Muggle."

Later, he couldn't imagine why he'd given this detail so easily.

"You said my mum was nice. What was she—"

"Nettle leaves next. Wash your pestle." Snape took the cauldron off the fire.

If he thought that Harry would be too distracted to remember his question, he was wrong. "What was she like?" he repeated, as he stood at the basin.

Snape was beginning to regret ever volunteering that bit of information. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, except that his brain was revolting at the thought of referring to Lily in anything even mildly derogatory the way he'd done with James Potter. "She was nice, Potter. That is all I can tell you."

"You didn't like her?"

Snape's look could've stopped a tiger in its tracks. "You are asking personal questions, and I believe I had forbidden that."

"Questions about my mother are about me."

"I—" and then Snape stopped. Harry nodded in quiet victory. Snape scowled. "You are just like your father, Potter."

It was a first, Snape thought absently, to see anger in that face. Potter had mostly been quiet and mildly apologetic in the past weeks. "You mean my father who died fighting Death-Eaters, Mister Snape?"

His retort was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. Dumbledore had already asked him not to disparage Potter Sr in anyway, and he'd already broken that order multiple times already. And speaking of Dumbledore—"The Headmaster will be coming by to visit," he said instead, and Potter looked like he'd completely forgotten his annoyance. "He wants to discuss the possibility of, ah, suing Lucius Malfoy."

He seemed to ruminate on this. "Does the Headmaster think it's possible?" he asked quietly.

"He will be discussing that," Snape said indifferently, pouring out his potion into a vial.

"When will he be arriving?"

"Soon. Perhaps you want to change for your future Headmaster?"

"No, thank you," he replied neutrally. "In what way am I exactly like my father?"

"Stubborn, never knowing when to keep quiet, inquisitive, arrogant—" Potter exhaled in indignation, but Snape had run out of steam. "You look like him too," he ended.

Potter shrugged. "Nobody asked me who I wanted to look like or be like."

There was a noise from outside the lab just then, and Potter jerked up, his eyes widening in alarm.

"Calm yourself, Potter. It's just the Headmaster."

He walked to the door, Potter following him.

The Headmaster was brushing some ash from his maroon robes as they entered the hall. Harry had only a moment to wonder how he'd showed up in the middle of the hall, with ash on his clothes no less, before the Headmaster was smiling at him.

"It is good to see you, Harry," he said gaily. "I trust you're feeling better?"

"Mister Snape has been very good to me," he replied, and the Headmaster twinkled at Snape, who looked discomfited at the attention.

"And I see Severus has been teaching you potions as well. You will be well equipped to start your magical education at Hogwarts with this preparation, Harry." Harry barely controlled a grimace and smiled politely. "Well, then, let's talk about suing Lucius Malfoy."

Snape cleared the tables with a flick of his wand, and seemed to be leaving, but then the Headmaster looked at him and he sighed and sat, directly opposite the Headmaster, leaving Harry to sit in the chair between them, Snape to his right and the Headmaster to his left.

"First of all, I want to know if you're perfectly positive that you did, in fact, see Lucius Malfoy."

"Well I— I didn't see his face, but I saw his hair and one of the men referred to him as Malfoy."

"And you saw Narcissa Malfoy and his son, too?"

"Yes."

"And if prompted you could provide a description of the other men, faces excluded of course?"

"Yes."

"Did Lucius Malfoy cast the Killing curse?"

"No, he didn't."

Dumbledore regarded him silently. Harry would've sneaked a glance at Snape, but there was no way of doing so discreetly. "The problem, Harry, is that you are just one witness," he said, his eyes serious for once. "Lucius Malfoy has already been acquitted of the charge of being a Death Eater once, and he has given a lot of money to the Ministry after the war for the reparation of damages. It will be almost impossible to get a sole witness from a minor to stick —unless—" he looked at Severus now, who was openly glaring, but silent. "We use Veritaserum."

Harry frowned. He could remember—barely—what that potion was—"Truth Potion?" Dumbledore nodded in affirmation. "On me or him?"

"On you. You see, Veritaserum is not commonly used in wizarding trials because they can be rather untrustworthy. Someone with sufficient self-control and mind-controlling skills can manipulate his answers. Also, the use of the potion has to be completely voluntary. We cannot force a suspect to take Veritaserum. So, if you consent—"

"Yes, of course!"

"It's not that simple," Snape said from his corner of the table. "You will be questioned by a member of the Wizengamot as well. That's something like the jury. And we can't pick who. When you are under Veritaserum, you are compelled to answer all questions put to you. You won't remember, later, what the questions or your answers were."

That all sounded quite terrifying, but, "If that's the only way to get this done... I'm going to do it."

The Headmaster looked pleased. "I imagined you would. You are incredibly brave, Harry, like your parents."

Harry pinked, but sent a glance Snape's way before he could help herself. He was scowling. The Headmaster caught the look, but didn't remark on it. "There is another small issue of course, and that is with regards to the fact that you are considered by most in the wizarding world to be something of a saviour."

"Um. Because of what happened with Vol-You-Know-Who?"

"Say the name, Harry," the headmaster said gently. "Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself." Out of the corner of his eye, harry could see Snape grimacing slightly. "It wouldn't do for such an event like your captivity to be made public news. That sort of news would cause a lot of panic—assuming, of course, that we succeed in our efforts. If we lose, the damage to your image will be considerable.

"Thankfully, there is a simple solution," he said, as Harry was opening his mouth to say he didn't care about his 'image' one bit, "which is to simply make sure the trial and the proceedings will be handled without involving the press. I assume I have your consent in this matter?"

Harry said yes, and Dumbledore nodded and said, "Well, then, I will inform the Minister of Magic that we are accusing Lucius Malfoy of four counts of murder."

"Not 'Malfoy and four other people whom we don't know'?" he asked.

He looked a bit regretful. "I'm afraid accusing multiple people will simply reduce our chances. Best to focus on a single, most obvious suspect."

"But… it'll seem like we're targeting him specifically."

"We are targeting him specifically," Snape said. "I suggest you leave the Headmaster to do his job, Potter."

The Headmaster sent a stern look Snape's way. "He's perfectly within his rights to question the nature of the accusation, Severus. But I do apologize, Harry. I believe our safest bet is to use just Lucius Malfoy's name."

Harry shrugged. Dumbledore smiled at him, comfortingly, and got up. He rose to his feet as well, and with one last smile at Harry, he left through the fireplace.

Harry turned to Snape. "Is there any way I can buy books on Wizarding Law? And all the newspapers from You-Know-Who's reign, and all the Death Eater trials."

He smirked. "The trial will be less than a week from now. I don't think you can read through all of that before then."

"I wasn't really planning to."

"You can have them delivered."

He nodded, then blushed suddenly. "I don't have Wizarding money."

Snape's face was carefully blank. "There is a vault with your name on it. I'll have the Headmaster know. He should be able to get you the key."

Later that night, a stately owl came bearing a letter from the Ministry of Magic informing him that the trial for Lucius Malfoy would take place on the 13th of August, 1989. Snape burned it. Harry didn't know why, but he did feel some pleasure at seeing that name slowly catch fire and turn to ash.

The next day, a librarian Flooed through with ten boxes of newspapers and a stack of books. Snape had told Harry not to be present when the librarian dropped his things off, but Harry caught a peek of his face as he was leaving, and the wizard looked quite irritated, which distinctly amused Harry — as if librarians should be annoyed that people read?

Snape snidely informed him that the Hogwarts librarian was much the same way. Hogwarts was sounding less and less enjoyable by the minute.

Snape seemed to realize that, because he added, "And if I do not see you in my Potions class on the first of September, 1991, I will come to your house and drag you to Hogwarts." The look in his eyes assured him that he meant it too.

Really, Snape was being most contrary.