A/N: The dedication of this story has been restored to Squiggsy, after she and Lestat le Vampire had a bitch fight over who got to be my faithful Muse.

I'd like to say thank you to all you lovely, lovely people who have reviewed. Such wonderful, considerate, copious amounts of feedback does wonders for my ego.

 

Chapter 5: Quite the Talented Artist

Harry approached the portrait hole, apparently deep in thought. He stopped before the portrait hole and leant against the wall, closing his eyes and realising how little sleep he'd had recently.

"Ehem." The Fat Lady cleared her throat. "It's past midnight, you know."

"Sorry, I've been in detention." Harry answered her, absentmindedly.

She looked at him disapprovingly, "Hmm. Well, hurry up."

Harry looked at her, puzzled. "What?"

"Password, password." She said impatiently.

"Oh, sorry… Lederhosen."

The Fat Lady sniffed disdainfully at him as the portrait swung open and he climbed through.

He strode towards the stairs, making for the dormitory, then realised that he didn't want to wake the others. After the surreal hours he had spent with Snape he really didn't feel up to answering Ron's questions and making up stories about his 'detention'. He needed time to think. Sitting down in what was becoming his usual armchair, he pulled his cloak over himself and stared into the embers of the now extinguished fire. In the dungeons, Snape did the same.

Harry was woken the next morning by Ron and Hermione, who were leaving on their way down to breakfast.

"I don't really feel like eating anything." Harry said. "You go. I'll see you at DADA."

Hermione frowned worriedly and sat down next to him. "Harry, are you sure you're alright? You've hardly eaten anything for days."

"Yes I have, I -" Harry paused. He realised he hadn't eaten since dinner, two days earlier.

"Exactly. You certainly didn't have any of that Shepherd's Pie last night. If you don't want to tell us what's wrong, you still need to eat."

Harry shook his head, "I can't face breakfast. I'll have something at lunch, I promise."

Hermione looked for a moment as if she was about to drag him physically down to the Hall. "Alright." She said, grudgingly. "As long as you do."

Harry nodded. "I will. Go on, you two go. You'll be late for lessons otherwise."

With a last glance in his direction, Hermione followed Ron out of the door. Harry knew he should be grateful for having friends who cared so much about him, but sometimes he wished they'd leave him alone.

Another three days and one Potions lesson passed before Snape told Harry to see him afterwards. Standing at the front, watching everyone file out, he tried to look angry or sorry for himself, when inside he was dancing in anticipation of the scheduling of his first private lesson with Snape.

"You will come to my rooms, as before, tonight at 8 o'clock." Snape said. "I trust you have kept our arrangements secret." Harry nodded. "I will see you tonight then, Potter."

"What should I tell Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked. "They might notice if I'm not in the Common Room."

"What you choose to tell your friends is none of my concern." Snape replied, disinterestedly. "Although something along the lines of your receiving extra tutoring to raise the standard of your abysmal Potions work would be eminently plausible to anyone who has seen you in my lessons."

Harry glared at Snape. "Thank you, sir."

Snape raised an amused eyebrow. "You're welcome, Potter. Now, please leave. I have your classmates' pitiful attempts at homework to mark before this evening."

Harry threw a last glare at Snape, and then walked out, closing the door behind him.

That evening, whilst supposedly doing his homework, Harry sighed and looked over the top of his DADA textbook at Ron teaching Hermione how to play chess again, and felt a certain amount of guilt. He should tell them about his lessons with Snape, ask them what they thought, get their advice, and listen to Ron vowing that Snape was evil incarnate, and Hermione shushing Ron and telling Harry which books would make everything better. What had changed?

I've changed.

Sighing to himself, Harry stood up and climbed the stairs to the dormitory. Lifting his invisibility cloak out of his trunk, he realised that this year he'd not yet needed to use it. Over-cautious it might be, but Harry didn't fancy getting stopped by Ron and having to explain that he was sneaking off to see Snape because he found said Potions teacher indescribably and inexplicably sexy and thought he might die if he didn't hear that voice murmuring to him again.

At the top of the dormitory stairs he threw the cloak over his shoulders and headed back down into the Common Room, which was thankfully less busy than usual, thanks to a mass detention of the Third Years for blowing up Professor McGonagall's chair in Transfigurations. Treading softly, Harry made sure no one was looking in his direction, and then slipped out of the portrait hole. He ignored the Fat Lady's indignant protests and walked away down the corridor, determined that this time he would get some answers from Snape, and trembling with curiosity and anticipation of the first lesson.

~~~~~

"Come in, Potter," came the command.

Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and shrugged off the cloak, jumping slightly when the hand of a gargoyle which was set into the stone beside the door snatched it from him and held it in the manner of a coat rack. He looked at Snape questioningly. "How do you do that?" He asked. "Know I'm there, I mean."

Snape indicated a smoky mirror above the door frame without looking up from the papers he was marking. "A modified Foe-Glass. I find it gives me the upper hand… a certain element of surprise…"

Harry looked oddly at Snape's bowed head and wondered why he was voluntarily spending time alone with this man. Then Snape looked up and regarded him with those dark eyes, and he remembered.

"I have marked your work." Snape said, setting down his quill. "Congratulations, you are well on the way towards a 'Poor' grade in your Potions NEWT." Harry groaned inwardly. Snape smirked, "Perhaps I should make a note that this does Exceed Expectations?" 

"There's no need for that, sir. At least if I get a 'Dreadful', I won't be disappointing anybody." Harry snapped. Snape looked taken aback for a second. Harry realised what he'd said and cursed himself.

But Snape looked vaguely amused. Was Snape pleased? "Touché, Mr. Potter." He stood up and placed the papers he had been marking on a shelf. "Sit down."

Harry pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the desk and seated himself, glancing up at Snape. "Professor -"

"You have told Weasley and Granger?" Snape asked.

Harry shook his head, "No. I used the cloak, so nobody saw me leave. They probably won't realise I'm gone." He added, a little bitterly.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Discord in paradise?" He said, smirking.

Harry glared at him. "No." He was not about to start bitching about Ron and Hermione's relationship to Snape, of all people.

Snape smirked at Harry maliciously for a moment. Then he became serious once more, and Harry felt that those obsidian eyes were somehow searching his soul. "You are absolutely certain that you wish to undertake these lessons?"

Harry swallowed and nodded. "Yes." He was absolutely certain, of course he was. It was just – "But I would like to know, sir…"

"You need an explanation." Snape said, cutting Harry off and understanding what he was trying to ask. "Which I will give you. From the beginning." He sat down once more and was silent for a moment. "When he was at school, Tom Riddle was considered by many of his teachers to be an exceptional pupil, but none of them knew the true extent of his abilities. He inherited certain abilities down the female line from Salazar Slytherin. He is able to use raw, ancient magic, and it gives him unimaginable power. There is no word for what he was… is. There have only been three others like him in documented history; Salazar, Godric Gryffindor, and Tom Riddle's great-grandmother.

"When the curse that should have killed you was cast, for inexplicable reasons, there was an exchange between your infant form and that of Lord Voldemort. It was as though there was a momentary link between the two of you. When you were brought to Professor Dumbledore, he could only guess what had occurred. By the time you came to Hogwarts, however, your power had manifested itself, without your knowledge, in a number of ways. Your ability to avoid danger, the disappearance and movement of certain objects without your conscious effort…"

Harry frowned, "So I got something from Voldemort when he tried to kill me. I look like him, and I can speak Parseltongue…"

"The powers I speak of are not trivial linguistic skills, or a matter of appearance." Snape said sharply. He leaned forward and spoke softly, "You have the potential to become as powerful a wizard as Lord Voldemort. You are the memory of Godric Gryffindor made flesh. And you can use these powers for such a great and terrible good that you would possess the sheer magical power to defeat Lord Voldemort. Have you never given thought to why he pursues you as he does?" Snape hissed. "It is not merely a matter of petty revenge. He knows what you can accomplish, and he is afraid."

Harry was stunned into silence. Somewhere, his mind registered that what Snape said made sense. It all made sense. But – "Professor Dumbledore knew?"

Snape nodded. "There were some of us who thought it was foolish to leave you ignorant of your… abilities. But Dumbledore insisted that it would be detrimental to your happiness." He sneered, showing his obvious scorn of such things.

"He kept this from me." Harry said. "He didn't think I needed to know?"

"It was in your best interests, in his opinion, to be oblivious to this until such a time that you should be told…"

"My best interests?" Harry repeated angrily. "I've faced Voldemort every single year I've been at this school and he didn't think I should know that I might have a chance of defeating him? I'm sick and tired of being told what I'm ready to know! How many more secrets are there?" He turned his angry glare on Snape, "And why are you telling me now if Dumbledore doesn't want me to know?"

Snape stared right back, not breaking Harry's gaze. "I do not break Professor Dumbledore's confidence lightly. But six and a half years in which you could have been trained to harness these powers have been lost. We can afford to wait no longer."

Something in Harry knew that he should be wary. Dumbledore had his reasons for keeping this from him. Why should he trust Snape? But he was angry. He was sick and fucking tired of being treated like a child.

Snape had been watching Harry, and saw the anger and defiance in the boy's face. He leaned forward, "Are you willing to undergo the necessary training?"

Harry didn't answer. "If there have only ever been four other people with these abilities, how do you know enough to train me?" He asked.

"My family have… certain ties to the family of Riddle's mother. I spent my youth surrounded by stories of his, and his great-grandmother's powers. I have read enough books on the subject to understand a little – enough to guide you into harnessing your potential."

Harry was vaguely surprised at such a close connection between Snape and Riddle. He'd always supposed that Snape was a Death Eater by default, being a Slytherin… but Snape's explanation made it sound like they were closer, almost as if they were family… "But, why?" He asked, "Why do you want to help me?"

Snape's expression became suddenly closed, and Harry knew the answer he received was not entirely the truth. "I want more than anything to see Riddle destroyed, and I believe this may be the only way of accomplishing it."

"Then why doesn't Dumbledore want me to learn, if it'll help me against Voldemort?"

"Albus is of the opinion that you are still a child. He is under the impression that you are too young to cope with such knowledge, or such power."

"But you don't think that?" Harry ventured.

Snape fixed him with a sharp stare. "You have seen more terrible things in six years than anyone should be cursed with in a lifetime. You have been forced to abandon your childhood. I have watched you in battle, and I believe that to keep this knowledge from you is an insult to both your intelligence and your apparent resilience. To have you remain ignorant of your powers -"

"You keep talking about these 'powers'," Harry interrupted, "but I don't know what you mean. I don't have any special powers. I'm not especially good at Charms, or Transfigurations, and you said yourself I'm hopeless at Potions."

Snape took a piece of parchment out of the top drawer of his desk and picked up his quill. He wrote two lines quickly and signed it, then handed it to Harry.

Harry Potter has permission to use any book from the Restricted

Section to aid him in his studies, until the end of this term.

Prof. Severus Snape.

"I told you when you last came to me that the magic I speak of is not the simple magic you have yet been taught." Snape said. "There are many books on the subject in the library, specifically in the Restricted Section. I suggest you read them."

Snape stood and indicated that Harry should do the same. He strode over to the gargoyle and held out his hand to take Harry's cloak. "Hand it over, Balthazar." He said to the ugly stone creature, and the cloak was dropped into his hand with a petulant glare from the gargoyle. He turned back to Harry.

"You have a Potions lesson three times a week. On these days you will come to this room at 8 o'clock. I will see you in three days' time, by which time I expect you to have gone to the library and read the books I have suggested. They will help you to understand." Snape said. "And no matter how persistent the woman's badgering is, do not tell Madame Pince what you are looking for."

Harry had moved closer, and Snape suddenly stepped behind him. Harry tensed and waited, wondering what Snape was going to do. He felt something slip around him and realised that Snape had placed his cloak around his shoulders. He felt those hands slipping down his arms, smoothing out the silver material as he disappeared from view. He had been waiting for this touch, for this contact since he had entered the classroom, and tried not to lean into what could almost become a caress. Snape was right behind him, and when he spoke, his cool breath fell across Harry's skin.

"I wonder, Potter, have you finished that fascinating drawing?" He breathed into Harry's ear. Trembling slightly, Harry shook his head, trying not to let his eyes flutter closed. "It would be intriguing to see the finished picture…" He let his hands come to rest at Harry's wrists, and the boy could feel his quickening pulse beat against Snape's fingertips through the silver material of the cloak. "Quite the talented artist…" He murmured, and Harry was sure that for a moment he felt Snape's lips brush against his skin.

Snape drew the cloak over Harry's head, and opened the door into the corridor, gently pushing him out. When Harry turned back, the door was already closed.