Disclaimer – Um…If you think we came up with the Harry Potter world, than you are more delusional than Gusha.
Guess what, guys…I got all 'A's. (Well 2 '-A' but what difference does that make?) Gusha's schoolwork did not suffer, and she can now edit and write more of this fic.
*****
Harry approached Snape's quarters with some trepidation the next afternoon. The painting was ajar, so Harry knocked on the doorjamb.
"Come in." Snape called.
Harry entered Snape's sanctum for the third time. He was still surprised at how bright and airy the room seemed.
"Lunch will arrive shortly." Snape said, gesturing Harry towards a chair on one side of the low table.
"You know, Professor," Harry said, sitting. "This isn't quite how I would have pictured your rooms."
"Indeed?" Snape sat in the chair beside him and raised his eyebrow inquiringly. "You imagined a black shrouded dungeon, perhaps?" He drawled. "No natural light?"
"Um, something like that." Harry admitted.
"Or maybe a rough cave where I could sleep upside down like a bat." Snape continued in a voice like black velvet. "Or a simple sepulcher, nothing but a velvet lined coffin?"
Harry shuddered. "No, that is getting too weird."
"If you say so." Snape shrugged. "Some of the dungeon guest rooms are furnished that way." He looked around the room. "This suits me just fine. I have spent enough of my life in dungeons. This is what I want to retreat to."
Harry nodded, and the food arrived without fanfare.
"I thought you might like to see my photo albums." Snape said.
"I would like that, Professor." Harry smiled hesitantly.
Snape winced. "Um, under the circumstances, perhaps we ought to be at least on a first name basis. May I call you Harry?"
"Of course." Harry nodded.
"For now, call me Severus when we are alone." He instructed. "I am rather on trial, after all."
Severus handed Harry a hardbound volume. "This one first."
Harry opened the book to the first picture.
"My parents' wedding party." Snape said, filling his plate. "My mother, Maura, her sister, Rose. You look a lot like them. I take after my father, Primus, although I have my mother's coloring. And there is his best man, Tom."
Harry peered at the photograph while Severus spoke. The women had jet black hair and rather dark complexions. They looked…like gypsies. He could see that he did resemble them, in the shape of his face mostly.
Harry's grandfather was a haughty looking young man with sandy blonde hair, cold blue eyes and the sort of skin that must sunburn in the shade. Harry's attention focused on the best man. He looked very familiar.
"Tom…not…"
"Yes, Tom Riddle. My father knew him at school. Worshiped him, really. At the time they were married, everyone still believed that Tom had caught the one who opened the chamber of secrets. No one knew what he would become, not then."
"He knew." Harry countered. "His closest friends already called him Lord Voldemort."
Severus nodded. "Including my father, most likely."
Harry turned the page and Severus led him through his early years while they ate.
"There I am in my mother's studio." The photo was of a very young Severus sitting in a window seat. He looked like a perfect little gentleman, except for the red handprint on the front of his white shirt. He was grinning broadly. "She charmed the stain off just after she took the photo."
"Her studio?" Harry looked up.
"She was a painter." Severus gestured at the canvas hanging over the mantle. "Her work, painted just before I was born. She hung it in my nursery." His expression hardened suddenly. "My father went on a rampage through the castle when she died. He destroyed all of her work that he could find. The house elves figured out what he was doing and saved most of the paintings for me. They gave him blank canvases to destroy."
"Your mum was Maura Thornton, the painter Ron keeps going on about." Harry asked, wide eyed.
Severus' lips twisted. "Yes. We don't talk about it much. My father did not approve of her career, so she used her maiden name. The happiest memories of my childhood are of being with her in her studio while she worked. She would put Humby in charge of me. I would play, talk to her, and get into things."
Harry turned the page. Severus' wryly amused expression faded to sorrow.
"This was taken at my mother's funeral." He said. "I was five." He frowned. "Everything went downhill from there. My father was not prepared for her death. I don't believe that he ever recovered."
Harry continued, into the next volume. "You stopped smiling when your mother died." He said at one point.
Severus' jaw clenched. "I had reason to. My mother was kind. My father did not know how to be; not without her example to guide him. I suppose that I am rather like him in that respect. I didn't mean to be." He looked right into Harry's eyes, willing the boy to believe him. "I would not have abused you, Harry. I would have tried to be a good father."
"I believe you." Harry said. "You would have tried. You probably would have done better than the Dursleys did."
"Did they hurt you, Harry?" Severus asked a dangerous look in his eyes.
"No, not directly." Harry said quickly, Severus relaxed a little. "They were never nice. They tried to squash any magic or imagination out of me, but they never actually struck me."
Severus growled. "Still, we should see about finding somewhere else for you to spend your holidays. Even if you never accept me, my Aunt Rose might take you in. I will take you to meet her soon."
"I would like to." Harry said, smiling.
The bell warning the end of lunch sounded.
"Well, this was hardly even painful, wouldn't you say, Po-Harry?" Severus said. "Shall we continue this tomorrow?"
Harry grinned and agreed.
*****
Guess what, guys…I got all 'A's. (Well 2 '-A' but what difference does that make?) Gusha's schoolwork did not suffer, and she can now edit and write more of this fic.
*****
Harry approached Snape's quarters with some trepidation the next afternoon. The painting was ajar, so Harry knocked on the doorjamb.
"Come in." Snape called.
Harry entered Snape's sanctum for the third time. He was still surprised at how bright and airy the room seemed.
"Lunch will arrive shortly." Snape said, gesturing Harry towards a chair on one side of the low table.
"You know, Professor," Harry said, sitting. "This isn't quite how I would have pictured your rooms."
"Indeed?" Snape sat in the chair beside him and raised his eyebrow inquiringly. "You imagined a black shrouded dungeon, perhaps?" He drawled. "No natural light?"
"Um, something like that." Harry admitted.
"Or maybe a rough cave where I could sleep upside down like a bat." Snape continued in a voice like black velvet. "Or a simple sepulcher, nothing but a velvet lined coffin?"
Harry shuddered. "No, that is getting too weird."
"If you say so." Snape shrugged. "Some of the dungeon guest rooms are furnished that way." He looked around the room. "This suits me just fine. I have spent enough of my life in dungeons. This is what I want to retreat to."
Harry nodded, and the food arrived without fanfare.
"I thought you might like to see my photo albums." Snape said.
"I would like that, Professor." Harry smiled hesitantly.
Snape winced. "Um, under the circumstances, perhaps we ought to be at least on a first name basis. May I call you Harry?"
"Of course." Harry nodded.
"For now, call me Severus when we are alone." He instructed. "I am rather on trial, after all."
Severus handed Harry a hardbound volume. "This one first."
Harry opened the book to the first picture.
"My parents' wedding party." Snape said, filling his plate. "My mother, Maura, her sister, Rose. You look a lot like them. I take after my father, Primus, although I have my mother's coloring. And there is his best man, Tom."
Harry peered at the photograph while Severus spoke. The women had jet black hair and rather dark complexions. They looked…like gypsies. He could see that he did resemble them, in the shape of his face mostly.
Harry's grandfather was a haughty looking young man with sandy blonde hair, cold blue eyes and the sort of skin that must sunburn in the shade. Harry's attention focused on the best man. He looked very familiar.
"Tom…not…"
"Yes, Tom Riddle. My father knew him at school. Worshiped him, really. At the time they were married, everyone still believed that Tom had caught the one who opened the chamber of secrets. No one knew what he would become, not then."
"He knew." Harry countered. "His closest friends already called him Lord Voldemort."
Severus nodded. "Including my father, most likely."
Harry turned the page and Severus led him through his early years while they ate.
"There I am in my mother's studio." The photo was of a very young Severus sitting in a window seat. He looked like a perfect little gentleman, except for the red handprint on the front of his white shirt. He was grinning broadly. "She charmed the stain off just after she took the photo."
"Her studio?" Harry looked up.
"She was a painter." Severus gestured at the canvas hanging over the mantle. "Her work, painted just before I was born. She hung it in my nursery." His expression hardened suddenly. "My father went on a rampage through the castle when she died. He destroyed all of her work that he could find. The house elves figured out what he was doing and saved most of the paintings for me. They gave him blank canvases to destroy."
"Your mum was Maura Thornton, the painter Ron keeps going on about." Harry asked, wide eyed.
Severus' lips twisted. "Yes. We don't talk about it much. My father did not approve of her career, so she used her maiden name. The happiest memories of my childhood are of being with her in her studio while she worked. She would put Humby in charge of me. I would play, talk to her, and get into things."
Harry turned the page. Severus' wryly amused expression faded to sorrow.
"This was taken at my mother's funeral." He said. "I was five." He frowned. "Everything went downhill from there. My father was not prepared for her death. I don't believe that he ever recovered."
Harry continued, into the next volume. "You stopped smiling when your mother died." He said at one point.
Severus' jaw clenched. "I had reason to. My mother was kind. My father did not know how to be; not without her example to guide him. I suppose that I am rather like him in that respect. I didn't mean to be." He looked right into Harry's eyes, willing the boy to believe him. "I would not have abused you, Harry. I would have tried to be a good father."
"I believe you." Harry said. "You would have tried. You probably would have done better than the Dursleys did."
"Did they hurt you, Harry?" Severus asked a dangerous look in his eyes.
"No, not directly." Harry said quickly, Severus relaxed a little. "They were never nice. They tried to squash any magic or imagination out of me, but they never actually struck me."
Severus growled. "Still, we should see about finding somewhere else for you to spend your holidays. Even if you never accept me, my Aunt Rose might take you in. I will take you to meet her soon."
"I would like to." Harry said, smiling.
The bell warning the end of lunch sounded.
"Well, this was hardly even painful, wouldn't you say, Po-Harry?" Severus said. "Shall we continue this tomorrow?"
Harry grinned and agreed.
*****