Chapter 3: Conversations

Severus Snape slammed the door shut behind him with a loud bang. Then he increased the strength of the silencing charm. He felt like yelling. How could that have happened? How had it been possible that he had misread the signs?

"He was supposed to be a spoiled brat!" he shouted, angrily striding through the room. "He never said a single word!" More striding. "He could have told someone. He could have asked for help!"

With a deep sigh, as though he had suddenly lost every ounce of energy, he sat down on his couch. "No, he could not have," he admitted in a low, defeated voice.

The headmaster had informed him that Harry knew he had to stay with his relatives for his own protection. Surely Harry had thought everything would turn out worse than before if one of the teachers came to speak to his Aunt and Uncle - and he had no other place to stay.

The headmaster had also told him, that he had known that the Dursley's were not treating Harry like their own child, but he had not suspected that it was this bad until last year. Silently cursing the circumstances, Snape had to admit it was entirely the staff's fault. After all, it was their responsibility to care for the student's health and well-being.

If McGonagall, as his Head of the House, had not been able to see the signs, then at least he should have noticed and intervened for the boy. He had had more than enough experience dealing with his own abused Slytherins'. Still he had always found an excuse for the injuries, because it was impossible to believe that James Potters son could be mistreated or abused. The boy who lived. The promised saviour of the wizarding world. Dumbledore's precious golden boy. Beaten, starved, abused. He had seen and he had summarily dismissed what was right before his eyes: The loss of weight – that brat must have had a lot of fun so he had surely forgotten to eat sometimes. The fading bruises – he must have fallen off his broom while playing Quidditch with his friends. The ever too big clothing that hung loosely around his slender frame – that boy had a bad taste in clothing. It had never occurred to him that Harry Potter was not the spoiled brat he believed him to be.

Severus thought of all the Death Eater's children who were treated like possessions. The Heirs. Engendered to keep up the bloodline, without a free will, and their parents did with them as they pleased. They were told what to believe, how to act, whom to marry. The signs of their parents 'care' was often all too visible. Contrary to what others believed to be known facts, he did care for his students. All of them. He was just not allowed to show it in public.

Rising again as the burning anger in his chest rose up to overwhelm him, he began to pace the room. "How dare they do that to their children?" he yelled into the empty room. "How dare they do this to Harry? He is a child - a child that was given into their care! He was not given to them to abuse!"

After pouring himself some whiskey Snape stood there in the middle of the room, his head bowed in frustration. He had made the boy's life even more miserable. Every time he had looked at him he had not seen him. He had only seen James. But it was not Harry's fault that he had the features of his father ... or his mother's eyes.

But with that damn Gryffindor behaviour Harry has ...surprised by his own thoughts the potion masters head shot up. Harry? When did I start to call that annoying brat by his given name?

ooOoo

Hermione had made her decision. Though it was late and she should have been in her dormitory right now, this could not be delayed. She had to talk to the Professor about what she had read concerning the Immortals and about that Prophecy.

Blinking back the tears that were stinging in her eyes, she carefully made her way to the Professors office. She did not want to be seen.

'When the evil cannot be bound any longer, two witches, not pure by blood, will be given the honour of receiving the 'chosen ones'. These children, one male and one female, are to be protected at all costs, sacrifices are to be made. In the end, the 'chosen ones' will join each other in the year of the unicorn star, to engender the saviour. Only the saviour will have the abilities to defeat evil and protect the powers of light. This is how it is foretold.'

The words of the prophecy ghosting around in her head uninvited, she fought the burning feeling that was ripping through her chest. She was almost sure that Harry was one of the "chosen ones", even if the 'year of the unicorn star' had been about 80 years ago. Maybe something went wrong with the timeline or this was a second try. And that was why she had to speak to the Professor. He was the one who had the answers, even if it would hurt to hear them.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione knocked on the wooden door leading to her teacher's office. As she heard an "Enter!" from inside, she collected all the strength she possessed and stepped into the room.

ooOoo

"Miss Granger?" Adam looked surprised when the young witch entered his office. At this time of the day he had not expected it would be her.

"Professor Priscus, I need your help, please. I have discovered something and I think you are the one who can ... explain ... it to me."

Adam gave her a little smile. "Something that needs to be explained to you? Rare enough, indeed. Well, let me see if I can be of some help. Take a seat." He waved his hand over to a chair in front of his desk and Hermione sat down.

Something about this man in front of her told her, he was alarmed. That was a good sign. It meant she had probably been right.

"So, Miss Granger, what is this all about?" he asked.

"I ... I found this book in the library.... "She began, pulling it out under her robe where she had hidden it. She put the book on the desk in front of her, showing it to the Professor. The smile returned to his face, but Hermione knew, that it was just a farce.

"Oh, the Muggle Fairytale Professor Trelawney got removed from the restricted section. I wondered how long it would take until you would find it."

"This is no fairytale." She replied softly and strengthened her grip on the book.

"What makes you think there is some truth in it, Miss Granger?" he asked in the same soothing voice you would use with a child. "If I remember correctly, the prophecy this book discusses should have been fulfilled almost 100 years ago. Nothing happened. What makes you think, you found out something that the best wizards and witches of Hogwarts and the Ministry could not find out? That sounds a little arrogant, even for a witch as intelligent as yourself."

Hermione looked at him. She had seen the terrified look that had washed over his face for a second. She decided it was time to show her cards. "I don't know what I did, but whatever it was, things changed. The book came alive in my hands. I don't think Professor Dumbledore or someone else would have removed this book out of the restricted area, if this had happened to them, too. But I think you knew this could happen to me, Professor. And of course your memories about this book are correct; you are the one who wrote it, aren't you Methos?"

ooOoo

Adam/Methos recovered from his shock rather quickly. His face turned to stone as he asked Hermione: "So, Ms. Granger, if what you found out was the truth, what would stop me from casting a memory spell on you?" He knew denying it would not help, not when it was Ms. Granger who had researched something. She never missed anything.

"Because you knew someone would find out about it. Because you know I won't tell anyone if you ask me to. Because you know I could help you with this." She touched the book again. And Methos knew she had indeed understood what this book was about. Which meant, that he had been right. She was a descendant of Marianna, the first female part in this farce.

Marianna had – after not being able to fulfil the prophecy – married, and born four children. Obviously, Ms. Granger had some of the genomes of her ancestress. It was as she had described it, the book would come alive in the hands of the right person - in hers, Harry's, Ileanna's, or his own hands. Everyone else, who had not the right genomes, would see what they were supposed to see, a book about a Muggle Fairytale and a prophecy that never had been fulfilled.

"Who is it?" she asked and Adam didn't even try to pretend he would not know what she was talking about.

"I can't tell you that. You know that I can't." he answered softly. He would not tell her anything she had not yet discovered.

But then she amazed him by asking: "It is Harry, isn't it?" In her voice he could hear knowledge and resignation. She did not really need his acknowledgement because she knew she was right. Her feelings had told her as much as her research.

Methos closed his eyes and bowed his head. This girl - young woman - was even more talented than he had thought. As he looked up and searched her eyes, he saw un-shed tears in her eyes. "How did you find out?" he asked eventually. He knew in the book there was nothing about a second try, a second couple, a second chance to rescue the world.

"I guessed that you would try again, someday later. This is too important to not try again. I saw Harry holding this book and it reacted the same way as it had reacted to my touch, though the reaction was much stronger. In Ron's hands it was just a book. All this fit together ... Harry's mother was a Muggle-born Witch. I knew he was possibly the male part of all this. What I don't understand is why this book reacts to me. I can't be the female part of this, so why does it react to me?

Methos sighed. She knew already most of the story and after all it was her loved one who would have to do this. Maybe she could really be of some help. Maybe she could convince Harry to do this willingly. She was a clever kid and Harry trusted her. Maybe this could be worked out without getting someone harmed too much. He knew this would be hard for both of them, but if Hermione could be convinced, that there was no other way, that they had tried everything to solve this problem without abusing people, maybe she could accept it as what it was – unpleasant, but necessary. Finally having made a decision, he stood and said, "Well Ms. Granger, as this is going to be a rather long explanation, we should go and find some place that is more comfortable, shouldn't we?"

ooOoo

Harry never made it back to the dormitory. Halfway there, he was stopped by a furious Potions Master. "Mr Potter!" the man snarled. "Follow me to my office. Certain things have come to my attention that need to be discussed."

Though his Professor's voice left no room for arguments, Harry had to try. If he left with Snape, no one would cover for Hermione. "But Professor Snape, it's almost curfew," he stated.

Snape, who had been heading to his office already, turned around robes billowing behind him. Bringing his face close to Harry's, he whispered, "as if you have ever cared about curfew, Potter." He was really angry. "Now, Mr. Potter! I don't have all night," he bellowed.

Sighing in defeat Harry followed his Potions Master back down to his dungeon office.

"Sit," Snape commanded, his voice curt. He glared at the youth before he began to pace back and forth in front of him. This needed to be sorted out, now.

Harry sat at the edge of the chair. He was nervous and fidgeted in his seat, he did not know what he had done to anger his teacher so much, but it was clear that Snape was highly agitated.

"Why did you not tell me that you were starved while in the care of your relatives'?" the Potions Master snapped, shooting another angered glance at his student.

Harry's head shot up at the question. How had he found out? "Wha--?"

"After all these years of me degrading you about your perfect life, I now find out that it was all a lie." The older wizard had stopped pacing, now looking down at Harry in a mix of fury and disbelief.

"As if you would care," Harry muttered.

At this, Snape whirled around, clearly fighting for control, but failing miserably. Facing away from his student, his hands slammed down on the table before him in a gesture of helpless anger. After taking a steadying breath, he turned around again, willing himself to calm down a bit. "Yes, Mr. Potter, I would care. I, unlike others, do not believe in fairy tales. If I had known the true life you lead at your so called relatives, I would have done something." His voice was low from carefully controlled rage.

"It doesn't matter," Harry stated.

It was true. In his opinion it did not matter at all. Not any more. He had learned his lines, accepted his fate, and had learned to deal with it a long time ago. Somehow he had known no one would come to help him. All they cared about was that he would defeat Voldemort for them, one day. Nothing else mattered.

Harry was pulled out of his thoughts when his Professor asked, "What do you mean 'it doesn't matter'? Of course it matters! I do not take kindly to being led to believe one thing while the complete opposite is the actual fact." He looked at the young Gryffindor like he was a complete lunatic, which made Harry furious.

He yelled, "Nobody cares! All they would have had to do was look to see that there was something wrong, but no, Harry Potter the spoiled brat must have had the most perfect life! Why else would he wear hand me down clothes from his whale of a cousin, why else would he be covered in bruises and so far under weight when he returned to school each year? Tell me Professor did you even notice?"

Snape bowed his head and spoke, "Yes, I did, but I could not see past your face. The face of my nemesis. I made up my own reasons for your deplorable lack of proper clothing. Your weight I assumed was due to you spending too much time flaunting your fame to even bother to eat. Yes Mr. Potter I did see, but I too turned a blind eye."

"I am not my father," Harry gritted his teeth. He could see it had cost his Professor a great deal to admit this.

"I know," Snape said, sighing heavily. To Harry's surprise he then sat down on the edge of his desk in an unfamiliar gesture. What surprised him even more, was that his Professor had hung his head and his voice was full of sorrow when he spoke again, "I know, I have done you wrong, sometimes because I had to do so, to keep up my mask, sometimes because I was too blind to see you instead of your father. I would not wish the burden you have to carry onto the shoulders of any child, Harry, but there is nothing I can do about it. You know I can't start treating you any differently in classes, it would blow my cover as spy, but I think I would like to get to know the real Harry Potter, maybe even the person you are behind your mask. As far as I know the headmaster has planned a private tutoring of some sorts regarding you and me, maybe this is an opportunity for us to get to know each other

Harry sat there, dumbfounded and could not believe what was happening. Was that really the same man who had made his life a living hell; that ever-sarcastic bastard he used to know? Harry could not believe it. He watched in stunned silence as his Potions Master wrote something on a piece of parchment, handing it to him with the words, "You may leave now, Mr. Potter. Good Night."

The young Gryffindor got up, staring at the paper in his hands in disbelief. It said that he had been kept by his Potions Master past curfew and that he was to be allowed to return to his Dorm without questioning or punishment.

Heading back to the Gryffindor tower, Harry thought that this was one of the most surprising days of his whole life.

ooOoo

A/N: I want to thank Allzugern, who offered to be my beta, too. She did great work.

Please tell me what you think of this chapter. Like it? Hate it? Suggestions? Let me know! Thanks!