Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone: Take Two
by MysticSong1978
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot switch and any original characters I may add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.
"Sir?" asked Harry, "Excuse me, but how am I to purchase my school items? Some of these things look expensive," he said nervously, as he read through the letter and supplies list. "I've never had any money," he finished quietly.
Snape's eye twitched. I am not seeing myself in Potter. I am not going to feel compassion for Potter's son . . . conveniently forgetting again that Harry was also Lily's son. A grudge held that long is a hard thing to give up. "Our first stop is Gringotts Bank where your parents had several vaults. They are yours now, although only one is accessible until you're seventeen. That is the legal age in the wizarding world because it is the age most wizards graduate from Hogwarts. Your parents planned carefully for your future, especially when they began to suspect they wouldn't live to see you grow up."
Harry pondered this. "So they didn't die in an drunken car accident?"
"A car accident kill Lilly and Ja . . . James Potter? Hardly. I'm not even sure if they owned a car." Severus sniffed. "I can't believe Albus thought it was best to leave you with those Muggles for eleven years! Family or not!" In truth, Severus was aware of the blood-magic protection that Harry received by living with those people, but surely it wasn't worth Harry being beaten all his life. As much as Snape didn't want to feel even an ounce of compassion for the boy, a sliver began to appear. He knew from his own experience about child abuse, not to mention from being the Head of Slytherin House for so many years. Potter had already shown Severus a few telltale signs that his family was abusing him. Not to mention the grip Vernon Dursley had had on the boy's shoulder. What good is blood-magic if your Muggle relatives beat you to death?
"Muggles, sir?"
Snape peered down at "The Boy Who Lived," the wonder, the savior of the wizarding world. A boy whom he was prepared to hate for the sins of his father, and found, if he were to be completely honest, someone who perhaps was not so different from himself. His face smoothed into a somewhat more pleasant expression as he regarded the boy. "Muggles are what we call non-magical folk. There are also squibs which are non-magical folk born into wizarding families. I suspect your aunt may be one which would explain her jealousy of anyone with wizard blood in them. Like your mother and yourself. I have a vague memory of your mother telling me that Petunia sent a letter to our Headmaster to see if she could go to school with Lily. I'm sure that his denial only made your aunt's jealousy worse."
Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. "I always tried to figure out why she hated me so much." Snape detected a tinge of sadness in the boy's voice. "She'd never tell me about my parents. At first I thought it was because she was too sad about her sister, but then she always seemed so mad. I thought if I could just understand what I was doing wrong, she'd love me like another son. Guess not, huh?" Harry swiped a hand across his face, determined not to cry in front of this very, very serious man.
Snape sighed. He was all too familiar with never knowing familial love. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder to stop the boy's motion. "Pott . . . Harry, we're in a safe spot now to apparate – how adult wizards transport magically – so hold on tight, yes, put your arms around me. Don't want you getting splinched." Harry didn't ask what that was, but he was pretty sure he didn't want it happening. Just the word itself sounded painful. "When we get where we're going I'll find a private spot and I'll tell you a bit about your past. Nearly the entire wizarding world thinks you're wonderful." This last said with a bit of a sneer in his voice, but Harry didn't seem to notice.
Harry's eyes widened in surprise when he felt his body whirl away to a place he never would have dreamed existed. "Where are we?!"
Snape looked down at his charge and loosened Harry's arms from around his waist, stepping back quickly. Some wizards and witches vomited on their first apparation, after all. "We're in our world, Pott . . . Harry. This is Diagon Alley! First let us go to the Leaky Cauldron and get some tea, and then we'll find someplace a little more private to talk. Then we'll go visit Gringotts." He would have preferred to have Firewhiskey, but didn't think Albus would be very pleasant to deal with if he got wind that Severus had been drinking on the job. Not that he usually found Albus pleasant to deal with, the man was just too cheery! But, why make it worse?
Snape had the tea in hand in due time, and was ushering Harry down a side street to a private grove of trees. During the year it was often used for picnics, but now in the rush of preparing for school, was deserted. Snape cast silencing and protection charms around the area for extra security. 'One could never be too safe,' he mused, 'when chaperoning the boy wonder.' Snape sat down, back against a tree, and motioned for Harry to do the same. He pondered where to begin his story, scowling with the effort to call the boy by his first name.
"Harry, many years ago, while I was a student at Hogwarts, a wizard named Tom Riddle gathered followers to him. Dark wizards, though none as dark as himself. His self proclaimed title was Lord Voldemort. But it wasn't obvious to everyone at first that he was evil. He told his followers he wanted to make the wizarding world great again. For many pure bloods, wizarding families who claim they have no muggle heritage, this seemed like a fabulous idea. They believed that muggles made our magic, our ways less special. And that they put us in danger from muggles who believed all magic to be evil, sinful. Many religions, Christianity in particular, from what I know about it, believe that magic, wizards, witches, and so forth, are the Devil's work. That kind of thinking, in very basic terms, led to things like witch burnings many years ago, in many countries. I believe that witchcraft is still illegal in some places today.
So pure bloods saw Riddle as a way to make their world and their ways safe again. Muggleborns would never be introduced into our world, but left to fend for themselves with their Muggle families. If they lived, they lived. If not . . . Riddle said we were the safer for it. The better for it. And he couched it in such terms as to be lauded and praised, and he drew followers like flies to garbage.
But Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had been a Professor when Riddle was a student, and Riddle had always seemed untrustworthy to him. But he could never fully prove that Riddle had committed any wrong doings, until it was too late. And it was hard to convince people that someone they saw as savior to their heritage was the real evil. Not that Headmaster Dumbledore didn't try. He also drew in many, many followers. But Light wizards don't usually fight dirty, and many were wiped out. Unfortunately, this includes your parents. The fight against Riddle spanned many years. Dark years. Dark times. People were in fear for their lives; no one knew when or where he would strike next. His followers, named Death Eaters, would leave a mark at the scene of an attack: a skull with a snake, floating above the victim's house. The Dark Mark.
Many who stood up to him died or ended up in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Your parents went into hiding. The wizard version of the witness protection program. Only one wizard, their secret keeper, knew where they were. And he sold them out to the Dark Lord."
Snape paused to give the boy a chance to absorb what his history lesson, and to think what else he should cover. He thought about explaining blood magic, but decided Albus could fill Harry in on that and just why he was left with those despicable people for so many years. Comforting someone wasn't his forte, and he really, really didn't want to put himself in a position to have to attempt it.
"Headmaster Dumbledore can better explain that situation to you, as he was the one who performed the Fidelius Charm on all of them. The Dark Lord did curse you though. That's where you got your scar from, Harry. That's a mark of a powerful curse from a powerful wizard. Hagrid, our Game and Key Keeper at Hogwarts got you out of your house before Muggles showed up to investigate the destruction and delivered you to Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall who were waiting at Privet Drive for you. Professor Dumbledore left a letter with you for when you were older, but I suspect your uncle threw it away. He killed your father, who did his best to protect you and your mother. Then your mother gave her life protecting you. Riddle then tried to curse you, but it didn't work, it rebounded on the Dark Lord, nearly killing him. He, and many of his followers disappeared . . . although many did come forward, claiming that they had been under the Imperious Curse and had never intended to follow Voldemort. Some were, some weren't, but it's extremely difficult to know which to believe."
When Snape stopped to take a breath and a careful sip of his tea, Harry asked, "Where did he get the name Lord Voldemort?" If Snape thought it odd that after all that Harry only was interested in his name, he didn't show it. Snape had the feeling that everything he'd told the boy would be too much information to take in all at once and was asking the only question he could wrap his mind around.
"It is an anagram of his name. Tom Marvolo Riddle, or, I am Lord Voldemort. But the wizarding world does not speak his name; except for the Headmaster. He's the only wizard that the Dark Lord was ever afraid of. You'll generally hear him called 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. Death Eaters usually call him the 'Dark Lord', but for your own sake of knowing, his name is Voldemort." This last said in a hissed whisper.
Harry thought about this. "Then why did you call him the Dark Lord?"
Snape sighed. He didn't really want to scare the boy whom he was developing a grudging respect for, but didn't feel that his spying was any of this child's business, so he merely stared back at Harry, eyes revealing nothing. Harry's eyes got impossibly round, but he said nothing.
'My family has always been dark', Snape thought to himself, 'at least as far back as I am aware. But my soul was always drawn to the light, to helping people in distress. That is one of the reasons I yearned to become a Potions Master. But the Dark Lord expected my servitude, demanded it. Because I was a Slytherin. A particularly cunning one. I escaped, I thought, to my own death. But under Albus's tutelage, I rejoined the ranks of the Death Eaters as a spy. If the Dark Lord ever learned I was a traitor, I have no doubt that he would kill me, but it was my only saving grace. The only way I could repay her for her kindness. To continue to apologize for my intentionally careless word choice.' Snape carefully pushed the thoughts away.
"Harry, not all wizards come from good backgrounds. You'll find many students at Hogwarts come from less than loving parents. Each Head of House has students like this to deal with, so you'll always have an adult to talk to about what you've been through should you need that." He sighed yet again. 'There is no joy in what I did, save for the information I was able to bring back to Albus, for which I am grateful. It has allowed us to save many, many lives, but I will never overcome the shame and guilt for the atrocities I had to commit in order not to blow my cover. I know it would help Harry understand better if I told him more, but I just cannot. I have worked hard over the years to keep my life private. That meddling old coot, Albus will probably tell Harry something anyhow.' "Now you know why you'll hear yourself referred to 'The Boy Who Lived'," Snape announced, pulling himself and Harry from their thoughts. Harry blushed at the title. "No one else ever survived the killing curse – before or since. And with your survival came years of peace. Hopefully it will continue, but not even the Death Eaters know for sure where the Dark Lord is now."
He patted Harry's shoulder gently, remembering the look on the boy's face when his uncle had grabbed him, but awkwardly, as he was not used to comforting others; not even with his less than fortunate Slytherins. Especially, his thoughts darkened, James Potter's son. Snape brushed his thoughts aside. "Healing isn't my forte, Harry, but let me see your shoulders and back and see if I can ease your pain a bit." Harry nervously pulled the oversize shirt that had once been Dudley's over his head. Harry never showed the signs of his abuse to others, but he knew that saying No to this man wouldn't be a smart move. He sat in front of Snape, shivering as the wind brushed his terribly thin, bruised frame. Snape's eyes glittered dangerously. "They make you cook, but don't let you eat?"
"I get the leftovers, sir. When I'm not being punished. Then I don't get anything," Harry said, looking intently at his lap.
"How often does your Uncle beat you?"
Harry just looked down at his feet, embarrassed. He hated to admit that he couldn't stand up for himself. And it wasn't just his Uncle. But he couldn't bring himself to speak the truth.
Snape was seething. No one deserved this sort of treatment. He selected a few potion vials from the pouch he always kept handy. "Drink this, Harry; it's a nutritional potion and boost. It will help your body heal inside and keep you from getting sick when you join the feast at Hogwarts. You've been starved too often to be able to handle the rich foods Hogwarts serves. I'll make sure you have one at your place at the Welcoming Feast. Be sure you drink it before you start your meal." Harry drank it down, wincing at the taste, and quickly drank a bit of his tea, enjoying the comforting warmth of it. Snape then poured the other potion into a cupped hand and gently rubbed it into Harry's new wounds and old scars. "Like the potion you drank, this will help you heal inside. It will keep new injuries from infection and help heal old ones, as well as healing scars." When he was done, Harry put his shirt back on. He saw Snape raise an eyebrow at the size. "It was Dudley's," Harry said quietly, "I never get new clothes."
Snape's mood had darkened considerably, but masked his thoughts so as to not to let the boy see the difference. He had always assumed the 'Boy Who Lived' would be spoiled rotten and arrogant, just like his father. But this child was the complete opposite. He stood, a little stiffly, and helped Harry to his feet. "I know you must have questions, thousands probably if you're anything like your Mother, but we need to get going before it gets too late. Remember people will react when they realize who you are. Most for the better, but I'm sure there will always be some for the worse."
Updated/Revised 4 January 2017
