As ever, standard disclaimers apply.
A scowling boy standing at the edge of the posed photograph did his best to hide behind the swirling curtain of midnight dark hair. A first year like himself and apparently sharing the same reluctance at being in the public eye."Severus Snape," Octavius pronounced the name again. He looked carefully but found no other images of the camera shy boy in the yearbook. He shoved the yearbook back into its place on the shelf and scanned the spines of others nearby up to what should have been the Snape boy's final year. But young Mr Snape had been more successful at being the recluse as not a single image of him appeared anywhere. Nor was anything written about him. Only his name appeared in the alphabetical listing (by House) of graduates to assure Octavius that the boy had finished his schooling.
Octavius sighed at this obstacle. Who was this Severus Snape and what had he to do with Octavius? Mr Potter had confirmed that he had died. Rather young then, given the natural lifespan of a wizard ('allowed to reach maturity' was tacked on rather automatically if not wryly). It was at that moment that Octavius noticed the chill that was settling in around him. He looked up to see the slender, somber ghost that belonged to Slytherin House. "Good evening Baron," he recited politely although not really expecting any answer.
The Baron was studying him with his shrewd gaze, but he nodded politely back all the same.
Octavius sat motionless and with his own curious intensity observed the Bloody Baron in turn.
"If it is history you seek, then I'd advise you turn to Hogwarts: A History," The Baron finally pronounced solemnly. Then he turned away and floated through the stacks and out of sight. The chill left with him and Octavius knew the ghost had left the library.
Octavius Lestrange was not a dunderhead. He knew a clue when it fell on his lap. Immediately he returned the less than helpful yearbook to its place and went looking for the recommended text instead.
--
Harry Potter took a long sip of the butterbeer, waiting for Hermione to get her notes in order. Or was she hesitant about revealing the results of her research? The pub was neither empty nor overfilled. It was just another Sunday in Hogsmeade, a day for relaxing with friends after sleeping in. Only Hermione wasn't looking very relaxed. She was looking very much as she had as a student activist raging against the injustices against house-elves. It was more disturbing now, because she was a mature adult who didn't rage against windmills any longer. This dangerous expression she now wore meant something horribly disturbing had been uncovered. At last she looked into his face and reschooled her expression to one that was no less solemn, but rather less rabid.
"It's horrible." She started off in the middle it seemed. "You're right, he murdered them all! All of this..." a wave of her hand indicated the parchments and clippings strewn about the tabletop. Her voice broke. "Look at all this! It's surely evidence but no one bothered..." She shoved a pile of photos toward him but when he reached to take them up, her hand clamped down on his. "They're not... They're horrible." She released him then and looked away.
Harry said nothing but went through the photos with mounting disgust and stiffening resolve. He felt the blood drain from his face at only the second image. He felt his throat tighten and his stomach clench at the fourth and fifth images. It didn't get any better, but he made himself look at every single picture and was grateful they were not the usual moving wizard photos. Until one of them showed the mediwitch's arm moving past. There were none of Octavius.
"That's only three of his children, Harry. At some point he stopped taking them to any reputable healer." It was almost as if Hermione had read his mind.
"What about the deaths?" Harry asked, his voice barely coordinated enough to be understandable.
Hermione shook her head. "Nothing more than what we already have. But I'm hoping that just by virtue of having lost all seven children, we can make a case for ineptitude. There'd be no justice, but the child would be removed from Lestrange's hands."
"It's not enough, Hermoine. I agree we can settle for that, but we must ask for more at the start or we could lose completely. Then the old man will be free to do whatever he wants. Or they'll simply assign a ministry worker to keep an eye on things. You know how that will go. The boy will be in as much danger as ever."
"Harry, we don't have too many options. I am thinking that you, Poppy, and Minerva bring a suit on the boy's behalf based on what you and Poppy have discovered."
"I can't talk about anything Octavius has told me in confidence, Hermione."
"I know that. But you can talk about your conclusions based on your conversations with him, can't you?"
"Yes, I can do that."
"I am going to try to find out more. The children were all cremated."
"Why can't we use Veritaserum and just ask him what he did to his children?"
"Veritaserum is not used in civil cases. This is a civil case, Harry, not a criminal one." her face scrunched up in annoyance at the limitations they were under. "We aren't trying to send Lestrange to Azkaban. We are trying to remove his son from his control."
--
The latest edition of Hogwarts: A History contained a great deal about the last war. So much of that war involved the school and its students and faculty that there was no way one could be separated from the other. It was fascinating. Made even more so because the main hero of the tale was their very own Counselor, Harry Potter! But he was not the only hero, by any means, and not even the only one from the school. But there was not a lot of detail. Except it had been Harry Potter who had finally felled the Dark Lord. But that wasn't what he was looking for.
Octavius turned to the index and simply searched for "Snape, Severus." He found the page number for his entry, turned to it and began to read the short and emotionless entry. He learned only that Severus Snape was an unpopular teacher but still a hero of the Last Battle. The entry also made claim that the teacher had been both a Death Eater and a spy for Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. There was nothing about the man himself. It was one of the shortest and least informative entries in the whole book.
A spy! How exciting! How dangerous! Octavius shivered as he imagined himself spying on his father's dealings with the well dressed visitors he sometimes received. He imagined himself getting caught. Then he imagined what his father would do to him and he shivered as if a sudden chill had overtaken him. He choked back a sob and shoved the book back into its place on the shelf. It was several minutes before he trusted himself to emerge from the aisle. Despite the fact that it was a pleasant Sunday afternoon, he was not the only visitor to the library and he most certainly did not want to be seen in this despicably weak state.
At last, his aloof mask firmly in place, he went to retrieve his textbooks, quills, and parchment and depart the quiet collection of books and students. without really thinking about it, he let his feet carry him to Mr Potter's office and it quite surprised him to find himself there. But of course the man wasn't there. It was Sunday after all; the teachers did not spend all of their time in their offices. Certainly they had better things to do with their weekends than hang about their offices if they didn't have to.
Octavius turned away somewhat disappointed nonetheless. And turning, brought him face to face with one of the many narrow turret windows that graced the ancient castle. Curious, he stepped closer. Which window was this? Which lawn or courtyard was overlooked?
The answer came quickly. The Lake. Far, far down. What a dive it would be. He'd probably be splattered all over the lake bottom assuming he managed to avoid being dashed against the cliff side. He wondered what it would be like to throw himself from the castle. Would it be like flying without a broom?
No. More likely it would be like being thrown down from the third floor balcony at home. It was an experience to which his father had introduced him more times than he cared to consider. Painful and not a bit alluring. Falling was definitely not flying.
And anyway, even if he lived to splash into the water, he couldn't swim. Why'd it have to look so beautiful? He turned away and trudged back to the Slytherin common room.
It was already occupied by a half dozen seventh years quietly studying for their N.E.W.Ts. He found an unclaimed corner and settled in to try to attempt Professor Weasley-Potter's reading assignment. Only one of the older students bothered to note his presence. But as a first year, he was almost assured to be ignored.
So, indeed, he was and he was therefore able to finally make some headway in his reading. It helped that the text was actually interestingly written. so much so that he'd have never noticed that time had passed except that his stomach rumbled to remind him that he hadn't dined recently and it was long past time to replenish his nonexistent reserves.
It was that insistent.
Octavius dumped his schoolwork on his bed but picked up the Transfiguration text to take with to dinner. He preferred to avoid conversing with anyone and hiding behind a book was a good way to get what he wanted. He climbed the stair from the dungeons and joined the gathering students in the large foyer as everyone flowed instinctively to supper in the Great Hall. There was laughter and conversation, some of it between people of different houses. There were the Weasley twins, a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor, discussing something that had both girls giggling behind their hands. He halted in mid-step and stared.
Someone jostled his arm. "Pervert. Stop eyeing my sister," a youthful voice snarled its warning.
He jerked his head around toward the voice, his hand reaching for his wand but stopping just in time to avoid being observed by the passing figure of a professor. He exchanged glares with Sirius John Potter then turned abruptly and strode off to the Slytherin table, laughter ringing in his ears.
He hurried through the meal, keeping his head down and avoiding conversation as he scarfed down a small helping of the main course and its accompanying vegetables. Constant sips of water kept him from developing the hiccoughs as he rushed through the meal. Just as he was about to push away from the table, a hand came down on his shoulder, startling him. He almost jumped away but the girl, the Ravenclaw Potter Twin.
"Ignore my brother." She said with a grin. "He's an idiot." She swung a leg over the bench and sat down beside him, her hand sliding off his shoulder as she moved. He decided she was probably the most graceful creature alive.
"He's a Gryffindor. I don't have anything to do with him."
The older girl laughed. "How about Ravenclaws?"
Octavius shrugged. "Why are you here?"
"Honestly?" Now it was the Ravenclaw who shrugged. It was a dismissive but ever so poutingly pretty gesture. "I'm trying to rile Siri. He's ever so much fun to tease! He bites every time!"
"What about all that rot about being kind to others?"
"I have to tease him," she replied with mock severity. "It's my job."
"Oh no it is not, Frederika," the slightly amused voice of her next youngest brother disagreed from behind them.
"I have to go now." Octavius decided this was a game he was certain he did not want to be any part of.
"Good idea, except that it's my sister who should be leaving the Slytherin Table."
"Arthur, you are such a fish." But she got up anyway before any of the Slytherins could get into the act. "Bye, kid," she said to Octavius.
An older Slytherin whose name he didn't recall leaned over to whisper, "She's not a bad sort, but she's a merciless tease."
Octavius merely nodded his thanks and made his escape.
--
Faint laughter roused Octavius from his study of the ancient tapestry that graced the length of the hall. The Potters were coming at last. He straightened his clothing and ran a hand through his hair and hoped he was presentable enough. The couple turned the corner just as the boy stiffened his back to greet them with the proper formality.
"Good evening Professor Weasley-Potter and Mr Potter," he intoned.
"Mr Lestrange. What brings you here?" The ginger-red haired professor asked. He studied her expression but there were no clues there.
"Did you know Severus Snape?"
"What?" That caught her unprepared and she turned an accusing glare at her husband.
Harry only smiled serenely. "Yes, we both did, but not well. You understand he was already a professor when we came here as students."
"Harry..." Ginny said warningly.
"Ginny. Octavius? May I tell her?"
Octavius shrugged. "He's the Little Boy in my dream. It isn't me. It's him."
"How? Why?"
"I don't know," Harry replied, but there was some doubt in his eyes though it was only Ginny who recognized it. "Would you like to come in for some tea, Octavius? We can discuss this inside."
"Yes, thank you." Relief flooded the young voice.
Ginny went to prepare the tea, giving the boy a chance to become comfortable invading his professors' sitting room. Harry smiled and gestured for the boy to take a seat in one of the thickly upholstered wing chairs. He seemed almost to get lost in it, his feet dangling above the floor, his arms spread wide to grace the rolled wings of the chair.
"I found him in Hogwarts: A History. The Bloody Baron told me to look there. But really it didn't say much. Except he was a spy and died heroically."
"He did indeed, Octavius."
"I know from my dreams that as a little boy he was... unhappy. And scared a lot. The book said he was 'an unpopular teacher.' " It was a quote.
"He really wasn't meant to be a teacher of young children. He didn't have the patience for it and ..." But he didn't go any further.
"Was he a bad man, sir?"
"He wasn't always very nice to talk to, but he had his principles and his honor." At this point Ginny returned with the tea. She served it and left without a word. This was between the child and the Counselor.
Octavius sipped his tea, waiting til he was sure the professor was not listening in. "What has he to do with me, sir?"
"I wish I knew. I... I can only make wild guesses and I'd rather not. But I am certain there is no ill intent, Octavius."
The boy nodded. "I know that, sir."
"Why do you think you dream about him?"
"Because sometimes I make my father mad and he... punishes me and the Little Boy is sad about that because it reminds him of his own father."
"Octavius, you know I think that what your father does is wrong."
"Yes sir."
"Do you think he is right to punish you as he does?"
"I... I don't know, sir."
Harry exhaled slowly. It was something.