A/N: Wow! I owe everyone a huge apology. I never intended to go this long without an update. I am in the last six months of my master's program and I am literally in the class from hell. The amount of work this professor expects is ungodly and I still have my regular classroom duties as well. So, I just want to ask for your patience. The next six weeks are going to be very difficult and I will try my best not to let a month lapse before my next update.
I also seemed to be having a little writer's block as well. I wrote this chapter in so many pieces and then tried to fit it together. My sister says it makes sense, but let me know what you think. If it is terrible, please let me know and I will attempt to do a better job! This is definitely a transitional chapter setting the scene for some interesting confrontations and happenings that will develop later on. Again, I apologize for the amount of time that has passed. I really, really feel horrible. But on the plus side, this is the longest chapter I have ever written!
Harry exited his chambers in a foul mood, glaring at the noisy students in the hallway, their greetings dying on their lips as they took one look at their favorite professor's face. It had been two weeks since his confrontation with Dumbledore and the man had not even attempted to talk with Snape. In fact, the Headmaster appeared to be doing his best to avoid the Potions master: skipping meals and leaving with some asinine excuse whenever Snape entered a room. Bitterness had begun to settle in Harry's chest. He had a feeling the old bastard was going to make him break the news to Snape about Malfoy's escape from Azkaban and subsequent role in Serena's death. He was just hopeful that Snape would remember the old adage not to kill the messenger.
To make matters worse, he hadn't had a decent night's rest since finding out about Malfoy's escape. Anthony had been kind enough to keep him informed of what the Ministry knew, which turned out to be precious little. It definitely wasn't enough to put Harry at ease. Malfoy was an expert at disappearing and his next moves were never clear until it was too late.
Every night Harry would fall into bed, exhausted by being on constant surveillance, only to find himself haunted by images and memories of the past. The only peaceful moments of the last two weeks had been the nights that Esme had visited him. They had settled into a comfortable routine of talking after dinner and discussing a variety of subjects. Harry found her to be intelligent, quick-witted, and funny; like her father, minus the snarky attitude.
Esme moved her white queen into position, a satisfied smile gracing her face. "Checkmate," she said proudly, leaning back in the chair and folding her hands over her stomach.
Harry leaned over the board, scowling. He looked up and gave her dark look which only caused her to dissolve into giggles.
"What is so funny?" he asked sorely, still upset that she had managed to figure out his strategy and evade it so effectively.
She tilted her head, and said dryly, "Are you really trying to intimidate me, Professor Potter? You do remember who my father is, correct?"
He rubbed the back of his head and grinned wryly. "It is a little hard to forget."
"If I am unfazed by his tactics, why on earth would I be deterred by yours?" she said a corner of her mouth uplifted in mockery.
Shaking his head and smiling slightly, he sighed, his mind brought back to the present as he made his way down to the dungeons. He was so exhausted that he was willing to suck it up and ask Snape for sleeping draught, though Merlin knew what Snape would ask or expect in return.
He stopped at the intimidating door, and swallowed nervously, before knocking loudly. The door opened with a swish and Harry saw a quick look of surprise cross Snape's face before settling into the familiar sneer. "Potter," he said annoyed, "what do you want?"
Harry glanced at the students who were milling in the hallway between classes and looked back at Snape. "May I come in? I need to speak to you."
Severus rolled his eyes and stepped back. Harry entered the lab and found his eyes wandering over the tables. He felt Snape brush past him, moving to stand before a roiling cauldron. Harry watched silently as Snape's practiced eye assessed the potion, nodding slightly in satisfaction. Cold black eyes then pinned him with a gaze and Harry shivered involuntarily.
"Are you waiting for an engraved invitation, Potter? Say what you want and get out."
Harry gritted his teeth stopping the harsh reply that was on the tip of his tongue, reminding himself that he was about to ask the man for a favor and not to say something he would regret. "I-I was wondering if I could get a sleeping draught from you." He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath, hoping that Snape would not notice his slight stutter. Never show Snape a weakness. How often had he repeated that mantra as a student? Not that it had helped then or now.
"Trouble sleeping already? The term has barely begun. If your constitution is so delicate, how are you going to survive an entire year?" Snape asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at Harry's stony silence.
"I suppose Dumbledore sent you down here. It never ceases to amaze me how I am expected to drop everything to help the precious 'boy who lived'. As if I have nothing better to do than make sure that you are absolutely comfortable." Severus pursed his lips and looked away from Harry.
"Don't call me that," Harry said, green eyes blazing. "And Dumbledore did not send me down here. I came of my own accord."
Severus studied him. "If a draught is all that you require, why did you simply not stop in the infirmary and have Poppy dispense one?"
"Because I knew that if I wanted the best, I would have to ask you. And besides, the one I received from Poppy didn't work very well." Harry replied with a wide grin.
Snape's lips twitched and Harry could have sworn that he was about to smile, but it was gone in an instant and he wondered if he had simply imagined it.
Severus glanced at the cauldron. Grimacing, he picked up his wand and muttered a quick stasis spell, freezing the potion in mid-boil. He turned the wand over in his hand, running his thumb over the smooth wood. He looked up at Harry and narrowed his eyes.
"What do you want from me?"
The question threw Harry and he looked at Snape confused. "I simply want a sleeping draught."
The answer did not seem to satisfy Severus and he shook his head as he laid his wand down on the table. He had a feeling that Snape was about to soundly refuse to even consider helping him out. Harry ran a hand over his eyes, feeling the lack of sleep in every fiber of his being. He wasn't sure how he was going to make it through the rest of the school day. Why wouldn't Snape just give him the blasted potion? Did he really still hate Harry that much that even giving him a draught was out of the question? He breathed in deeply, eyes closed, wanting nothing more to sleep and forget everything that had happened in the last few weeks. Hell, he would like to forget the last twenty years while he was at it.
A question seemed to float in on the haze of fatigue that Harry was currently experiencing. "How long have you been having trouble sleeping?" asked a disembodied voice.
Harry considered the question, forgetting for a moment to whom he was speaking. "Ever since I learned that Ma-," his eyes flew open and he saw Snape standing before him, head bent low, scratching a few notes on a scrap of paper. He looked up when Harry stopped.
"Since when?" he asked, harshly. "If you expect me to be able to help you, I need to know exactly when you started having trouble sleeping and what you think may be causing it."
Harry paled and looked around the room trying to think fast on how he could cover up his momentous slip. "I-I've had trouble sleeping ever since I learned that mastery is expected instead of just imparting basic knowledge to the students. I guess it is guilt that I won't be a successful teacher." As soon as the words left his lips, he wished he could pull them back in. That had to be the lamest excuse he'd ever come up with. And to think that he had been considered one of the top men in the Ministry. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Snape just glowered at him and Harry knew that his feeble explanation had not been believed.
Throwing down the quill on the table, Snape turned and opened a cupboard behind him searching the contents. Pulling a vial out, he closed the door with a snap and stared at the bottle in his hand. He rubbed a thumb over the label and closed his eyes. Harry took the opportunity to step forward and peer at the glass vial encased in the tight grip. He caught a glimpse of distinctly feminine writing.
Snape opened his eyes and thrust the vial into Harry's hand, catching Harry so off guard he almost dropped it on the floor. He fumbled with the bottle, holding it tightly when he managed to attain control. Looking down, he read the words silently: 'Serena's Sleeping Draught'.
He glanced up at Snape from under his lashes and was not surprised to see the man bent over the cauldron, ignoring him. He had just shown Harry more emotion in a few moments than he had in the entire seven years he had been his professor.
"Thank you for this, Severus," he said quietly, emphasizing the use of his first name, sincerely hoping that the past could be put behind them. "I truly appreciate it. I wish there was something that I could do to repay for your kindness." He held up the bottle. "I've heard that this draught is amazing. I wanted to read the paper you wrote about it, but you remember what kind of Potions students I was. I doubt I could understand anything beyond the title," he babbled, stopping when he saw Severus straighten up and glance over his shoulder, his dark eyes burning into Harry's.
"And how, pray tell, did you happen to hear about his particular draught? I don't believe that Potions manuals and journals were on the top of your preferred reading list as a student and I highly doubt that has changed."
Harry's mouth dropped open and he cursed himself for the second time since entering the lab. He knew that he couldn't reveal to the man that his daughter had been the one to tell him about the draught.
A series of rapid knocks sounded urgently on his door. Harry quickly opened it, expecting to find a distraught student or worse: Anthony with news about Malfoy. Instead he was confronted by a beaming Esme. There was a sheen of tears in her eyes and a wide toothy smile on her face. She was smiling so wide, his cheeks began to hurt just looking at her.
"I have the best news, Harry!" she squealed, pulling a journal from behind her back. On the front was a picture of Snape, a condescending look on his face. A smoking caldron was in front of him and the words "Hogwarts Professor Wins Raulbia Award" scrolling on the bottom of the page.
Harry cocked his head and studied the photo of the man who had made his life so difficult as a student. Focusing on Snape's face, he brought the journal closer and saw a look of discomfort behind the condescension.
"He doesn't look very pleased. What exactly is the Raulbia Award?" he asked, handing the journal back to Esme.
"Well, my father doesn't like a lot of fuss. He'd rather be holed up in his laboratory than talking to reporters or accepting awards. You should have seen the photographer's face after my father was done with him."
"I can only imagine," Harry replied dryly, remembering the tongue lashings he had received from Snape. He smiled as he watched Esme look lovingly at the picture of her father. She was proud of him, that much was evident. Snape was very lucky, whether he realized it or not.
"He looks very handsome, doesn't he?" she asked, glancing up at Harry.
Harry sputtered and choked back a laugh. "If you say so," he said diplomatically. "What is the Raulbia Award?" he repeated, ready to change subjects.
"Jacques Raulbia was the Potions master at Andréa's School of Magic. That's where my mother taught before coming to Hogwarts. He wrote several books about potions that he, sometimes with my mother's help, had created. After he died, an award was created that was given to other men and women who made great contributions to the field of Potions."
"So what great contribution did your father make to the 'field of potion'?" he asked sincerely.
Esme eyed him disapprovingly. "Do you not think he deserves such an award? He has dedicated his entire life to creating and fine tuning potions to make our lives better. What else would he have to do?"
Harry felt as though he had hit upon a sore point unintentionally. "No," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "It's obvious that he deserves such an award. I was just curious as to what he did specifically to be singled out for recognition."
Esme bit her lip and a smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Harry. I am just so used to having to defend my father against accusations that I naturally assume that everyone is thinking the worst of him."
'Perhaps they are,' he wanted to say, but wisely choosing to stay quiet.
"To answer your question: he developed a concentrated version of a non-addictive sleeping draught that my mother used when she first arrived at Hogwarts. She was able to use it monthly to ward off night terrors that she had."
That caught Harry's attention. "Night terrors? This draught worked well enough that she was able to use it monthly?"
Esme nodded. "Yes, however the version my father created could be used nightly with no side effects. Plus, as a concentrate, only a drop is needed. A batch would last three times as long. It was more efficient and cost-effective. It's all in the article my father wrote for the journal." She tilted her chin up and smiled brightly.
Harry took the journal from her hands, flipping through the pages, stopping at the article that Snape had written. He read the first paragraph, his forehead creasing as he attempted to understand the technical jargon. Closing the journal, he handed it back to Esme and offered her a cup of tea. As he listened to her talk about her classes, his mind began to wander; a concentrated draught that could be used nightly to combat night terrors? It sounded exactly like the answer to his whispered midnight prayers to an unseen god.
Glancing at Snape, he saw that his trip down memory lane had done nothing but increase Snape's suspicion. "Ah, I think Dumbledore mentioned something about it the last time that I saw him." 'Merlin, Harry,' he berated himself. His skills of deception were becoming quite rusty. Or perhaps he just was unable to lie about Snape. Either way, it wasn't a comforting thought.
"I don't believe so, Potter," Snape said, his voice dangerously low. "Try again."
Harry gripped the bottle tightly and stared at the top of the table, refusing to answer. He wasn't about to reveal the true source of the information and put Esme is danger of Snape's wrath.
Severus took a step toward Harry, his voice still low but tinged with coldness. "Are you spending time with my daughter, Potter? Destroying one young life wasn't enough for you?"
Harry looked up defiantly. "You have no idea what you are talking about."
Snape's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Then I must be mistaken, because I was quite sure that Ginny Weasley died because of you." He held up his hands in mock surrender and took a step back, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. "But don't think for one moment that I will allow you to do the same thing to my daughter. She is young, far too young for you. She has her whole life in front of her. I will not allow her to waste it on a bitter, old war hero who is simply using her to replace the memory of his 'lost love'," he said contemptuously.
"I would never do that to Esme," Harry said softly, Snape's words hitting a little too close for comfort.
Severus shook his head, looking disgusted. "You never intend to do a lot of things, Potter. But somehow around you, people die. I don't want Esme to be one of the casualties." He turned back to the cauldron, waving his wand over the potion and removing the stasis charm. Harry knew that he was effectively being dismissed.
Walking to the door, he stopped when he heard Snape address him. "If you truly want to repay me for the draught, Potter, then you will stay the hell away from my daughter."
Harry looked back. "I can't make any promises, sir," he said before letting the door slam shut, punctuating his statement.
Severus stared at the door, clenching his fists. It seemed that Esme had not listened to his warning. If Potter refused to heed his advice, he would have no choice but to take it a step further. Burning smoke reached his nose causing his eyes to water. Glaring at the cauldron, he saw the remnants of his experimental potion going up in billowing black smoke before his eyes. Severus grabbed his wand and flicked it angrily over the cauldron. The cauldron, smoke, and ruined potion disappeared immediately leaving Severus with nothing to show for an afternoon of work.
Stalking into his office, he unbuttoned his robe and removed it, throwing it on the nearby chair. Sitting in his chair, he steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and contemplated everything he had managed to glean from his conversation with Potter. He snorted as he thought about Potter's reasoning for why he was having trouble sleeping. As if concern for teaching had ever been on Harry's mind. No, something else was going on here and for some inexplicable reason, Severus was feeling a growing sense of unease.
Esme stood at the front of the room, warily watching as her class of 7th year students practiced the Flame-Freezing Charm they had learned a few days before. The class consisted of students from all four houses who would be required to be experts on various charms in their chosen fields. She had been extremely pleased with their level of knowledge and the progress that they had made in the last several weeks, but she was feeling a little nervous with the dozen small fires that were burning around the room. She was doing her best not to hover over the students, to give them a sense of independence and accomplishment, but it more difficult than she had anticipated.
"Professor Snape?" a brunette Ravenclaw called as she waved a hand in the air, attempting to get her teacher's attention.
"Yes, Miss Murphy? What seems to be the problem?" Esme asked as she neared the table.
The girl bit her lip and gestured toward the fire pit that had been created especially for this lesson to contain the flames. Although with the level of magic that was flying around the room, there was no guarantee of anything. Esme examined the pit and looked back up at the girl, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"I don't understand why you called me over Miss Murphy. Everything seems to be in order. Have you managed to freeze the flame yet?" She looked at the girl's partner who was leaning against the table, his arms crossed defiantly. "Or has Mr. Dennison?"
"That's the problem, Professor Snape. Alex," she glared at the boy, "Alex says that he doesn't trust me to freeze the flame without hurting him, because he thinks that I'm mad that he asked Miranda out instead of me." The girl finished the last part in one breath, turning her wide brown eyes expectantly to her Professor.
Esme just stared at the two students in front of her, her mouth dropping open slightly, words refusing to come. How the hell was she supposed to respond to that? Finally, she blinked her eyes and looked around at the rest of the class. All eyes were on the pair at the front of the room waiting to see how the Professor would deal with the lovers', or in this case wannabe lovers', spat. Catching the eye of a seventh year Slytherin, she beckoned him over, turning back to the two students.
"Miss Murphy, Mr. Dennison, this is a classroom, a place to learn. It is not a dating service or a place to work out whatever personal issues you may have with each other. However, since you seem unable to work with each other, I will reassign your lab partners. Miss Murphy, your new partner is Mr. Cranston." She glanced at the young man who had stepped beside her, his cool eyes surveying the pair with distaste. The young Ravenclaw paled and nodded once, gathering her books and making her way over to the far table where her new partner had been working.
Esme pursed her lips. "As for you, Mr. Dennison, you are now paired with Mr. Johnston. I trust that you will not anger him by asking out his friend." She ran a hardened gaze over the rest of the class as they snickered. "I suggest that the rest of you leave all your personal issues at the door when you step into this room. The next pair that seems to have trouble working together will fail the assignment and your placement in this class will be in jeopardy. Now get to work. You have half an hour to complete the assignment."
She turned on her heel and headed back to her desk, her heart thundering in her chest. She allowed a small smile to cross her face before sitting down at her desk and facing the students. That had been her first conflict in class and she felt like she had handled it well. Probably not up to her father's standards, as he would have likely ripped them apart, but she was very pleased.
She glanced at the back table to see how Miss Murphy was getting along with her new partner. Loran Cranston was an exceptional student and Rebekah Murphy would learn a lot from him. Loran must have felt Esme's gaze, because he raised his head, a smirk settling on his lips. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, watching her for a few moments before turning to answer a question that Rebekah had asked. Esme sat back feeling as though she had just been assessed and judged, though she wasn't sure what the final decision had been.
The clock at the back of the classroom chimed and Esme stood. "Before you leave, please make sure to extinguish your fire. Also, I want a complete synopsis of the results or any problems that you had with this charm on my desk tomorrow." She smiled at the groans that echoed around the room. "Keep complaining and I'll add another five inches on the history of the charm." She swore that she could hear the mouths snap shut at the threat of the extended assignment.
She watched as the students quickly and efficiently extinguished the fires and deserted the classroom. She sighed and closed her lesson plan book, thankful that this was her last class of the day. Perhaps this evening she could interest Harry in a chess rematch. A corner of her mouth lifted as she remembered the last time they had played. He had sulked for an hour after she had soundly beaten him. Who knew that he was such a sore loser? She had a feeling it would be rather difficult to convince him to participate in another match.
"Professor Snape?" a low voice asked. Esme's head shot up startled out of her momentary ruminations.
"Mr. Cranston," she said pleasantly. "I just want to thank you for assisting me today. I know that switching partners was probably not your first choice, but I appreciate it."
He stared at her, his blue eyes seemed again to be assessing her, but for what she could not even begin to fathom. Her smile faded and she asked, "Was there something that you required of me?"
"I was just wondering how you were doing."
Esme tilted her head and eyed him in confusion. "I don't know what you mean, Mr. Cranston."
He shifted and looked at the floor, shoving his hands into the folds of his robe. Looking at her from under the fringe of his hair, he said quietly, "Since your mother's death."
Esme stiffened and bit the inside of her cheek. "I think, Mr. Cranston, that such a personal matter would not be appropriate for you and I to discuss." She felt an ache in the center of her stomach and she bit the inside of her cheek harder to keep from crying.
When she felt in control once again, she narrowed her eyes and looked at the student in front of her, his head still bent toward the floor. "Why would you ask me such a question? You are I were never close even when I was a student. We were in different houses, had different friends, and different interests. Why would you feel the need to inquire as to how I was handling my mother's death?"
Loran's dark head lifted and she was chilled by the cold look he gave her. "I overheard my father," he paused and smirked slightly, "talking with one of his business associates about the details of your mother's death. It sounded extremely ruthless" He raised an eyebrow and his smirk deepened. "I just wondered how you were dealing with the fact that your mother's death was not coincidental."
Esme paled and leaned against the table. "What do you mean?" she asked, suddenly unable to breathe.
Loran shrugged and glanced at the door, appearing to suddenly be bored by the conversation. "I don't know," he replied indifferently. "My father caught me listening outside the door." He turned his head back toward her slowly. "Perhaps you should speak to him about it."
"Perhaps I should," she answered, her voice no more than a whisper in the room. She cleared her throat and continued, her voice a little stronger. "I think it is time that you left Mr. Cranston. I have other matters that I need to attend to. Thank you for your concern, but I assure you that it is not needed."
Loran offered a cold smile as he nodded his head. "I will see you tomorrow, Professor."
Esme slid into the chair as the door slammed shut, echoing in the sudden stillness of the room. She flicked her wand toward the door, locking it and setting a silencing charm. Once she knew she was alone, she buried her head in her arms and sobbed. Loran's last words echoed over and over in her head, setting her on edge. She leaned over, emptying the contents of her stomach into the trash receptacle near her desk. Chest heaving, she shakily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before dry heaves forced her to lean over the can again. Sitting back, she wrapped her arms around her body, feeling a chill from what she had learned. Loran Cranston's father knew something about her mother's death. Perhaps it was time she had a parent-teacher conference with Feenick Cranston.
Please let me know what you think. I am not really sure what to make of this chapter, so please give me some feedback! Thanks in advance!