Disclaimer: - If it was mine, I'd be living in fear, due to update schedule.
FireOpal's Comments:- Brought to you, once more, by Katy the Unstoppable. You do not know the meaning of the word 'annoying' if you haven't met her. - After months of happy DWness and unhappy GCSE revision (don't get me started on Catullus!), I bring you this small Christmas offering. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and hopefully more soon!
Chapter 5 – Reprisals
A week passed until Harry had to return to Snape's office, with a sinking dread born of remembrances of the last experience. Hardly the most enthralling meeting he had ever attended, he just hoped vainly that it would be a repetition of last Thursday – devoid of the usual Snape-trappings (cutting insults, scathing remarks, and sneering point-taking as standard).
The week had been uneventful. The usual Ron-Hermione bickering had returned, now with the added teasing and frankly sickening comments of two people in love. Thankfully, they had kept the sweet nothings to outside of Harry's hearing (usually), but the rest of Gryffindor was already wondering whether this was in fact better or worse than before.
Turner had been rather dampened by the rumours of her investigation, and had resorted to making them revise independently on topics they were finding difficult. So, of course, the lesson went by without a single word being written or official spell being cast Apart from Hermione's small zoo and now added no-water aquarium.
Other than that, nothing had happened. Life was as close to normal as it ever got in Hogwarts, apart from the Snape-being-his-father fact that he was trying desperately to put out of his mind. It was working rather well, and thankfully Ron and Hermione were too wrapped up in each other to notice his usual pressing-things-down-deep method in practice.
So he approached the familiar office door, trying to persuade himself that it was just like an ordinary detention. Just any other detention.
He knocked.
"Enter!"
Walking into the room, he carefully lowered his bag next to his private desk, feeling awkward.
"There are two further textbooks for you to peruse." Snape said shortly. Harry nodded. He sat in the proffered chair and pulled the tomes towards him. Fantastic.
Opening the dully titled 'How to Refine Your Herbal Potions Techniques With Biological Theory', Harry resigned himself to another evening of complete and utter boredom.
The scratch of a quill. A page turned. Soft breathing. Another page turned. The quill scratched forcefully, followed by a series of small scratches. Obviously, thought Harry, someone was going to find their a essay once more punctuated by blistering comments. He hoped it wasn't him.
Another page turned. The quill moved on.
So it continued, until a sudden knock on the door made both of the uneasy duo jump. His heart racing, Harry turned his head as Snape called out irritably.
"Enter!"
The door opened to reveal none other than Albus Percival Wilforic 'Too-Many-Names-To-Remember' Dumbledore, resplendent as usual in fluorescent blue robes. Harry wondered briefly if he had yet more bad news to dump on him as the headmaster helped himself in and sat himself easily in the desk chair.
"Headmaster." It wasn't a question, exactly, but the raised eyebrow and tone implied 'What in the name of Merlin are you doing here, and will you kindly leave?'
"Severus. Good to see you again." Dumbledore smiled. "I hope you don't mind if I help myself to tea?"
Snape shook his head. Harry winced as the greasy locks moved a little.
"Harry? Tea?" the headmaster continued, turning to him. Uncertain, Harry nodded, and waited as his tea was conjured, hot, piping and milky as he liked it.
"Severus?" Predictably, the Potions Master declined. Harry took his proffered cup and set it carefully next to the dull volume, making sure not to spill any on its pages, as he was sure that Snape wouldn't be happy.
"Was there something you wished to discuss, Headmaster?"
"Actually," the jovial old man started, "there was." He cleared his throat meaningfully, glanced across at Harry and dug a sherbet lemon out of his pocket.
"And?" Snape was quickly becoming irritated.
"And I was hoping that a little visit down here would help matters." The man continued smoothly. He glanced across again at Harry noted the bag and collection of dusty books, and then across at the diminishing pile of marking next to his Potions Master. He sighed.
"Obviously I was not clear in my intentions for these little meetings. Let me elucidate. These were intended to be a chance for the two of you to become properly acquainted. Not," he glanced back at the books, "an opportunity to bore yourselves out of your skulls."
Snape, predictably, scowled.
"I believe that tutoring Po- the boy is more important than some idle, stilted chat. If the prophecy is to be believed, then he has a lot of work before him that he clearly doesn't realise before he can defeat the Dark Lord."
"What?" Harry blurted, without thinking, staring at Snape in horror. "You know the prophecy?"
"Of course I do," Snape snapped. "Who do you think used it to save your life?"
"You?" Harry whispered, shocked. The very idea of Snape willingly saving his life was, bizarre. Unthinkable.
Outside of the discussion, Dumbledore smiled, just slightly.
"Of course. Did you think that there was another spy in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle? It is hardly a stroll in the park."
"I just, well…" Harry trailed off. "Thanks, I guess."
"I was only doing my job." The dark man replied curtly. Harry's expression fell minutely. As did Dumbledore's.
"I'm sure Lily didn't think that you were 'just doing your job'." Dumbledore remarked quietly, and Snape tensed.
"That is not under discussion."
"Harry has a right to know – about his mother, and his father."
"Then he should just ask his friends," Snape all but snarled. "I'm sure they have a pretty accurate picture of me by now."
"Severus!" Albus remarked sharply. "Be reasonable."
"'Be reasonable'? I think that I am being perfectly reasonable, in the circumstances."
"Harry is not James!" Dumbledore said, standing. "In fact, I think that the only reason you treat him as you do is because you see him as such! Harry has never been James' son, he doesn't have a drop of Potter blood in his body, even if he currently wears his face!"
Harry, by this point, was pale to say the least. But, with a sudden conviction and strength he hadn't felt before rising in him, he stood, attracting the feuding adults attention.
"The spell, it can be cancelled, right?" he said, his voice unsteady, the question directed at the older man. Dumbledore nodded.
"And it can be put back on?" he checked.
"I'm not sure – It should, unless some higher magic corrupts it." The headmaster replied, a sudden suspicion creeping in him.
"Then take it off."
"Is that entirely wise-" Snape butted in, half-glaring at Harry, who endured the look with practise.
"If you want, Harry." Dumbledore said over the top, turning to the teen. There was a smile lingering on his lips that reassured Harry that what he was doing was the right idea. "Exigo praealtus incantatem!" Dumbledore intoned, his wand raised to point to the centre of Harry's forehead. A beam of white light flowed out, spreading as it moved through the air to form a bubble about an inch over the teen's skin. Then, slowly, the white incandescence moved in, and Harry became a white beacon as the magic coursed through him.
It was like a breeze of warm air at first, then like falling into deep water. Barely aware that he was still stood, he lost control of his legs and fell heavily to the seemingly non-existent floor, unable to shake off the strange feeling. Then, with a burst of pain that felt dampened somehow, he felt his bones shift underneath his skin, and his muscles contort and elongate. Skin stretched over his growing form before it too moulded across him.
Then it was petering out – the light receding from him like water. He was on his knees, he noted, before opening his eyes. He hadn't even been aware of shutting them.
"Harry my boy?" Dumbledore asked quietly, kneeling beside him. Harry looked up into those familiar blue eyes, and suddenly found he had to sweep hair out of his eyes. Long, black hair. As he did so, he noticed a thin white hand – completely unfamiliar and yet seeming to move as he wanted it to. He squinted at it as he flexed the muscles, feeling slightly panicked at the extreme change.
"Harry, how do you feel?" Harry thought for a moment, then glanced back at the headmaster.
"OK, I think." With a start, he realised his voice was different – deeper and more refined somehow. His slightly muddled mind was trying to make him cough, as if that would change anything, but he knew it wouldn't, so he refrained.
"Up you get then," the headmaster said, standing up. Harry noted again that he was surprisingly agile for one so old, and as the hand gripped his elbow, he felt himself be lifted up.
And up. Apparently he had gained some stature as well. Everything seemed to have shrunk a little by his standards.
"So," he said in that strange voice, "how do I look?" He squinted at Dumbledore for a moment, then frowned, taking off his glasses. Suddenly, the world sprang into focus. This he could get used to, he thought with a momentary grin. 20/20 vision.
Glancing around the room, he suddenly spotted his father, who was stood behind his desk, his face pale and disbelieving. His hands were gripping the edge of the old wooden desk tightly, knuckles that he suddenly recognised as his going white with his grasp. Suddenly nervous, he turned back to the headmaster, who kindly conjured a tall mirror for him, and for the first time in his life, Harry gazed into his true reflection.
His first thought was that his clothes didn't fit him anymore, which, in consideration, was rather daft. His robes hung around his lower shin and his sleeves ended above his wrists. The only reason the clothes weren't hopelessly tight around him was his frame – thin and lean, almost wraithlike. Whereas before he had been skinny, turning muscular by Quidditch practice, he was now lean, with thin arms and legs.
His face. Wow, his face. He could only stare in disbelief – with startlingly well-known emerald eyes – at the face that wasn't his own, with his eyes, and his expression.
High cheekbones, yet chiselled enough to be masculine, and with a cool elegance Harry had never managed. His nose was presumably either his mother's or Snape's, before he had broken it, as it was reasonably straight. His lips were thinner slightly, but not overly thin. Running a hand through his jaw length raven hair, he spotted the thin jagged line of his scar cut into his forehead. Not entirely different then.
It was strange to say the least – looking at a picture in the mirror, and watching the apparition poke itself as you felt the impact.
When he looked up at the headmaster, he saw uncompromising acceptance in that steady gaze, and it grounded him.
"Not too bad, I guess." He joked lightly. Although, unfortunately, you could tell he was Snape's son, he seemed to have acquired the less unpleasant aspects of Snape. Thank Merlin.
"You seem to have acquired more of Lily's looks – the charm must have been hiding them in order to keep up the disguise." Dumbledore remarked, shooting a glance towards Snape. He still hadn't moved.
Harry felt like an exhibit in a museum, with both of the adults looking at him. His eyes seemed drawn to the mirror, but he wanted to know what Snape was going to say, so he dragged himself away.
"Indeed." The Potions Master replied edgily. Dumbledore sighed again.
"Now, this is how these meetings will be organised. Harry will come down here as he has been doing, but this time, you will meet in Severus' quarters. Understood?"
They nodded.
"I shall adjust the wards around your quarters Severus, if you don't mind," and if you do, they both heard, "I have no wish for Harry to go down there and never return. You will talk, civilly, for the entire time. Understood?"
They nodded again, though on Snape's part, it was rather reluctantly. Harry was beginning to feel like a naughty primary school child. "I should hope you won't have any further, ahem, identity issues."
Severus' cheekbones flushed. He scowled.
"Now, I think," the headmaster checked a complicated pocket watch, "that you have at least another hour. The corridors should be empty at this time of night, so there is no danger of you being seen." Dumbledore made for the door, before pausing, and turning back to glance at the pair over his spectacles.
"Do try this time, won't you?"
In the silence that followed the exit of the most powerful wizard since Merlin, Harry pondered briefly if he would ever live a life that wasn't dictated by at least three other people. Probably not.
"Well, we must do as the headmaster decrees." Snape said shortly, and Harry nodded, picking up his satchel. "You will follow me, and not speak a word. Should anyone come across us, you are to disguise yourself. In the event of you being seen, you will pose as a worker from the Hogsmeade apothecary. Understood?"
Harry nodded. Snape, looking slightly mollified, replaced the lid on his inkpot and swept out of the door, leaving his marking covering the desk. However, Harry noticed, he did lock the door thoroughly behind him, so perhaps tidying was unnecessary.
He followed the Potions Master as he stalked down the corridors, marvelling at the way his higher stature made it so that he no longer had to jog to keep up. Useful. Harry tried to keep record of where they were, but, several floors further down into the dungeons, they were no longer in the main part of school. He had only been here once before, and that had been four years ago, when he and Ron had broken into the Slytherin Common Room.
Much, much further than that, they rounded a bend into, well, quite frankly, a damp, musty dead end, where a rather drab painting hung on the wall. The corners held cobwebs, and spiders scuttled out of the light of Snape's wand as he approached, illuminating his wand tip to see better. The painting was hardly up to Hogwarts' usual standard – a simple, slight dingy seascape with what could have been an impressive cliff-face rising out of a thundery-dark sea, if the artist had been bothered. Forked lightning would have crashed down with the force of the gods, wreaking havoc on the tiny storm-torn world below, tearing aside the sky in its vehemence, if the creator had not decided half-way through that he was too bored to continue, and had much more important things to be doing.
Harry's eyebrow rose, but he said nothing (this was Snape, after all); just watched as the other man glanced over the familiar painting, tapped his wand against the bottom right corner and whispered what appeared to be a password.
"Indolentia."
Immediately, he stepped back as the painting suddenly shifted –the lightning forking the sky haphazardly and the sea lurching into life. Then, with a light grinding noise of stone on stone, the wall swung open to reveal Snape's private quarters.
The Potions Master stalked in, gesturing irritably for Harry to follow quickly. Then he turned, gestured strangely, and the door closed, leaving Harry to turn to face the normal-seeming wooden door in the wall.
"These are my private quarters. I have the strongest wards in the entire castle – nothing comes in or goes out without my leave. When you are here, you will abide by my rules. It goes without saying that these quarters are not open to your friends, and if I hear any strange rumours going around, then I shall know where they come from. Have I made myself clear?"
Cowed, Harry nodded.
"You will not eat or drink down here unless necessary. You will not cause a mess. You will not pry in my personal belongings. You are, under no circumstances whatsoever, to enter my bedroom. Is that clear?"
Again, Harry nodded. Snape looked slightly satisfied. "Sit."
Harry sat on the proffered sofa, and glanced around. Snape moved across the room to sit imperiously in a large leather armchair, watching with hooded eyes as his newfound son glanced around his father's rooms.
They were hardly luxurious, but they seemed pleasant enough – and rather more human than the entire school populous had ever imagined. Apart from the leather armchair, there was the usual stone fireplace, in front of which lay a thin navy blue rug, simply patterned. The sofa was obviously in a set with the armchair, but looked slightly more worn in places, suggesting its use as a temporary bed at some point.
There were few paintings on the wall – a currently occupied portrait of a wizard Harry vaguely recognised from Dumbledore's office, and another simple landscape , this time of a mountainous, wooded area in late summer.
Apart from where they came in, there were four other doors. One, Harry assumed, was Snape's bedroom, one a bathroom, a kitchen, and the other Snape's infamous private lab and study. Other than that, the rooms looked as though they were barely used – all except for the liquor cabinet (directly next to the potions cabinet), and a tall bookshelf.
"Now, we are to discuss matters." Snape started uncomfortably. "Speak."
"Um," Harry replied, biting his lip. There was no way on earth or in heaven he would sit here and discuss his life. No. Way. "What do you want me to say?"
"How am I supposed to know?" the older man snapped irritably, "When the headmaster gives orders, those orders must be obeyed."
"I know the feeling," Harry muttered, and for a second, he could've sworn he saw a sliver of a smirk on those imposing features.
"Perhaps we should discuss your lessons," Severus said eventually, after they had sat in tense silence for some minutes.
Harry shrugged. "Um, I had double Defence, Charms and Care of Magical Creatures today." He ventured, and Snape nodded.
"And you have those with," he thought quickly, "Professor Turner, Professor Flitwick and Hagrid?"
Harry nodded, though he slightly resented the lack of title before Hagrid's name.
"What did you learn in Defence?"
"We're studying minor magical creatures in the British Isles, " he replied, startling Severus slightly with his confidence and depth of reply. He raised an eyebrow. After the current problems with Turner (now reporting throughout the school, as teachers came forward), he had anticipated for the boy to be behind like the rest of them – spending his time messing around and causing trouble. Perhaps there was more to the boy than he had previously thought…
Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by a familiar knock on the door. Pushing back a sliver of disappointment, Severus stood quickly, and gestured for Harry to be quiet. Puzzled but complying, Harry didn't make a noise even as he was bundled into another room (the study he found out quickly), and shut in with hissed orders to not come out. Fortunately, the door was left slightly ajar, so Harry, with years of sneaky dealings, moved forwards so that he could see through the small crack, and waited.