Disclaimer : This work is a fanfiction based off of the Harry Potter Universe created by J.K Rowling. Any Characters, plots and settings already established in this universe belong exclusively to her. I do not nor will I ever claim ownership over them.
I'd also like to point out that the formatting of the location, time and date of each scene is taken from ACI100 with his permission, somebody that I follow on Discord. His stories are truly a work of art and inspired me to write my own so I'd advise also checking his profile out on this site. This will eventually turn into a Multi POV story like his so it is there so as to not completely confuse people. His formatting makes sense and is easy to follow.
Feel free to leave reviews letting me know your thoughts on each chapter or on the story as a whole as I dive further into it. Praise and constructive criticism are both welcome, though outright insults over my writing are not. Anyone who has attempted to write a story knows how much harder it is than it looks and we are all nervous to put our work into the world. We don't need to be made to feel like crap.
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Thanks and Enjoy.
Harry Potter and The Forsaken's Awakening
Year One - The Diverging Paths
Chapter Seven - Building Foundations
September 3rd, 1991
Defence Against The Dark Arts Classroom
2:30 pm
There was nothing about the Defence classroom that gave any indication as to what they would be learning in the class for the year. Transfiguration, Charms and History all had several posters and drawings on the walls, and Potions had ingredients and the like. This classroom was barren, the walls were completely bare.
Professor Magnusson had been writing at a ferocious pace as they had entered after the bell had gone and the upper years coming out had dispersed, looking up at them and smiling briefly before carrying on what she was doing.
That had to wait awhile for the other Slytherins to join them, as it seemed that for once, they did not share a class with anyone else.
When they were all sitting down, though, the professor stopped whatever she had been writing and swept to her feet, walking around the desk she had been at and shut the door with a quick wave of her hand, not even bothering with a wand before leaning against said desk.
Interesting. The woman knew wandless magic.
"Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts," she started with a smile, glancing briefly at all of them, eyes lingering slightly on Harry compared to the rest. She was confident, Harry could see that immediately. Most people might still be nervous teaching in their first couple of days.
This woman carried none of it, or hid it exceptionally well, but he didn't think so. She spoke, acted and moved with the smoothness and confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
"Your other professors have no doubt gone over the year's curriculum with you, correct?" When they nodded, she smiled wider and continued. "You can rest assured that I will do no such thing. It would be a waste of both your time and mine. All you need to know is that we will get through the curriculum given for first years and more if you prove yourselves capable. If I think you have all mastered a spell before we are scheduled to progress, we will do so regardless. If only some of you have mastered the spells earlier than the curriculum expects, I will give you extra spells to learn in your free time so that you don't become bored. There is no reason for me to hold any of you back should you prove yourselves to be talented in my subject."
That sounded absolutely amazing to him. He had hated being held back in muggle school by the dimwits in his class, and he doubted Crabbe and Goyle would be any good. It was nice to know there would be extra work for him if he managed to progress quicker than the others, something he definitely expected to do.
"On the flip side, I will not wait for any of you if you struggle with the timeframe we have. I will move on when we need to, and it will be up to you to master in your own time what you did not in class. Time waits for nobody, so neither will I. How much each of you learn this year will solely come down to how much effort you are willing to put in."
This, Harry could most definitely get on board with. Defence had been the most interesting subject that he would be learning from the start by a mile, thus had been the subject he had put the most time into before coming. It would be the subject he invested most of his time in, this year, he was certain.
"Now, what you should know about your classes over the coming year is that this single period will be used for theory. The practical lessons will be our double period on Thursday. This will not change. Theory, whilst some may view it as boring, is fundamental in your understanding and application of magic. One cannot master anything if they do not understand the theory behind it. To understand theory is to understand magic, so whilst it may seem tedious to those of you who dislike the thought of picking up a book, it is a necessity that cannot be avoided if one wishes to be great."
Harry definitely would be paying most attention to this class. He wanted to be great.
"Application without thought or knowledge of exactly what it is you are doing is not only extremely foolish, but can be disastrous for yourself or your opponent, sometimes even both. I'd give you some examples or things I've seen in my life, but you are all still young, and I would not wish to give you nightmares over gruesome details."
The nightmares couldn't be worse than anything he had already dreamed about, but he would accept that reasoning, for now.
"So with that in mind, let us begin where I think everyone should in this subject, and that is with the name. This class, quite literally, is learning how to defend yourself against the Dark Arts. The Dark Arts are a massive branch of magic with many layers and sub-branches. Even in the most liberal of countries, the Dark Arts are easily the biggest branch of magic out there. They are always evolving, ever-growing. The applications and possibilities with them are endless to a witch or wizard who understands and has mastered it.
"To defend against the Dark Arts, your defence must not only be formidable, but flexible. You must learn how to change strategy instantly. You must know when to shield, dodge, animate or conjure your defences that you will use, because I assure you, there is no spell in existence that can block everything, and nor will there ever be. Every defence has a weakness to be exploited, but master them all, and you will become very difficult for anyone to beat."
Harry was enraptured. Already this was his favourite class, just from listening to Professor Magnusson speak. Snape had come close, and was certainly second, but there was just something about this class that truly captured his attention.
"In my humble view," the professor continued, "one cannot defend against the Dark Arts without fully understanding what it is you are fighting, but teaching you such things, whilst something I learned at Durmstrang, is forbidden here and would certainly get me kicked out of Hogwarts. Even teaching you the theory behind the most basic of Dark Arts would see me out of Hogwarts by the end of the week. The Ministry and the Headmaster are very strict with this, and I would not risk my position so easily. Even if I am only here for the year."
What? Professor Magnusson was only going to be teaching them this year? Why? She was already fantastic. What if next year they had some bumbling idiot, instead?
He also agreed with her views on the Dark Arts. How could you defend yourself against something you didn't understand? That would be like getting into a taekwondo fight with someone and only knowing boxing. You wouldn't get very far without knowing taekwondo, in that scenario.
The same thing applied here. You couldn't know which defence to use if you didn't know what was coming at you. It only made sense to learn what you were up against. Know thy enemy, and all that. Right?
"Since we are on the topic, I would like to extend a question to all of you. What, exactly, are the Dark Arts?"
Nobody moved for a long, drawn out second, before Davis raised her hand.
"Miss Davis?"
"The Dark Arts are an evil and dangerous branch of magic that are used to harm others."
Harry blinked. Then blinked again. Surely she couldn't be serious? That was the biggest pile of shite he had ever heard in his life, and that included everything Dudley and Weasley came out with. The Dark Arts were classed as such because they harmed others?
Any spell could be used to harm others. To say that only the Dark Arts caused harm was ludicrous.
"That was a very textbook answer," Professor Magnusson said before looking around at all of them. "Miss Davis's answer is the one that the Ministry would like me to tell you. The British Ministry has banned anything they consider to be the Dark Arts, which between us, the list of things they consider to be the Dark Arts is much longer than you will find anywhere else in the world."
Why was that? Why was the Ministry so intent on banning and getting rid of magic? Magic was incredible. To ban magic seemed like a crime in itself.
There was a distinct accent in her words that made it clear that she was not British when she got more passionate in her speaking. Clearly, this was something that bothered her, too.
"I do not believe your Ministry's definition to be correct, and I doubt any of you do, either. I believe that they tell you it is evil to warn you away from exploring it. They say that the Dark Arts are addictive and consuming, which is false propaganda. There is no magic alive that will inherently change your behaviour when wielded. Not even the most heinous of magics could do such a thing."
That was good to know. Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts had explained that dark magic was evil and addictive, and that liberal use of it could change your behaviour. Knowing that it was complete rubbish, while not doing much for him at the moment, was good information to know for the future should we wish to explore the Dark Arts to further his own knowledge.
"But I am not here to teach you all the true meaning of the Dark Arts, or at least the arguments behind it. I am here to teach you the Ministry approved curriculum for defending yourselves against them. Whatever you research in your own time is up to you. I would, however, like each of you to spend the next half an hour writing a definition for what you think makes magic 'dark' with your names at the bottom so I know who has written what. After that, we will spend the remaining time going over the theory behind the first spell you will be casting on Thursday."
By the time the thirty minutes was up, Harry was reasonably happy with his definition. He had spent the majority of the time thinking about it, only writing towards the very end of the allotted time, but he thought his answer made sense.
After that, they had looked at the theory behind the stinging jinx. It was very simple, and something Harry knew he would have no problems perfecting. He wondered how long it would be until they got to the good stuff, the things that would be more useful than a stinging jinx.
Soon enough, the bell went, but instead of leaving with everyone else, he continued sitting in his chair. He had decided that he would take Peter's advice from the previous day and see if Professor Magnusson would answer the questions he had.
Daphne had sent him a curious, questioning look, but Harry had waved her off, telling her that he would see her later. After this, he would be going to the owlery to send his sister the response he had written the previous night, and then he would either go to the library again, or find an empty classroom and practise some magic.
When Daphne had left the room, leaving himself and Professor Magnusson alone, he got up and slowly made his way over to the woman. She was at her desk, reading the answers they had written for her question.
"Is there something I can help you with, Mr Potter?"
She hadn't even looked up, yet she had known it was him that had stayed behind. Not only was that rather incredible, considering he didn't think she had heard him telling Daphne he intended to stay behind, but it was also rather unnerving.
How had she known?
"Uhm … yes, professor. I got a letter the other day, and the person who sent it to me said that you could help me."
She stopped her reading and looked up at him, a small smile making its way onto her face.
"I can do much more than just help you. Am I correct in saying that this person writing to you is Peter Pettigrew?"
The urge to gape at her was going stronger by the minute. How the hell had she known that? Was she some sort of mind reader of something?
Her smile only grew larger when that thought went through him, making him think that she could in fact, read minds.
"I can read minds since you were wondering, but I didn't need to do so to know who has been sending you letters."
"... How did you know?"
She chuckled, perhaps because he hadn't figured it out yet.
"Your mother hasn't written to you, yet, and everyone else that could lead you to me are either in this castle, or have not been heard from for years. Peter was the only choice."
Okay, that was well deduced, but it left Harry with more questions than answers. How would she know whether he had received a letter from his mother or not? Had she been watching him at meal times other than the first one? Harry could admit that he hadn't been paying the teachers any attention in the Great Hall since the first night, so he wouldn't know either way.
He asked her as much.
"Your mother's owl is quite distinctive. I would instantly spot it even in the Great Hall. And yes, I have been observing you."
Ah, he supposed that made sense, then.
"Peter said you and my parents worked together? And that you knew them well?"
"Yes, your parents and I worked together for a while. Not job wise, but we were part of a group designed to fight against Voldemort. We were friends, and I respected their abilities, even if I didn't like or agree with their beliefs. Their constant disregard of tradition and their views of dark magic in particular annoyed me more than I would ever care to admit. But yes, we were friends."
Okay, the fact that this witch had gone against Voldemort and lived to tell the tale was actually kind of awesome, but he didn't mention it. Not many people could say that.
Merlin, this was hard. He really wanted to ask her if she had met him before, but it was difficult. What if she said no? Then what? He would look like an idiot. But he needed to know. He wanted to understand the look she had given him at the opening feast.
"Did … did you know me, when I was a baby?"
"I did. I saw you quite a lot when you were little." There was a fondness to her voice that he had never heard before. It was odd, yet it answered the question, and again, left him with more. What had he been like as a baby? Had he liked her as much as she had seemed to like him? Did she know that he had grown up with muggles?
Instead, he just nodded. Those were questions he would ask another time. For now, though, there were more pressing things he wanted to ask.
"He also said that if I had any questions about magic, that you would be able to help me."
There was a second of silence in which they looked at each other, before Professor Magnusson nodded, filling him with joy he struggled to remember feeling before. Maybe when he had gone to Diagon for the first time, or when he had finally left the Dursleys behind. They were the closest he could remember.
"He is correct. I would be happy to help you further your understanding of magic. If I am allowed to be arrogant for a moment, I'm very knowledgeable in many subjects."
"Peter said you were."
The professor laughed at that. "Did he?" She sounded incredibly amused. "Ah, Peter. He always did prefer to dish out praise to others rather than himself. He is no fool, I assure you. Once, he may have been, but he's put in a lot of work over the last decade."
Again, Peter had said as much to him as well in Diagon Alley.
"So you'll help me, if I have any questions about magic, in general?"
"I will."
Cool. That was really cool to know. It was nice to know that there was an adult he could come to if he had questions about his extracurricular work. The teachers at his muggle school would never have done such a thing if he had asked them.
It was oddly pleasing to know that she would help him.
"Thank you, professor."
She waved his thanks off, a glint in her eye he could not describe. "Think nothing of it, Mr Potter," she said. "I'm glad to help you in any way I can."
September 4th, 1991
Potter Manor
9:45 am
She had always thought Potter Manor was stunning, ever since the first time she had visited in the summer between sixth and seventh year of Hogwarts.
There was something beautiful about the way the rich red and silver colours blended together that took her breath away, and that wasn't even the mention the portraits, the library, the architecture or even the viewing of the grounds around the home.
It truly was beautiful.
James and her had wanted to move away from Godric's Hollow back near the end of the war, and return to James's ancestral home. They had even planned to move at the start of eighty-two, as James had finally come to terms with the fact that his parents were gone and he was taking the mantle of being Lord Potter.
He hadn't wanted to come back after Voldemort had killed them in broad daylight at Diagon Alley. He'd said his memories of the manor were tainted by their deaths, and that it would feel empty with just the two of them, as she had not been pregnant with the twins at that point in time.
Three years, and two children later with a third on the way, James had conceded that their current home had been too small, only having two bedrooms, and that it was time to go back.
They had only needed to hold on for another couple months and then they would be able to roam the grounds and be outside to their heart's content, and being cooped up inside a small house would be a distant memory.
Then he had been taken from her. Killed in their own home the night she still struggled to even think about in passing.
There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't miss him. His smile. His laugh. The way he held her and made her feel safe and protected.
That thought brought a wry smile to her face. They hadn't been safe, in the end. He had been unable to protect her against the might of Voldemort and her followers.
Although, if the portkey had worked …
If Voldemort hadn't put wards up to counter that before breaking in …
She would have been protected. They would have been protected. Evan would never have gotten that scar on his forehead. But James would still be gone, and Voldemort wouldn't have been vanquished.
And Harry …
If there was one thing she regretted more than anything over the last decade, it was the way in which she had handled the situation with Harry.
She never should have left him at Petunia's for so long. It was never meant to have been permanent that he reside there, only until she was back on her feet and capable of looking after him. Merlin knew one child had been hard enough, back then when it was still raw and fresh. Two had been barely manageable, especially at the age they'd been at.
There was no real justification in her head as to why she had left him. Every excuse she could come up with sounded ridiculous and stupid at best.
And then Peter had come to her and told her that he'd seen and spoken with Harry at his workplace, and his observations … well, they hadn't been good.
His clothes were very baggy and old, threatening to fall off of him completely with the sheer size of them. He was hesitant to ignite any form of physical contact, to the point where even a handshake gave him pause. It made her feel queasy, that he was so distrusting of people, and the only positives she'd managed to take from his recollection were that he was very studious and that he liked hearing stories about James.
The worst of it was that he refused to take part in any conversation about her and Evan that Peter had tried to make.
She knew he was angry with her, and couldn't exactly blame him. She would be too if she learned she had been abandoned by her own mother. The fact that he wouldn't talk about Evan was slightly concerning, as she wanted them to get along, but that would hopefully come in time.
Her thoughts were broken by her daughter coming into the dining room and sitting at the table, making her own plate without so much as a hello.
She was so surprised by it that she didn't even reprimand her.
Her nine year old daughter was putting together her own breakfast without so much as a stumble, and didn't one even glance her way in the hopes of receiving help. It obviously wasn't the first time she was doing so.
How long had she been doing that? Why wasn't she asking Lily for help? No nine year old, no matter how mature, should be so confident and skilled at making their own food unless they were taught by an adult, which Alyssa certainly hadn't been.
When was the last time she had made Alyssa breakfast? Hell, when was the last time she had even offered? She could remember putting Evan's breakfast on his plate the morning he had left, yet she had no memory of doing so for her daughter.
Nor did she have any other recent ones, either.
Jesus, when was the last time Alyssa and her had done anything together? She could remember tutoring Evan in some aspects of magic so that he would be ahead, and watching him outside when he wanted to fly and getting him things when he asked her to, but memories of doing anything with her daughter escaped her.
Nor did her little girl expect her, too. If she did, she would have asked.
It was a startling realisation that made her want to put her head in her hands. So one of her children was too coddled, one had been neglected, and one had been abandoned.
Wonderful.
Hey, sweetie," Lily started, steeling her nerve. She should not be nervous to talk to her own child, and guilt flooded through her because of it. James would be so ashamed if he could see her now. What she had done.
The surprise shown plainly on her daughter's face did nothing to stop the feelings she was having. They were actually amplified because of it.
"Mother?"
She had to fight hard against the wince coming forth. She had really messed up if her own child was surprised that she was talking to her.
Being called 'mother' also didn't help the situation. She hated that word. It was so formal and distant, like what Petunia had used back in the day, like there was no connection between them other than flesh and blood. Evan had always called her mum.
"Would you like to do something together, today?" She asked, hopeful. Perhaps she could start mending the bridge between them if she was interested in the idea.
"No, I was just going to spend the day in the library."
Ouch. That hurt.
She couldn't say she didn't deserve it. That was perhaps the worst thing about the situation she had put herself in. What daughter before the age of thirteen didn't want to spend any time with their parents? Wasn't it supposed to be teenagers who did that sort of thing? Alyssa was only nine. She herself had loved spending time with her family at that age.
An awkward silence followed, which eventually was interrupted by two owls flying through the open window. One, a spotty brown and white owl, was easily recognisable as Evan's, while the other was a brown barn owl, typically one that Hogwarts kept.
She expected both letters to come to her. She certainly didn't expect one to go over to her daughter, who brightened immediately at receiving it. She seemed ecstatic in opening the letter, and Lily idly wondered who it was from.
She couldn't help noticing that Alyssa looked more and more pleased as she read further down, piquing her interest.
"Who's that from?"
"Evan," Alyssa answered dismissively. "Apparently he's in Gryffindor and loves Hogwarts already."
Lily had the oddest feeling that Alyssa was lying to her, but banished that thought immediately. The girl was the spawn of her and James. Both of them had been terrible liars, and Evan was, too. She would know if her daughter wasn't telling the truth. There wouldn't be just a feeling.
"Why did he send you a different owl?" She asked with a furrowed brow. It was the only thing that didn't make sense.
She only received a shrug in return.
Resigning herself to not knowing, Lily turned her attention to her own letter.
Dear mum,
A lot has happened over the last few days, and I needed to tell you about it all.
Firstly, I managed to get into Gryffindor. The hat said I would be a good fit for Hufflepuff and Slytherin! Could you imagine me in Slytherin? Hufflepuff wouldn't be too bad, I suppose, but Slytherin? I'd rather come home than go there. It did sort me into Gryffindor quite quickly, so it didn't matter in the end.
Ron's here, too. He's pretty pleased. He says hi.
I tried to find Harry on the train, but I couldn't. I think he slipped past me somehow, but I saw him at the sorting. He's in Slytherin, by the way. His sorting didn't even last two seconds. It was faster than Draco Malfoy's even, who is also a Slytherin.
Classes are pretty good. I'm one of the best in Charms and Transfiguration, though Harry somehow beat me in turning a match into a needle. He got it on his first try. Can you believe it? McGonagall said nobody had ever done that in her class before. I got it halfway through the lesson, and was second to do it, but still. How is he better than me? It doesn't make sense.
Potions class is awful. Professor Snape really has it out for me for some reason. He insulted me and you in our first class together, and took points when I couldn't answer his questions, even though you taught me how to brew the potions.
He seems to really like Harry, so maybe he really is just biased towards the Slytherins. He even let Harry and his partner leave when they finished the potion early! I still don't know how they even did that. They finished at least 20 minutes before everyone else.
I managed to speak to Harry the first day of classes, although he didn't say much. I think he's really angry with you, even though he didn't say it specifically. He's angry with me, too, for not wanting to come and see him until the train.
We were both being careful with our words, like neither of us wanted to say directly that he's been living with muggles. I don't know why he's doing it. I thought he'd be shouting it to anyone who would listen. It's what I'd do.
He also blasted Ron down the corridor. Yeah, Ron did charge at him, but only after Harry insulted him and his family. He called Ron my puppy and told me to put 'it' on a leash, and said his family were pathetic muggle lovers.
Anyway, this is getting pretty long, so I'll end it here. I'll let you know if anything happens with Harry.
Lots of love,
Evan.
A lot of that letter was very concerning. Harry hurt Ron and called his family pathetic muggle lovers? That wasn't good at all.
She needed to reach out to him, but there was no way she could influence him from outside of the castle. They wouldn't be in contact enough for her to do that. If he even wanted contact with her.
Evan saying Harry was angry with her was expected, if still disappointing. She hadn't been a good mother, and it hadn't gotten better since he had re-entered their world, either.
She had wanted to escort him around Diagon, but how was she supposed to explain showing up out of the blue after ten years? He would want to know why she had never checked up on him all these years.
There was someone she knew wanted access to Harry and now had it, and she might have to swallow her pride and ask her for help. There was no way she could stand by and let Harry develop a mentality similar to Voldemort. Not when he was now surrounded by people with that same mentality.
Diana would help set him straight if she asked. The woman loved Harry, and desperately wanted to be in his life.
She was glad he was doing well in class, though his comments about Potions troubled her. Why was Severus openly insulting her son? Why had he insulted her? She thought they had moved past all that when the war ended. They weren't friends like before, but they did talk every now and then.
Why had he suddenly reverted back to how he had been in school in those latter years?
She would need to visit the castle. She needed to talk to Harry and clear the air between them, that much was obvious, but she also needed to talk to Severus. Him insulting her son for no reason was not on.
"I'm going to go and see your brother on Sunday."
Alyssa looked up, confusion plastered on her face. "Is Evan in trouble already?"
Lily laughed lightly. Her son really was quite the troublemaker. She wouldn't be surprised at all if he and Ron got up to a lot of nonsense over the course of the year.
"No, I'm going to see Harry."
Alyssa immediately grinned. "Can I come?" she asked eagerly.
Lily cringed. She really wanted to let her, but she knew it wasn't a good idea. If Harry was as angry as she thought he was, well ... that wasn't something she wanted Alyssa to see.
"I think the first time should be just me and him. We have a lot to talk about."
Clearly not happy, the girl nodded after a moment and turned back to her food. Prompting Lily to do the same. She had a lot of grovelling to do in regards to her eldest son and hoped that she could at least open a line of communication between them. Her beautiful snowy owl wasn't happy with the lack of letters she had to send to people, and was rather cross with her unless she had one.
She supposed giving him the ring that was his birth right wouldn't be a bad start.
September 6th, 1991
The Library, Hogwarts
5:47 pm
The rest of the week had passed relatively quietly, all things considered.
On Wednesday, they had taken their first Astronomy lesson late into the night, and Harry had been right in thinking that the class was not going to challenge him in the slightest. Sure, some of the theory was new, but knowing the stars and their astrological signs was something he had already learned.
Thursday had been quite good. Their practical lesson for Defence Against the Dark Arts had gone very well on his end. He had mastered the stinging jinx right away, and by the end of the class, also had the tripping jinx down, too.
On Friday, the only lesson they had was double potions in the morning, and that had been as amusing as the first lesson. Professor Snape had wasted no time in berating and humiliating his brother once again, and working with Daphne, the potion they had been asked to make was once again completed early.
Today, Saturday, was … difficult to put into words. Most of the day had been spent on his own, because his fellow Slytherins were all getting their check ups done with Madam Pomfrey.
His appointment was almost three hours ago. At least, it should've been.
He had known almost from the get go that he would not be going. He would rather be back at the Dursleys in his cupboard than ever admit and show people what they had done to him. It was a secret he couldn't afford to let out, no matter how much anyone tried to persuade him otherwise.
He had been the last of the first years to have his check up, so escaping everyone hadn't been hard. Daphne had been just before him, and Theo and Blaise, as they had asked him to call them by their first names on Wednesday, had been even earlier.
He had secreted himself away from the others in the back corner of the library, hidden and out of view with his books and his thoughts.
According to Alyssa, who had replied to his own response, he could expect a visit and meeting with his mother tomorrow, and he didn't know how to feel about it.
On the one hand, there was everything she had done to him, and the way she had left him to the mercy of hateful muggles. But she was also taking initiative in potentially trying to amend her mistakes.
He hadn't expected to run into her anytime soon, yet she wanted to meet him before he had expected to see her at the end of the school year on the station. It didn't dissipate the anger within him, but it did lessen it slightly.
If she tried to make up for it, could he allow her to? He had been angry for a long time, and after experiencing real joy and happiness for the first time, he hated the feeling of anger. Could he forgive her in the future if she made the effort to rectify her mistakes?
If she was serious about trying to change and didn't revert to type, perhaps he could see himself doing so. He was willing to try, in any case.
He didn't want to feel angry for the rest of his life.
A clearing of the throat made him look up, having been so lost in the thought of his mother that he had completely tuned out of reality. He had to admit, looking into the dark tunnel eyes on his head of house, Harry was actually scared for the first time since seeing Hagrid angry. Especially knowing that he had deliberately ignored Professor Snape's instructions from the opening night.
"You know," the man started in that soft voice of his, and Harry had to resist the urge to shiver. "When I give orders to my students, I expect them to be obeyed without question."
Professor Snape was no doubt furious with him, and he remembered the first night when he had said they didn't want to find out what would happen if they didn't do as he had said. Harry found himself really not wanting to find out all of a sudden.
For once, he couldn't meet the man's eyes, and he looked down at his book instead, feeling shamed. He liked Professor Snape, and he really didn't want the man to start treating him like he did Evan, since the man obviously had some sort of past grudge.
"I'm sorry, sir."
There was a loud silence for a long few seconds, before the man standing in front of him let out a quiet sigh and to Harry's surprise, took the seat opposite him.
"I cannot say I did not expect this outcome."
Confused, Harry ruffled his brow. How could Professor Snape know he had not planned on going to his check up? The only way he could know that was if he was a mind reader, like Professor Magnusson, which Harry actually wouldn't bet against, or if he knew Harry's situation.
"Sir?"
There was no answer for a moment, as they simply watched each other. There seemed to be some internal debate going on in the man's head, if he had to guess.
"I grew up a village over from your mother, and we often met up after school hours. Naturally, Petunia decided to involve herself. She was spiteful and hated magic even then, and I fear that she has not changed in the slightest."
The odds on that bet he had with himself as to whether Professor Snape knew his situation or not grew heavier in favour of him knowing. Maybe that was why he seemed to like him more than Evan, because he knew they hadn't grown up the same.
The notion that Professor Snape and his mother had been friends was an odd one, especially since he didn't seem to like her very much, now. Something must have happened between them.
He was right about Petunia, though. She certainly hadn't changed if she had been like that as a child, and it made Lily's decision to leave him there even worse.
"I'm fine, sir."
Even as he said it, he knew Professor Snape would not believe that bullshit for one second. It might have been the worst lie he had ever told, for all that it sounded so wrong to say out loud.
"If that were true, you would not have disobeyed my orders." Professor Snape seemed to collect himself for a second. "In my experience, the students who don't turn up for their check up either foolishly think they are above the rules I set, or have something to hide. I do not believe you to be in the former category."
Harry, again, looked down at his book, but he could not register the words written on the page. He knew Professor Snape was right, but he just couldn't bring himself to admit it to anyone. The consequences of doing such a thing weren't worth it.
"I'm fine."
It came out as a whisper, because he didn't think he could say it any louder. It was a feeble attempt to dissuade his head of house from trying to make Harry go to the Hospital Wing.
He should have known it would be futile.
"Potter, I need to know what it is I'm dealing with here. As your head of house, it is my duty to not only protect you inside of this school, but to make sure you are protected at home. Madam Pomfrey will help both of us if you let her, and you won't have to do anything there you don't want to do. You are going to walk with me to the Hospital Wing. There will be no compromise on this."
And Harry knew from the look of his professor's face, that there would be no getting out of it.
He didn't even remember the journey down to the Hospital Wing. He remembered getting up from his seat in the library and trudging after his head of house.
After that, the next thing he was aware of was Madam Pomfrey bustling over to him, speaking with Professor Snape about the fact that he had missed his earlier appointment.
He'd been dragging his feet and taking as slow as humanly possible to get there, but even though he knew it must've annoyed his companion to no end, the man made no comment on it. As Harry had been looking to the floor and had his head down, he wouldn't have known if the man had even changed his facial expression.
Becoming aware of his surroundings and taking in the bright white of the room, he could've sworn he saw movement in the corner of his eye, but looking over in that direction proved there was nothing there. Great, he was going crazy then.
"I just had Miss Malfoy in for her own appointment, you must have seen her on your way in. She couldn't have left a few seconds before you arrived."
Aria had been there? Had he been that out of it that he had completely missed her? She might have even said hello and he wouldn't have noticed.
"I did. I trust there were no issues with her?"
"Of course not," Madam Pomfrey said. "That girl keeps herself healthy, you know that."
Professor Snape nodded. Apparently he did, in fact, know that. He seemed to look into the corner of the room that Harry had thought he saw movement from for whatever reason before turning back around.
"Mr Potter here was … apprehensive about coming here, today … I fear this could be a situation similar to that of myself."
Harry could not stop his eyes from widening, his best efforts crumbling like a sandcastle at the beach when hit by a wave. Had Professor Snape really just said what he thought he had said? Had he gone through something similar to Harry in his own youth?
Madam Pomfrey seemed to wince and deflate right before his eyes. "Right. Come with me, Mr Potter."
Time seemed to be a blur as they went through so many different things to measure that he could barely keep up. His height was done, as was his weight and so many other things, and Harry was beginning to think it wouldn't be so bad.
He had been proclaimed underweight by the healer, something he already knew. He hadn't known just how underweight he was, and seeing how much he actually weighed was shocking, but he didn't let any emotion come through, mechanically going through everything he was required to do.
Eventually, though, Madam Pomfrey cast a quick pink spell on him, making Harry flinch and almost trying to dodge it. He would have had Professor Snape not had a grip on his shoulder, perhaps knowing that Harry would have moved otherwise.
She then hit a roll of parchment with another spell, purple this time, and writing started appearing on the parchment. Harry couldn't help his inquisitive nature.
"What was that?"
"It records every injury you've ever had," Professor Snape replied quietly, and Harry felt himself wanting to immediately run as far away as he could. This would not be good. Not good at all.
He watched, as the writing grew longer and longer, the parchment growing longer as it glowed a purple hue, which Harry suspected would stop when it was done. Madam Pomfrey's eyes got wider every time a new line started, and the grip on his shoulder tightened.
This was the extent of what those filthy muggles had done to him. Everything they had done, laid bare. He couldn't imagine what would happen if that parchment were ever to get out to the students.
Finally, after an age, it stopped, the parchment almost touching the floor. Perhaps the most interesting thing about this was that Harry didn't feel embarrassed about the people in the room knowing what he had been through. If he was right, Professor Snape had been through what he had and a resigned look on his face told him he was right.
Madam Pomfrey was a healer, and didn't seem like the type to spread information about students. Surely there was some sort of healer confidentiality?
Without a word, Professor Snape was handed the parchment, and his eyes scanned each line, narrowing dangerously with each line that he read. He had never seen someone look so angry on his behalf before. Hagrid had only cared that Harry didn't know about magic or Hogwarts. Professor Snape was very clearly angry because of what had been done to him.
"Your uncle, I'm assuming?" Professor Snape asked, and Harry shrugged, holding out his hand to look over the list of injuries. There was a split second in which Harry wondered if the man was going to deny him the list, but he did, slowly, hand it over.
Reading through it, Harry could easily tell which of these injuries were from who. Mainly because of his incredible memory, and because the injuries had a date next to them.
"Most of them," Harry replied softly. "The ones that … didn't disappear are from him. The earliest ones up until I was four and the worst ones are almost all from him. A few of the concussions are from my aunt swinging pans at my head. The rest are from my cousin and his gang of friends."
Professor Snape's jaw was visibly clenching when he looked up again from the list. He had the feeling that if Vernon ever saw that look directed at him, he would cower worse than he had when Hagrid had yelled at him.
"Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey started, quieter than he'd heard her before now. "If you'd like to remove your shirt, we can start healing the injuries that didn't disappear, as you say."
What? There was no fucking way he was removing his shirt. Knowing about the injuries was one thing. Seeing them was another altogether, and hell would freeze over before anyone else even got a glimpse at the scars on his skin.
Rapidly shaking his head, Harry curled in on himself. Professor Snape had said he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. He would not do this.
He would not.
"Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey tried again, but Harry was already shaking his head before she could say anything else. He wasn't going to be doing it. Nothing would change that.
"Potter."
That had come from Professor Snape, who was back to his usual expressionless mask. "Your scars were not caused by magic, so they can be removed."
"Removed?" Harry laughed, his voice completely hollow. "I don't want them to be removed. Just because they won't be there, it doesn't mean it never happened. And I don't want to forget. I want to remember. I want to remember that my mother abandoned me to abusive, hateful muggles for a decade."
He stood up, snatching the parchment and his bag as he went, walking to the door before anyone could say a word, and threw it open as hard as he could, storming out. He was done was this stupid check up. He was broken, and right now, he was far away from wanting to be fixed.
Professor Snape opened the door to leave the Hospital Wing, holding it open longer than necessary before walking out and closing the door.
The minutes after Potter's abrupt departure had been awkward and silent. He'd needed a good few of them minutes to rub his hand over his face. Dumbledore and Lily had really fucked up. Harry didn't even know about Dumbledore's involvement, yet, but when he did find out, and he would, Severus would bet everything he owned that Harry would never want anything to do with him.
The corridor outside was empty. That was good. He needed it to be.
"A second year managing a spell not taught to them for another four years. Impressive, even for you."
There was a shimmer to his left, and a murmured incantation before a girl with white-blonde hair materialised out of thin air.
"Legilimency?" Aria asked.
"Obviously."
The girl sighed, sparking amusement in him. He'd always found it funny that she thought he wouldn't sense her. Her Occlumency was good, excellent for her age, even, but she didn't have any hope of avoiding detection from him, yet.
"You knew I was there the entire time."
It was not a question, but he decided an answer should be given anyway.
"I did."
Aria nodded, and they walked in silence for a little while, and Severus knew the inevitable questioning and anger was coming. He knew the girl beside him better than most.
"How could she?"
There it was. It was said with such rage and disgust that he wondered if she had already surpassed anger. She must have been stewing on it while in the Hospital Wing.
"I don't know."
"I mean," Aria continued, and Severus threw up a wordless privacy charm so that anyone coming would not overhear anything. "It's one thing to accidentally neglect one child in favour of the other, but leaving a wizarding child with muggles? An heir to a Founding House at that?" She shook her head, clearly lost for more words.
"I assure you, nobody is more disgusted than I, given my own history with them."
Aria looked sideways at him. "I didn't know you grew up with muggles. I always thought your parents were muggleborn or halfbloods."
"My father was a muggle," Snape replied, managing not to smile. Leave it to Aria to research his family name. She hadn't done enough, though. She would've known his mother was no muggleborn if she had. "My mother was a pureblood from the Most Ancient House of Prince, who was unofficially disowned for marrying a muggle."
Aria winced, barely, but he caught it and he understood. Being disowned was just about the worst thing that could happen. Officially, she couldn't have been disowned from the Prince family just for marrying a muggle, but she had been taken off of the inheritance, and she couldn't associate with anyone from her family anymore.
Severus was very lucky in that they had added him onto it when he had been granted permission to meet them and learned his distaste for muggles. He could have easily gotten by without it, but it made his life much easier.
"And he ... did the same sort of things to you that Harry's uncle did to him?"
"He did, but not to the same extent. I too, had scars before I got them healed, but even I can admit that my father was tame compared to Harry's uncle."
Another silence descended on them, as Aria seemed to be contemplating something she wanted to ask.
"Did you kill him? During the war, I mean?"
The ease with which she spoke of killing someone should have concerned him, but he knew that Lucius would have told her some of the things they had done in the war. She had always been mature, and was even more inclined to the Death Eater propaganda than Draco, whilst being much more Slytherin.
She was almost the perfect mixture of Narcissa's subtlety and cunning and Bellatrix's ability. It was a very dangerous combination, one which he knew would turn her into someone who he would not want to fight when she was older.
"Yes. Do you think less of me?"
"For what? Killing a muggle?" She seemed to scoff at the very thought. But that wasn't what he'd been talking about.
"No. Do you think less of me knowing that I was raised by a muggle? That I suffered at his hands before I killed him?"
Her brow furrowed, as though she couldn't understand why he would ask such a thing. "Of course not. You'll always be Uncle Severus to me. You are my godfather, after all."
That thought did bring a smile to his face. He was her godfather, and he had enjoyed the time he had gotten to spend with her over the years, even if it hadn't been nearly as much as he had liked, due to being at Hogwarts.
"Why did you let me see what I did?" She asked, her voice softening. "You could have stopped me."
On the surface, it would seem like a complicated question. But he knew more than he let on regarding her and Potter. His listening charm that first night in the common room had done wonders in that regard.
He had been concerned for Potter's safety that first night. He had expected someone to try and curse the boy the minute he left. His first bet would actually have been on Lestrange.
The boy wasn't rash, but he had a lot of power in Slytherin, he was very powerful magically for his age, and his mother was Voldemort's right hand. Sure, she might be in Azkaban with the boy's father and uncle, but he had been raised by Lucius, who was Voldemort's left hand.
When Travers, MacNair and Mulciber had confronted the boy, he feared he would have to involve himself. The three were idiots, sure, but there were three of them and only one Potter.
Then Aria had involved herself, defending Potter and all but challenging Travers to a duel on Potter's behalf, before Lestrange himself had gotten involved, defending his cousin and Potter.
The news that Aria and Potter had shared a compartment on the way up was baffling, as was Aria asking the boy to call her by her first name, but the one thing it did tell him was that she liked him, and would defend him in Slytherin.
Which was exactly what the boy needed.
"Because I think he needs someone in his corner like he's never had before. Someone that understands him and his troubles and won't tell everyone within earshot about them. You seem to have an amicable relationship with him, I rather hoped you could be that person for him."
He had expected her to debate the matter to herself for a little while, but instead he got vigorous nodding almost straight away. She must have liked him more than he thought. How he had managed to not slip up in front of Aria - who was as sharp as they come and would miss nothing if given - Severus did not know, but it was remarkable.
"Understand what I am saying to you," he continued. "You will tell no one about what you just saw in that room. Not Draco. Not Narcissa. Not Lucius. Not even Harry himself. You will let him tell you about everything in his own time if he so wishes, and you will act as though it was new information if he does so. If I find out you have shared what you saw with anyone, I will be very displeased."
"I never planned on telling anyone about that, and nor will I," Aria replied firmly. "You have my word."
He nodded as they left the corridor and Aria indicated that she wanted to go up to the library while he was on his way down to the dungeons to properly digest what had just happened. That would do. Aria knew better than to try and lie to him.
He gave one last parting comment before they split ways.
"Good."
Author's Endnotes :
This marks the end of chapter 7. I know it has been a while since I updated this, but in the last week and a half, I have somehow rediscovered a love of video-games, and as a result of that, I haven't been writing non stop everyday in my free time. I have made sure to write at least something everyday, but progress has been slow because my attention has been on other things. I can only apologise for that.
This chapter, whilst being probably the longest so far, was also the easily the hardest to write to date. The only scene that was only somewhat difficult was the last one. The rest were a nightmare.
Even though to me it feels like the chapter is short reading back on it, it felt like it took forever to write because of everything that happened. Maybe it was because there were three POV's in the chapter that it felt like a lot. I'm not sure, but it's done now.
My favourite scene this chapter was the very last one. The relationship between Aria and Snape is going to pop up a few times at least in this story. Safe to say, they are close.
The good news is that chapter eight will not be anywhere near the length of this one, so it should not take anywhere near as long to write.
As always, feel free to review and let me know your thoughts. I think everyone who reads this chapter and has been following along will know what is happening in the next one, so you have that to look forward to.
Until next time.