Due to popular request I'm reposting the old version of this fic for your enjoyment. I'll start posting a new version/complete rewrite late 2022.
Chapter 2: A Pending Disaster
It was Wednesday evening, time for the fortnightly staff meeting. Severus came in exactly one minute early, set himself up with ungraded essays, and contributed the bare minimum while covering his students' work liberally in red ink.
Schedule changes, homesick students, detention plans, infirmary reports, problems with bullies and finally—
"Mister Potter has been distracted this past week," Minerva began. "Normally he is such a good student, bright, no trouble with wand work, well written essays. He has been slacking off, though. I fear he is bored."
There was a general consensus of nods from the other teachers; Albus looked alarmed. "You say he is a good student. Do you think he has received prior lessons before coming to Hogwarts, then?" Again, there was general nodding. A poorly coordinated Mexican wave, Severus thought, and he must have been projecting through his Occlumency because Albus jerked back when those damned twinkling eyes met his. What was he doing performing surface Legilimency on his teachers anyway? Albus righted himself in his seat and turned to him. "Severus, what about your class, how is Harry doing?"
"I paired Mister Potter with Mister Longbottom, and he is adequately challenged neutralising the pending explosions next to him."
Minerva winced. "Augusta did not instil much confidence in the boy, and he is using his father's wand. If he has been struggling in my class, I am afraid to ask what he is doing in yours."
"I assure you Mister Longbottom is not only a dunderhead, but also a walking disaster and a threat to the safety of everyone in the same room with him. The only times his cauldron did not explode were the last lessons when Mister Potter was counteracting his poor choices."
Albus' eyebrows rose. "Harry is that advanced? Improvisation and neutralisation is OWL level."
Severus nodded and couldn't help looking just a little bit smug.
"Nevertheless," Filius interjected, "You must speak to Mister Potter about his attitude in his other classes. He cannot spend our lessons scribbling into that journal of his. It isn't proper."
He hadn't known about Potter's journal keeping. "I will assign a week of detentions and reprimand his poor classroom habits. Will that be sufficient?" The second wave of nods greeted his statement. Severus just wanted to leave this meeting and escape to muggle London to purchase more cigarettes.
xoxox
"What is the most complex potion you have ever brewed?" Severus began, leaning against his desk because the week had been exhausting, and Potter had already demonstrated his capacity for understanding that Severus was human.
"Veritaserum, sir," he replied evenly, sitting at the front workbench. He had a sheaf of parchment out, having pulled the quill from his hair to rest beside it.
Severus swallowed his incredulity. Potter routinely defied logic. Why not now, as well. "Have you brewed several potions simultaneously?"
"Yes, sir. No more than three, though."
That was amazing. And wonderful, because the infirmary needed Bruise Salve and Pepper-up. Albeit complex, they were more tedious than volatile and could be brewed simultaneously. So Severus assigned the potions, pulled up a stool opposite Potter's desk, and watched him work.
The recipes were consulted, transcribed in standard potions shorthand, then cross referenced with a quick matrix drawn up for simultaneous brewing. The boy fetched his ingredients, arranged them into groups and assembled something in front of where Severus was sitting. The boy looked at him then, a question clear in his eyes, so Severus took a hint and scrutinized the ingredients before him. Fendril leaf, Loafroot and crushed Poffin beak. "Those aren't in either recipe, boy."
Did he flinch? Potter had just flinched. "No, they're not, sir." It was spoken far more quietly than usual, but Severus had no idea what he had done wrong.
"I understand what you are suggesting, Mister Potter." Internally, Severus sighed gustily. He refused to feel bad for somehow figuratively stepping on Potter's delicate toes. "Explain your reasoning."
A few minutes into the increasingly enthusiastic and energetic lecture along the lines of shorter brewing times and increased efficiency, Severus decided to interrupt. "I am aware of this, Potter. I was just assuring myself that you were too. You may begin brewing." Potter's face proceeded to flash between sheepish apology and delight. He replaced the quill in his hair, effectively holding it out of his face, and did indeed brew two potions of increased efficacy ten minutes faster than the usual two and a half hours. The quality was superb. Severus would deliver them to Pomfrey tonight and ask for the restock list. If he was lucky Potter's genius would hold so that he could foist all of the time intensive infirmary brews onto him.
xoxox
It was Friday night, his Slytherins were having a party to celebrate something inconsequential, and his workload had just decreased monumentally thanks to whoever had taught Potter potions before sending him to school. Seized by a sudden burst of energy, Severus donned muggle attire, cast a glamour, and flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. It was Friday night, and he had been promising himself a new packet of cigarettes since Wednesday.
A quick stop at a corner store for the fags, duck into an alleyway, the sound of a car backfiring, duck out of a different alleyway, walk to his pub of choice. Inside the Admiral Duncan he took a seat near the wall, nursing cognac and watching other men dance with each other to music that wasn't entirely awful.
A redhead dancing with a group caught his eye—because he might just have a thing for red hair and green eyes—and he had seen the man a few times before. Possibly, he frequented this pub at these times with the hope of watching this man dance. Possibly, he was that pathetic.
Perhaps next time he would be alone, and Severus would gather the courage to talk to him.
Then the improbable happened—nothing is impossible, Lily had always told him—as the man Severus had been eyeing for the past dozen visits approached his intentionally out-of-the-way table and gestured at the seat across from him.
"May I? Or would I be blocking your view?" That was a very smooth voice. Melodic. Laughing at him, actually, because yes he had been ogling, and no this was not the first time. Severus fought back a grimace, and lost. "I'm sorry," the stranger said next, stunningly sincere from a man Severus had just scorned, so Severus acquiesced before the man could turn away.
"Please, sit. I suppose I owe you a drink at the very least."
The man laughed and looked carelessly elegant as he slid into the offered seat. "At least? Does that mean you're offering more?" He winked.
Severus had just been winked at. How uncouth. How delightful. "Perhaps I am," he decided to drawl, inserting as much sex into his voice as he could. "But let us begin with that drink and a name, perhaps? I am called Prince." It was his usual moniker when he went to gay bars for casual hook-ups. A hat tipped to his mother, who would probably be horrified by his sexual deviance. Severus flagged down the barkeep Poddy, indicated his desire for a refill and gestured for his new friend to order.
"I'll have what you're having," and those eyes hadn't left his face, as though they were looking for something. An absent thank you thrown at the server. A sip of the cognac. A raised eyebrow. "You have good taste, Prince." Severus liked the way his moniker rolled from that tongue. "What is it you do for a living, then?"
He smoothed over his fresh grimace with a weak smile. "I teach Chemistry."
The man's eyes widened for a second before the man nodded sagely. "How exhausting. Prince, you call yourself." He smiled then, wryly, and Severus knew the man understood it was fake. Who was named Prince, anyway? Severus kept his face blank and let the man keep talking. "Alright. Two can play at this game. If you're Prince Nelson, reluctant Chemistry teacher, let me be Mark Evans, reluctant politician and inventor."
Evans. What an abysmal choice for a pseudonym, but it was too late now. They were musicians, apparently, and he was supposedly a fan of Prince. He would have to do some research to make sure he could at least identify some tracks.
"Politics, Mark? Are you not a little young?" And wow that was a bad come on for someone whose pants he was trying to get into.
"Good genes and a good glamour, Prince. I'm in my late thirties, and I'm sure you've never heard of me in Muggle or Wizarding politics."
Wizard. This man was a Wizard and he most likely knew who Snape was because there were very few Potions teachers in the UK. But, they were both still sitting at this table drinking cognac together. Perhaps it wasn't so bad to be propositioning a Wizard politician who wore a glamour and was a regular patron of this Muggle gay bar.
Severus coughed awkwardly, watching Mark across the table. He was still lounging comfortably on the uncomfortable wooden chair, looking casual and cool and very attractive. Although the face wasn't real it was a nice face, with smouldering eyes and bow-shaped lips.
"So, do come here often, then?" The line slipped out of Severus without his brain's approval, startling him so much he laughed. Well, more of a smile, but for Severus' standards it was a laugh.
Mark grinned back. "A few weekends a month. But you knew that already, Prince." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "Is it just the face you're hiding?" Severus could feel hungry eyes trailing over his body, and decided to answer with an uneven shrug. He was Prince tonight, and he could afford some plebeian manners.
He decided on sultry. "Hmm. Like what you see, then?"
Mark was laughing now. "Yes, very much so." It went straight to Severus' cock. There was something wonderfully arousing about being wanted. "I'm afraid you'd hate me afterwards, though, so I'm going to have to say no. Though you have no idea how much I'd like to find a room and spend the night in together." Mark ran his hand through his curls while Severus swallowed his disappointment. It had been too good to be true. He pulled out a fag, lit it, and smirked when he saw Mark's eyes watching his lips. Perhaps he'd been rejected, but it was good nevertheless to be wanted.
"What happens now, Mark?" He kept his voice playful and flirtatious, watching how it made Mark shift in his seat. It made him feel powerful, and he was going to enjoy it while he could.
Mark glanced over his shoulder to the group he'd been dancing with. There were four of them, crowded around a table on the side of the dance floor. He looked back at Severus. "Are you looking for a fun Friday night then, or just to get laid?"
Severus smirked in response, leaning forward into Mark's space. "Does it have to be either-or?"
Mark chuckled, and when Severus drew back he followed, chair scraping as it dragged across the floor. He pointed to his friends. "On the left is Gramps or Wheels, the one with the gray in his hair. He hangs with us to feel young. He rarely wants to fuck, and when he does he'll be Dominant—something tells me that wouldn't suit you at all."
Internally, Severus agreed with this assessment, though it was decidedly odd having someone else tell him about his sexual preferences.
"Next is Ricky in leather, who tries to get into everyone's pants," Mark continued regardless. "Quick, easy fun, most likely before you even make it to a bed. Harold in the suit thinks he's better than everyone else—went to Eton, bit of a diva. He'll pretend to be difficult, but flattery will get you everywhere. Once you get him into bed, he'll want to be worshipped. And Nellie on the far right, who actually can pull off wearing suspenders, is taken and faithful. Will you be joining us this Friday night, Prince?" The last part was almost purred.
Severus did indeed join them and had a wonderful time drinking, flirting, being flirted with, and feeling surprisingly at home with this group of quasi-strangers. Four Muggles and a Wizard who had heavily hinted that he knew Severus' real name.
He had decided to woo Harold: prematurely greying with an oval face, his teeth repeatedly bleached and re-stained by tobacco and tea. Despite the late hour the man had gone to the effort of a clean shave. He wore a shawl which somehow did not emasculate him, and despite his somewhat paunchy shape the crisp suit made him look sharp—and overdressed for the muggy bar. The man didn't seem to care a lick, simultaneously projecting easy companionship and an air of being better than everyone in the room.
Severus had always been one for the refined, enjoying the way their careful manner would come undone in the act. So he spent his carefully saved coin buying Harold overpriced whiskey. Several drinks later he had learnt that the man loved his sister, hated the rest of his family and was a huge fan of jazz music. And finally, as last call came at nearly eleven, the group began to break up.
Unable to resist the chance to spy, Severus cast a quick eavesdropping charm on Harold's glass before excusing himself for the loo. Hopefully he would be able to assure himself he had sufficiently wooed the man.
It didn't take more than a minute for them to start talking about him. "You like him," Gramps was saying. Severus smirked, satisfied he'd achieved the desired result.
"Am I that obvious?" Mark then replied.
Severus hadn't been expecting that. Although, Mark had made it quite clear at the beginning that he fancied him. Where was Harold?
"Are you okay? He's been coming on to Harold all night. That has to hurt."
"No, it's my fault. He doesn't know it, but we work in the same place. At some point he'd realize who he'd fucked and hate me for it, and we'd still be stuck working together. It's not worth it." That was interesting. Assuming their workplace as Hogwarts, this meant Mark was a seventh year sneaking off grounds to get drunk and get laid.
Suddenly, Severus was very glad he'd been turned down.
"You have it bad, don't you?" Gramps asked, and Mark laughed humorlessly. "I'm sorry, Hotch." Gramps continued, "Want me to make it up to you? We could still have a spot of fun."
Mark's real name must be Hotch—except, he was glamoured and had probably been using a fake name to begin with. Hadn't he said Mark Evans was a play on Severus' chosen moniker, Prince? This was supposed to have been a way to spy on Harold, and Severus had yet to decide if learning about Mark was better or worse.
"Alright," Mark answered. Glasses clinked and chairs scraped. "Let's just give Harold a chance to come back from the loo. Idiot shouldn't have followed Prince there in the first place." More shuffling, followed by, "Here he comes."
Severus hurried out, hoping to catch the group before it dissolved—but by the time he reached Harold, it was just the two of them left.
Harold passed him a cigarette case. "Mark said this was yours. Shall we go?" Severus examined the metal carefully, wondering what the gift meant as he followed. He opened it while Harold was hailing a cab and promptly snapped it shut again, embarrassed. Severus took another peek and removed the note.
Prince,
Thanks for your company tonight. Harold's shite at having protection in his flat, so I thought I'd make sure you were prepared the Muggle way just in case.
Wishing you a fun night, and hoping you'll be joining us again,
-ME
There were three condoms and twice as many foil packages of lubricant inside. Was it sweet, or mortifying that some seventh year with a crush on him be providing the condoms with which Severus'd be buggering someone else tonight?
Thank the Gods for their relative mutual anonymity.
xoxox
They were both lying on their backs, spent, when Harold rolled to face him. "Not bad, Prince Nelson. Not bad at all."
Severus decided to take it as a compliment. He also took the offered cigarette, dragging deeply before passing it back. When it was gone Severus rolled onto the man for another languid kiss before withdrawing and beginning the process of collecting his clothes.
Harold had propped himself on his elbows to watch Severus dress. "Just like Hotch, or I suppose he's called Mark now. Always refusing to stay and cuddle."
Severus shook his head absently as he buttoned his shirt. "My workplace would notice. Mark says he is in the same boat, though I fail to recognise him." The Muggle wouldn't understand about glamours.
Anyway, Severus had been a Death Eater and a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. He was certain he would figure out Mark Evans' identity soon enough.
"Ouch. Guy's really smitten and you can't even recognise him."
Severus groaned at the reminder, and at the unfortunate reality of come on his left sock. He turned away and cast a cleaning charm, surreptitiously vanishing all traces that he had ever been in this room. "As long as I am unaware, I cannot get into trouble for fraternising with a subordinate. It is probably better this way."
Harold nodded. "Makes sense, but it must still hurt Mark's sensibilities. Thanks for the night, nonetheless. Will we be seeing you at the Admiral Duncan again? You don't need to spend the whole time ogling, you know? We're quite amenable to talking. I'd like to say we don't bite, but that's only half true."
The laugh burst out of Severus before he could stop it. He put on the laundered sock. "Yes. I do believe we shall be seeing each other again. Likewise, thank you." He took a last look at Harold lying just-fucked in bed, and couldn't help but steal another kiss. "Shall I see myself out?" Harold smirked and nodded, so Severus left the flat and found a dark corner behind a dustbin to Apparate away.
xoxox
During the weekend detentions Potter successfully brewed everything Pomona wanted, from SkeleGro to Blood Replenisher. The boy often had ideas for improvements, but Severus had stopped supervising after the first day. As long as the end result met his high standards, he explained, it did not matter to him what exactly Potter did.
Severus had never been so ahead on his grading, and if it made him a little more patient with his dunderheads on Monday nobody mentioned it.
In class, he set Potter to brewing the OWL curriculum two at a time, with Longbottom sandwiched between him and Granger. When Severus saw the first thing Potter do each lesson was to cast a strong shield, he had to bite his tongue to hide his laughter.
Granger was happy to boss Longbottom around, while Potter often glanced over to salvage mistakes. Granger would then leaf frantically through her textbook trying to understand Potter's additions, keeping her busy and blissfully quiet.
It seemed that September had held Longbottom's final exploded cauldron. His essays always held the explanations for Potter's changes to his brews, and while it was obvious Granger had coached him somewhat he was nonetheless earning Es and even the occasional O for his written work.
That Wednesday Draco attended breakfast acting decidedly subdued, and although he regained his pompous attitude by Friday he stopped causing trouble and insulting his Housemates. Severus realised rather smugly that one conversation with Potter had effectively solved three problem students: Granger had a friend, Longbottom was earning better grades and by necessity had grown enough backbone to tell Granger to shut up sometimes, and Draco was suddenly no longer a prat.
It was a miracle, and he couldn't wait to brag about it—in his own way—to his colleagues at the next staff meeting.
xoxox
Poppy was stocked, and Potter had demonstrated proficiency with two more NEWT level potions. These were the last two days of detention wherein Severus wanted to encourage Potter to continue advanced brewing. "Is there anything you would like to brew, that you have not successfully brewed before? Or something you want to try altering significantly?"
Aside from nourishing his talents, the other Professors had been right when they said Potter needed something to keep him from boredom. Severus shuddered to think what James Potter's genetics mixed with Lily's brilliance and Harry's own brand of genius and ingenuity could accomplish should the boy start looking for ways to cause trouble.
Severus suspected that by next year at the latest he would never know, because Potter's ability to manipulate would have developed to the level where nobody would be able to definitively source anything back to the boy.
"I have an altered aging potion and a variation of dreamless sleep I'm working on at the moment," Potter said.
And then there were these moments of startling honesty between them where Potter dropped his usual mask. Severus should have been expecting Potter to have his own inventions going—he himself had begun inventing his first potion in his mother's shed before Hogwarts, too. "Would you like to see, Professor?" What a stupid question. He didn't deign it with an answer yet Potter understood anyway, pulling out the journal he was known to scribble in.
A frown crossed Potter's brow as he removed some very complex wards, and to Severus' alarm the boy began sweating. After a few minutes he gasped and sat down abruptly, sheathing his wand. "Sorry, sir. My core was pretty drained already."
Watching as the boy leafed through to a certain page, Severus caught glimpses of some advanced ward schemes, rune diagrams and many pages of neat handwriting. Potter passed him the book then, whereupon Severus carefully read through the recipe there. It was an altered aging potion, and it actually looked like it could work. He flicked back a page and saw the same recipe with ingredients, times and amounts crossed out and rewritten many times over in the margins.
"This—" Severus didn't know where to begin, really. It was a brilliant potion, and if it worked Potter could sell it handsomely. But he couldn't say that, so he searched for anything else. "This is your final version so far, do you know if it works?"
Potter nodded and launched into an explanation. "It lasts exactly 222 hours, after which it required 22 hours of the body at real age before being safe to consume again, indefinitely. It counteracts the problem with Tumeric toxicity in standard ageing potions by using a combination of ground Welsh dragon bone and Brazilwood flower extract. The set times and expensive ingredients make the potion basically unmarketable, so I shelved it for the dreamless sleep alternative."
How astute.
Potter walked around the table, subtly leaning his weight against it, and leafed through his journal again. There were many more rune diagrams, though Severus couldn't discern any details, and a few more attempts at potions recipes. The dreamless sleep alternative was obviously still very much a work in progress. There were tables of variations Potter had tested, with detailed notes. "This is my best version," Potter explained, "My problems with dreamless sleep were the mandatory nine hours of sleep granted, and the addictive properties limiting its use to three nights in a row, no more than five times in two weeks." Potter flipped to a much neater draft. "This is my best version. It lasts four hours and is addictive after the fifth night in a row. I don't really have the capacity to safely test its limits, though."
A thorough read through the recipe showed it to be plausible. "Why are you not sharing this?"
Potter grimaced, and pointed at a step in the process. "Besides the fact I'm not a Master and therefore cannot publish in anything reputable, it's the fanged geranium here that's problematic. If pelargonium is added instead it causes intense nightmares—which makes my potion a tool for torture, and I absolutely refuse to share that with the world. You and I both know what kinds of people are out there. Sir." The title was tacked on as an afterthought, coupled with a wry smile.
Perhaps it was a good thing that the Wizarding World's saviour was so jaded considering the hardships he would yet face, but it was nonetheless sad that an eleven-year-old child was thinking about the risk of his invention being misused to torture.
Severus sat down heavily and gestured the boy to do the same. "I understand your concerns. Will you tell me why you are trying to improve a sleeping potion?" He tried to gentle his voice, beginning to skim Potters thoughts with surface Legilimency.
Potter broke eye contact and scrambled around the table to the opposite chair. "I'd rather you didn't, Professor Snape," he said once he'd placed the table between them.
Severus grimaced, then nodded. "My apologies, Mister Potter. I was hoping to facilitate the conversation rather than hinder it. I will obviously not be trying again."
Potter shrugged. "I understand why you did it." He closed his eyes, removed his glasses and scrubbed at his face. "I'm actually impressed you lasted this long. The esteemed Headmaster and Professor Quirrell combined their efforts to give me quite the headache at the Sorting Feast."
Severus leaned back and settled into his seat, watching Potter re-don his glasses. Was that bitterness at the headmaster? And he seemed decidedly resigned about Quirrell. "You may choose to discuss Professor Quirrell, or your Dreamless Sleep habits with me now, Mister Potter."
Potter retrieved his book and thumbed through it absently. Severus waited out the several minutes and three false starts Potter took before he spoke. "I can remember my parents' murder."
Severus really hadn't been expecting that.
"I can remember it from the perspective of the Dark Lord."
Severus sucked in a breath. Potter had called him the Dark Lord—Albus would be horrified. Potter remembered his parents' murder from the Dark Lord's perspective. That was alarming, and indicative of some kind of link between them—Severus was horrified.
The silence had continued far too long. "Would you like to talk about it?" Oh Merlin, this was becoming very awkward.
Potter snorted. "Thank you, Professor. As my head of house you are doing an excellent job of fulfilling my emotional needs. Would you like to know how she died, sir? Lily Evans? I have my own memories of that one, though it's only blurry shapes and voices."
That had regressed far too quickly from sad banter—to downright heartbreaking. Severus didn't know what to say.
Potter was watching him carefully, fingers steepled on the table, offering to share his memories of his mother's murder. "May I ask you a question, Professor? It is offensive in nature, about my mother. You would be doing me a favour." How Slytherin.
Severus thought, then pressed his lips together and nodded jerkily. "What will you give me in return?"
"The memories I mentioned, for you to view in a Pensieve as you please. And a candid discussion about the Dark Lord, Albus Dumbledore and where your oath to me places your loyalties in the Final British Wizarding War."
Potter had once again revealed himself as the boy-who-knew-way-more-than-he-should. It was a generous offer, for a single offensive question asked. "Am I required to answer your question? You are offering quite a lot. As well as raising a lot of questions. You know far more than you ought to, Mister Potter."
Potter shrugged half heartedly, then withdrew an unsealed envelope from his bag. He slid it exactly halfway across the table before settling back into his chair. "One offensive question asked without repercussions. In return, memories of Lily Potter neé Evans' last five minutes from two perspectives. If I receive a sufficient answer, in written format to be burnt immediately after reading, I will be equally thorough in our pending discussion on the coming war and what side we will be on."
Severus reluctantly reached forward and took the envelope. "We, Mister Potter?"
The boy had the audacity to smirk at him as he gathered his belongings and strode briskly for the door. "You made a vow, Professor. Rumour has it, you're a man whose word has worth."
Nobody was supposed to know about that vow, least of all the boy himself. Who had just ducked out the door and closed it gently, leaving Severus to the envelope. Severus had been played, but the knowledge after the fact did not change that it had been a masterful move followed by a tactical retreat.
He unfolded the parchment reluctantly and stared at the words printed there.
What was the nature of your relationship with Lily Evans, and the full extent of your feelings towards Lily Potter?
The boy was absolutely right; without their deal Severus would have been deeply offended. This was probably the question he least wanted to answer—he wasn't even sure if he knew the answer, himself.
The next day during breakfast he received two vials of swirling memories delivered by a Hogwarts owl. They were placed in a hidden alcove in his bookshelf together with Potter's letter, as Severus tried in vain to forget about their existence.
xoxox
I'll be adding chapters fortnightly without editing them further. Feel free to check out my other fics in the meantime, there are more over on ao3. Thank you all for your continued support.