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 12: Yuletide Crocuses

Yule break came and went with a crocus, which Severus had to look up: youthful joy, and 'do not abuse me' left a wide spectrum over which to interpret. Youthful joy made the most sense, so he left it at that.

The remainder of his gift exchange was uneventful, all courtesies more than anything. True to last year's agreement the prank gift war with Minerva had ended. This year's gifts were coincidentally both books, impersonal and leaving Severus feeling suddenly bereft. There had been a sense of camaraderie and mutual affection, and now it was as if they were nothing more than acquaintances gifting out of obligation.

Lucius had sent a spectacular book about apprenticeship written for masters. He barely tore himself away to attend the feast and Yule rituals afterwards.

Even as the students returned he had to admit he did not resent them quite so much, was not quite as exhausted at the week's end as he had been in previous years. There had been no more news of Black and the other Death Eaters in Azkaban. Presumably Lucius had managed to make the fuss die down again.

In fact the year was going well. Many things had worked out unexpectedly to Serverus' advantage. It was unusual, to feel like the fates were favouring him for once. It was so unusual that it made Severus uncomfortable; he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Potter—why did his thoughts constantly go to Potter—was doing well. Slytherin was no longer at war with him, and though he couldn't pinpoint the turning point he had gone from being outright attacked to being respected as King.

The ruling positions were normally fought over tooth and nail, and it wasn't unusual for the crown to shift once a season in a series of scuffles.

But Potter had done something unheard of. He had not fought back. (Perhaps, Severus reminded himself, he had fought. It was just that nobody was talking about it, the literal interpretation of 'unheard of'.)

He could tell Potter was grooming Moon for Queen next year. She was a brilliant fifth year who could have gone into Ravenclaw like her younger sister. Luckily she was also ambitious and had a self-serving mean streak that could keep up with the game of reign.

He hated to say it, but by the Gods he loved the boy—he had the entirety of Slytherin house playing by his rules.

Potter had even opened up his small tutoring sessions to other houses, now held in a seldom used inter-house common room off the library. And miraculously, potions grades were improving across the board as more students knew enough to not make things go boom.

xoxox

Severus' annual chore of electives discussions had begun now that Yule break had passed; he always made sure he was through by Ostara so that the children might consult with their guardians over the break. In the appointed talk with Potter the child revealed he wanted to be signed up to sit the Ancient Runes OWL with the fifth years this summer.

"And you are sufficiently proficient in Ancient Runes to pass the exam without having attended a single of Mistress Babbling's classes?" Severus had sneered automatically.

Potter replied with an incredulous glare. "I'm not sure if I should be insulted that you doubt me or concerned over your lacking perceptiveness," Potter softened his words with a grin and a tacked on, "Master Snape."

Internally, Severus groaned. Of course, this was impossible Potter he was talking about, it was natural he do impossible things like sit OWLs in his first two years of schooling. "I will fill out the paperwork, Mister Potter. And you will present me with an incredible piece of Runic magic so that I may marvel at your brilliance." Potter was thankfully an expert of understanding dry wit, or at least had become one over the course of Severus' mentorship.

"Is there something you need? Preferably wards-based, that is my speciality."

Severus could only blink dumbly. Wards were the most practical but also arguably the more difficult aspect of runic magic, especially because they commanded a broad knowledge of arithmancy as well.

What did Severus need warded? His rooms were safe, although Bathsheba could use a better warded perch in his classroom. But no, that would require a stable field and be far too complex for an OWL student.

"How good are you really, Mister Potter?"

"Beyond NEWT level. If it is possible to ward with runes, I can do it. I know you saw my matrix on September first the last two years."

Seen them? Severus had drooled over Potter's wards this year. He had included Severus' anti-rape net and cast it over the entire wing, saving him at least half an hour that night.

Which was actually a brilliant idea. "Can you make a ward stone so that I do not need to individually add my wards to the rooms?"

Potter furrowed his brow. The quill went from hair to hand, a notebook appearing from seemingly nowhere. "Your anti-rape matrix tied to a stone for a radius net ward. How long will a petition to Professor Dumbledore for the stone budget take? I'll build a few prototypes first of course."

He was already scribbling ideas in his excessively fine print. Severus wondered how long the ever-sharp charm lasted on that quill. With such an unnatural tip it probably required renewing frequently. "How long does your ever-sharp last?"

Severus sighed mentally. He had thought he was over this, randomly blurting his thoughts at Potter.

"Between two and four weeks, Master," Potter was still scribbling. "Do you want your specific matrix or can I take your intent and roll with it?"

This time, Severus actually sighed. The child was too enthusiastic by far. Perhaps teenage-dom would bring with it some sullen listlessness. "Make your prototype, Mister Potter. If I dislike anything we will discuss it then."

"Sir."

Severus watched him scribble, the boy was totally engrossed. It was not his usual notebook, this one uncharmed against people reading over his shoulder. As it was Severus could see a brainstorm turn into several mini-matrices which grew into a four by four.

Potter frowned and crossed out the four by four. "Arithmentically dangerous, having death's number in there," he explained absently. He drew a five by three and had a solution worked out fairly quickly. Severus assumed it was quickly, he had taken out his sixth years' essays and was liberally covering them with deservedly snide comments.

There were less mistakes than usual among the Slytherins'. It was a good sign that the older students were willing to learn from a preteen giving extra classes.

"Alright, this will work," Potter got up suddenly—a tempus showed the allocated half hour for their discussion was just up. "I'll go hunt down a suitable crystal and do some carving. Bye, Master."

Severus mutely took the copied notes Potter offered him. At first glance the matrix looked simple, but that was partly what gave away Potter's skill. Elegance separated a good craftsman from a great one. It seemed the boy had chosen to reveal another piece of his personal mystery to Severus with this. He could have displayed OWL or NEWT proficiency or done his work privately. Instead he had communicated to Severus that he could very well be chasing and attaining a Runes Mastery in his spare time.

Someone was knocking on his door. It was time to call in the next Slytherin.

"Come in, Miss Rowle," Severus greeted. The girl was hopelessly bad at balancing her weight due to an aneurysm while in the womb, she had to work hard for every step to avoid falling over. Her cane, Severus suspected, contained a hidden enchanted mirror that she used for spying around corners. Her mind was sharp as a tack, and she had the attitude that nothing would ever stop her from going anywhere she wanted or doing anything. "Take a seat. Tell me which electives you are considering and why." Hopefully it would be easy safe subjects like Arithmancy and Muggle studies. But this was do-the-impossible-or-die-trying Rowle. She probably wanted Divination and Care, and would leave it to Severus to find a solution for the rickety ladder climb and the treks across grounds to tend to creatures that could knock her over with a breath.

The wind could knock Rowle over with a mild gust.

"I was thinking Divination and Arithmancy," Rowle said, and all Severus could think was, 'at least it isn't Care'.

He had barely managed the last of the third years before Ostara break approached, even using his precious time turner to squeeze the last two in. This was not due to his lack of organisation, but because three students had needed to reschedule their appointments due to a Quidditch accident, a loss in the family and a detention for sneaking into greenhouse three and getting molested by the venomous tentacula. The plant, Pomona was a still complaining weeks later, was now suffering permanent indigestion as a result of consuming one dragon hide glove and a school tie. Pomona was certain a Hufflepuff tie would have been fine, but the Slytherin green was most unbecoming.

Even stoic Minerva was beginning to roll her eyes.

Over Ostara break he decided to finally crack the Defense professor Mordador's perfect facade, subtly stalking him only to find out absolutely nothing of interest. The man ate, worked, slept and was an incorrigible flirt with the younger female professors. He borrowed no suspicious books from the library, he left Hogwarts grounds during normal times for simple things like visiting shops, having a drink at a tavern, meeting with nobody suspicious and on the one occasion where he strayed down Norcturne doing nothing more interesting than visiting a brothel.

Severus went to muggle London for sex, he wasn't going to judge where his colleague got off. Valentine's was known for being above-board, high prices translating to high wages for the staff and safety was important, et cetera. He stopped stalking his colleague after that, resigning himself to accept the man's suspicious perfection.

Pomona's latest drama, now that the tentacula had recovered, was a problem with the Lily Potter scholarship fund. This promptly became everyone's problem, and more specifically Severus'. Because the fund, running since 1992, was now under Lord Harry Potter's purview, and nobody knew how to contact the child.

The young muggleborn Miss Bankhill had failed to meet the grade requirement for continued scholarship, but there were extenuating circumstances. This first year girl needed the money desperately as she'd completely outgrown her robes and shoes, and in a flying class had fallen from her broom only to snap her wand. The girl was apparently an emotional wreck, of which he was certain second hand accounts were perfectly sufficient.

Secondhand clothes were just as good theoretically, but Severus saw the difference it made especially to the poor children to have sparkling new things for the first time. Clothes that fit and perfect crisp quills and parchment. Most importantly of all, shiny new shoes. The way the children could grin over owning fitting shoes filled Severus with a quiet simmering happiness. The first years new to the sensation could often be seen checking on their feet randomly throughout the day. And there was no fund for wands, which could cost between five and twenty-five galleons for the government subsidised first wand. A second wand could cost ten times as much.

His efforts to write to Potter failed as expected, the school owl doing nothing more than circling the owlery once before landing with a bark.

Bathsheba wasn't yet very good at delivering notes to the apothecary in Hogsmeade, and if Potter was in Brazil he knew the bat would likely kill itself on the journey. Bats weren't used as post owls for a reason, especially not internationally.

Pomona's forms to Gringotts kept returning cancelled, and Severus could not believe the bureaucracy standing in the way of this girl's tuition. There had to be a way to find his apprentice before Pomona went mad and tore her straw hat apart in fussy worry.

Frustrated, Severus turned to scrying. Hairs proved impossible to find, not even by the house elf who could enter Potter's warded rooms.

The dark ritual involving invoking magic's name proved fruitless, covering the map in a puddle of wax twisted in unnatural, gravity-defying ways and leaving Severus' skin and soul feeling tainted. And the toxic addictive rush lingered in his veins, egging him to cast more, cast again, feel like this all the time, subjugate them all, the world at his feet, he was unstoppable—

Another ritual removed the dark magic's grippy tendrils from him, finished off by a ritualistic bleeding and a hot bath. The call of the magic he ignored with his usual stubbornness.

The final attempt he made was over the strand of connectedness between him and his apprentice, able to convey to each other that they were alive and that the promise between them was unfinished. A scrying spell tied thereto should wield something though. A sense of country and continent, at the very least, but if he was lucky an image would appear in his mind's eye which he might Apparate to if the distance wasn't too great.

The ritual took two hours and the result thereof was a massive, skull clutching headache and his stomach violently emptying itself. As a means of communicating with his apprentice, Severus mentally ranked the ritual just under underwater yodelling.

The next day a transatlantic express owl arrived, delivering its letter to Severus with aloof dignity before ravishing an entire plate of kippers.

Master Snape,
Somebody has been scrying me over the past two days. Is Prof. VAM behaving suspiciously? Or the Headmaster?
I am worried for my safety at Hogwarts the coming term. This was dark magic by someone very determined to find me. What do you recommend I do? Should I return to the castle or stay away?
Your faithful apprentice,
Harry Potter, Lord of houses Potter and Black

Severus groaned into his coffee, almost missing the thornapple—disguise, his mind translated—that had rolled onto his plate.

At least he had an owl now. "Rest," he told the bird. "I will have a return letter for you tonight."

Giving no further indication of understanding it unfolded its massive wingspan and took off.

Mister Potter
It was I who attempted to scry you. You will continue to be as safe at Hogwarts as you were before. I expect to see you returning for the third term.
There is a problem concerning a recipient of the LP Scholarship fund, which you now reside over as Lord Potter. The student's requested supplies fund desperately needs to be transferred in time for the next term.
You left no method to contact you.
Regards, Potions Master Severus Snape

xoxox

Master Snape
A letter given to Gringotts goblins for a house's Lord will reach them, as we always leave a forwarding address. It is never a good idea to be unavailable to the goblins, as this is precisely the time essential correspondence concerning large sums of money will be missed. One could almost think they do it on purpose.
You need to tell me name and year of the student for me to get the goblins to pass the right file along.
I am in Australia, but will be moving to Canada tomorrow. Correspondence times will drastically decrease.
Do not pay the owl, he is beastly fast but likes to swindle.
Yours, Lord H. Potter

xoxox

Lord H. Potter
The student's name is Bankhill, Bethany. Her single mother cannot afford tuition. Her brother has fallen ill and it has been taking its toll on the child. Pomona assures all is being handled to ensure she passes the end of year exams to join the second years come September.
The scholarship does not allow students to fail more than five class assessments during the year, be they tests or assignments. You personally graded her performance as 'Poor' for the first and second terms' potions tests. It also does not cover the cost of a new wand.
Do not become overly jet-lagged. As my apprentice I expect you to be at nothing less than your best.
Regards,
S. Snape, Hogwarts Potions Master

The next day Pomona received a letter that made her squeak and clap happily. "Mister Potter has taken care of it," she gushed happily to anyone who cared to eavesdrop. "He is even writing to let Miss Bankhill know, but I think I'll pop over anyway, with lunch, to see how they're all doing."

Severus pretended not to care, though he was really just happy Pomona was happy again. She was the bubble that buoyed all of their moods, and her stress had made them all realise how much they needed her to keep them from bickering.

Pomona came to see him after dinner bearing playing cards and poker chips. He let her in reluctantly, refusing her offer to set up a game. "Mister Potter didn't just write to Bethany to let her know," she broke her news like an egg to make an omelette. "Your apprentice found out what her brother Graham is sick with somehow, I don't know how muggle medicine works, and sent some kind of expert over to take a look at the boy. He has a private room now and they are all suddenly really excited about his prospects of getting better. I don't understand it, but it looks very promising. Fancy green logos and all that rot."

Severus knew a bit about muggle medicine, enough to know bone cancer in a six year old should not be good anything. This was supposed to be beyond muggle medicine's ability to fix, and the boy's status as muggle meant magical medication couldn't do more than poison him. "What was the name of the muggle expert?"

"Oh, he had the most excellent name, Floral something. Doctor Floral Ortees. Very handsome and around your age if you want to pop over for a visit tomorrow?" She winked lewdly.

The scandal of it! Pomona was supposed to be the prude prune in a straw hat, that she resembled.

Severus would visit tomorrow, but for a different reason entirely. He had heard of a Flores Ortiz, and the man wasn't a muggle doctor at all.

xoxox

"This is experimental," The doctor was explaining. "Preliminary testing looks good but nothing has been done on children before. There is always a risk, but with experimental medicine the risk is especially high. I insist you think carefully before you sign."

Severus had timed his arrival perfectly to coincide with the doctor's arrival without having to talk with the family. He had done this by lurking under glamour and Legilimising several members of staff. Most were in some way awe-struck by the fancy man from Brazil—his identity as a Brazilian wizard explained how Potter knew to contact the man, at least.

His jig was up. Flores-Ortiz was standing before his disillusioned self, pretending to fetch a cup of swill from the vending machine. His hair neatly tied back and his face was average to the point of being forgettable. "Hello," he greeted warmly. "My name is Leonardo Flores-Ortiz. Master of warding on the magical side, with a muggle doctor of oncology on the muggle side. And you are?"

The disillusionment shuddered off like soggy cereal down his back. "Severus Snape, one of Miss Bankhill's professors."

They shook hands cordially. "I admire your work with healing potions, Master Snape."

"And I admire yours with the lethifolds," Severus countered. He truly did, though he'd had to raid Lucius' private library about South America to find the mentions he had been looking for. Apparently most of the South American continent had had a monumental lethifold problem, with no real way to defend against the monsters besides prayer and Patronus charms. For his mastery project Flores-Ortiz had invented a ward that permanently killed the beasts and cast it on their breeding ground. Henceforth an entire culture which had arisen around possible imminent death from being eaten by a lethifold was upheaved, these people able to feel safe for the first time in their lives.*

"It was the Gods' work," the man replied calmly. "I was only the tool wielded by a higher power."

Severus swallowed awkwardly, unsure what to say to that. After all his reading he was slightly in awe of this man, only to find he had read Severus' own work and was a slightly nutty believer. His expectations, vague though they had been, were now unsettlingly broken.

He'd been prepared to hate the man for meddling, or quiz him incessantly about his knowledge of Potter and his guardian. Instead he was staring—glaring—with a stupid expression on his face. Severus promptly blinked, blanking his expression.

"Are you here for any particular reason, or was it just to stalk your student and her brother from afar?"

"I was just leaving," Severus decided aloud. "It is good of you to help the boy."

"You know how it is, the world of favours owed from man to magic and from man to man. I am benefiting equally. Farewell, Master Snape. Well met. I will remember you."

Severus nodded sternly, spun on his heel and left. It was a dead end he had ended up heading down, but a quick disillusionment allowed him to exit back the way he came with his dignity intact.

Flores-Ortiz winked at him as he passed by, and Severus wished he hadn't come.

Over dinner that night he realised the more he thought about it, the less he could remember any of Flores-Ortiz' features, only his muggle white coat and shimmering leather briefcase, his serious square glasses and tied-back hair. But for the life of him he couldn't recall eye or hair colour, or even the shape of his face. Had he had bushy eyebrows?

Severus thought none of this odd, instead reverse engineering a face from what he imagined the average Brazilian man might look like and overwriting it seamlessly in his mind.

The usual crisp, guarded memories Severus kept bled into a homogeneous mass over the next days until he could barely recall having visited the hospital at all. The Bankhills had a reason to hope, that was all that mattered. And there had been something about Lethifolds, and a promise of remembrance in a world where everything was temporary.

Ostara break ended before Severus had properly realised it had begun, filled with hectic tasks from beginning to end.

Potter's return was welcome, a tether now for Severus' fraying sanity. He had felt, partway through the break as if it he and his usual aplomb had been attached only by a very long gossamer string and it had left him feeling off-centre and rather drifty.

Their regular meetings, the satisfaction of seeing the young teen's progress reasserted his place in the world to himself. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he was a Master of Potions, nothing more, nothing less.

Stalking Mordador and Flores-Ortiz had been daft of him, he realised as he watched Potter take notes and let the prattle wash over him without properly listening. The last time he had thought to stalk someone he had accidentally hurt his friend Mark. They'd made up mid-January and everything had gone back to how it was before, but still he wished the entire thing had never happened. No matter the quality of the blowjob.

Dark scrying magic just to locate someone for Pomona was also risky and out of character for himself. How had he grown to care so much for some Hufflepuff? Just because Pomona was frantic didn't mean he had to lose his own head as well. Next time, he decided, Severus would check if his actions were true to his character before taking them.

Except, who was his character really?

He was acerbic, incisive and sarcastic. He was not a kind, nurturing man.

He ruled his classroom and his house with an iron fist. He tolerated no nonsense.

He was a Slytherin, who lived and breathed their motto of Slytherins take care of their own.

He had been a Death Eater, believed in the Dark Lord's cause, believed in the need for reform and anarchy in the bloated, corrupt, stagnating officiating government.

He had betrayed his beliefs for a woman who had never loved him back: switched to the other side, betrayed his friends, abandoned Regulus while he himself joined sides with the Black brother who had tried to kill him.

His entire life so far was an amalgam of his ability to make exactly the wrong decisions.

There was unfortunately nothing much redeemable about him.

Who was Severus Snape? How did he have friends at all? Certainly it was not on his merit but rather a result of their tenacity and bull-headed stubbornness.

I see you, Mark had said to him. You are a good man.

Severus had his doubts about that, but looking at his apprentice, diligent and growing right before his eyes, he knew that no matter what, teaching Potter was something he could be proud of.

xoxox

*From Blue Maple's 'Boy With the Kaleidoscope Eyes' over on AO3, with permission.