Harry woke groggily the next day, weak, but much better than he'd felt in days. By the time he finished rumbling around with his glasses and shoved them onto his face, he was confronted with about a dozen potions, which he downed with barely enough time to breathe. The hand that replaced the empty bottles with full ones was calloused and sure. The person connected to the hand was equally calloused, his face settled in a permanent grimace.
"Potter, you are to take these potions twice a day, every day. You may come here or to my office after breakfast and after dinner. Is that clear?" Snape cleared away the bottles.
"Yes, professor," Harry said, fidgeting a little. The events of yesterday came crashing down on him all at once and he felt his ears redden with embarrassment. They sat in awkward silence until Harry cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry I threw up on your shoes." Snape actually let out a guffaw that sounded something like a laugh.
"Potter, you did not throw up on my shoes. You do, however, owe me new bedsheets. You threw up on those and passed out." Harry actually snickered. Snape saw the tension creep away from Harry's shoulders and spoke gently. "I didn't tell Dumbledore." Harry's head snapped up before snapping back to his hands.
"I had to tell someone."
"I know, Harry, and I am grateful that you chose to confide in me. Madam Pomfrey and I will not tell anyone you don't want to know, but you must understand that the situation is a bit more complicated."
"What's complicated, sir?"
"As teachers, we are legally obligated to report this matter to the ministry. However, for your safety, it is not a good idea to report your case for fear of attracting unwanted attention from many bad people who wish you harm. There are wards around your relatives' home that require you to live there for at least a few weeks to remain active. Afterwards, you can go where you please."
"You-you mean I don't have to stay there?" Harry was shocked beyond words. He'd never even considered it, the possibility of leaving the Dursleys'. Having no friends or contact with the outside world tended to do that. Harry trembled with excited energy at the revelation, causing Snape to place a steadying hand on his back.
"As long as you are discreet, then yes, you can leave and perhaps stay with a friend and no one else has to know."
"I-that-that sounds wonderful."
After their conversation, Snape left and Harry slept once more for a few hours and woke again to an armful of Hermione Granger, who bowled into Harry's arms like a cannon ball made of brown hair. Gasping for air, he pleaded for help from Ron and Draco, who stood off to the side.
"Sorry mate, I think you're stuck," Ron said as he shrugged.
"Oh come off it, Potter. Let her smother you with gratitude for your heroics," Draco said, nodding sagely at his own advice.
In his arms, Hermione was squealing something like, "Oh, Harry, they told me you killed the troll and got hurt because of me. Are you okay? Why have you been asleep this whole time? I thought you died!"
"I didn't die, Hermione," he chuckled, extricating himself from the blubbering mess that was Hermione, "I'm just tired and starved. You lot bring me any food? I hope there's still some spinach left over from lunch."
"Talk now, food later, Harry," Draco laughed, plopping down at the foot of the bed.
"Yeah, Harry, the whole school's gone nutters trying to find out how you took down a fully grown troll," Ron said, plopping down on the other side, "The rumors are saying you either mastered the killing curse or flew at it with a knife and slit its throat."
"Oh good Merlin, really," he grouched, "It was accidental magic, alright? Can the rumor mill stop milling now?"
"Of course not, Harry," Draco said smugly, "The rumor mill can't be stopped by the truth. That's preposterous. Your heroics are going to be the talk of the school until you graduate."
"Or until you do something else that's stupid and idiotic like taking on a fully grown mountain troll," Hermione said, punching his arm.
"Hey! What happened to the gratitude?" Harry said, rubbing his sore arm. At that, Hermione was blubbering in his arms again.
"I still don't see why you think any of this is a bad thing, Potter," Draco said, examining his nails.
"It's because he's not a ponce, git," Ron said, smacking him playfully.
"All of you are mental," Harry groaned, flopping back into the pillows.
The entire school hushed when Harry entered the Great Hall at dinner. Harry could feel hundreds of eyes settling on him as he creeped over to his usual spot at the Gryffindor table. While chatter resumed when he sat, he still felt wary and continuously dodged question after question from his house mates. After he fought off the last of the questions, he noticed that a bowl of soup and a modest pile of bread appeared before him. Raising an eyebrow, he looked to Snape at the staff table and found him staring at him with one side of his mouth quirked in a weird semi-grin. The professor winked before turning his head back to Quirrell, who was muttering something quietly to him. Scoffing into his soup, Harry returned to his dinner and his adoring fanbase.
The next morning, Harry sat with Ron Hermione in the main courtyard, their noses stuck in Quidditch Through the Ages. A pale hand grabbed the book just as another pressed a note into Harry's hand.
"Library books are not to be taken from the castle, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape quipped as he billowed away.
"Blimey, what's his problem," Ron huffed. Harry shrugged.
Following the note's instructions, Harry made his way up to Flitwick's office after dinner and was surprised to find not two, but three professors waiting for him, two of which were perched comically on goblin-sized leather armchairs. He couldn't suppress a giggle. Quirrell squirmed while Snape, unphased, crossed his arms and gave him a warning glare. Harry stifled his giggles and greeted his teachers. "Hello professors, what is it you need from me?"
"Mr. Potter," Flitwick squealed in delight, "Come, sit. Would you like a biscuit?"
"Tea only, Potter. Do remember that he is on a schedule Flitwick. Biscuits and the like would be most unwise." Harry raised an eyebrow. Flitwick knew?
"So sorry, Severus," Flitwick squeaked only half apologetically. Once Harry was settled, he continued. "Do you recall leaving my classroom quite late in the afternoon on Halloween, Harry?" Harry's eyes bugged out.
"Professor, I-that was-"
"N-none of t-that now, H-harry. I c-cornered him before he could tell anyone about it," Quirrell stuttered, speech impediment back with full force.
"Yes, he confronted me yesterday and asked about your progress in my class. I must say I had not anticipated that you would have an affinity for dark magic. Don't worry, I know how that might look to people who don't understand and I have sworn myself to secrecy. As a fellow wielder of darker magic, your secret is safe with me." Harry thought he might be dreaming. Flitwick? Dark magic? Yes, it was definitely a dream.
"Don't look at me like that," he continued, "Goblins traditionally have a firmer grasp of the darker arts, what with the rebellions and all. I'm more curious about you, dear child. How on earth did you get all those feathers to float unaided in my classroom?"
"Yes, Potter, do enlighten us," drawled Snape from his too-small chair. Harry raked a hand through his hair, listening to the floaters in his head muddle over the decision to reveal his secrets. "You can trust him, Harry," Snape continued, "He's taken a wizard's oath. This is all for the sake of educating you in controlling your magic, as we discussed."
Harry huffed frustratedly and, since the cat was out of the bag anyway, waved his hand and transfigured all of the chairs in the office into giant neon beanbags he'd seen in Dudley's room. The 90's were a confusing time.
"MERLIN'S BEARD," Flitwick squeaked, sinking deeply into the electric pink beanbag he sat on, "WANDLESS, SILENT TRANSFIGURATION." Snape was just as dumbfounded, staring open-mouthed at the eleven year old before him. Quirrell's eyes were bugged out and his chin was pulled back into his neck. His hands groped around the bean bag and his body was shock still as if he were afraid of the neon green polyester encasing his body.
"T-that certainly is impressive, P-potter," he muttered. Harry wondered if he was having a nervous breakdown. They spoke extensively on exactly what Harry did and did not already know, realizing quickly that while he possessed tremendous raw power, he did not understand much of magical theory and lacked a comprehensive spell vocabulary. In the interest of academics, Flitwick gleefully offered to join Quirrell in filling in Harry's educational gaps. Snape led Harry out of the tiny office and down to his own office to give him his potions for the day.
"Professor Flitwick was practically falling over his own feet to teach you, Harry. You must be pleased," Snape said, eyeing Harry from the corner of his eye.
"I am," he replied, head bent in embarrassment, "but I don't think I want him squealing with joy every time I see him. My secret would be out by breakfast tomorrow." Snape grunted in agreement. Harry dutifully took his potions, grimacing and the taste as usual, but swallowing without complaint.
"Honestly Potter, they're potions, not spinach puree," Snape drawled, taking in Harry's expression.
"I happen to like spinach," he replied, "and that is not spinach." Snape only rolled his eyes.
"Professor," Harry said, eyeing Snape's limp as he made his way to the potions cupboard, "Why are you limping?"
"I was attacked by a flea-bitten mongrel, if you must know," Snape huffed.
"Was it the three headed dog and did it happen on Halloween when Quirrell let the troll out of the third-floor corridor?" Harry was blunt. Snape spun on his heel and fixed Harry with a squinty glare. "Whatever you might be thinking of in that brain of yours, it's wrong. Quirrell was performing routine maintenance with me when the bumbling idiot lost control of the troll who then sicked the dog on me." Harry looked doubtful.
"Why does Quirrell want the Philosopher's Stone," he said, unphased.
"How did you know?"
"Uh books, duh." That wasn't exactly true. He remembered something from the back of a chocolate frog card in conjunction with the weird package with the spinny magic lines and his new copy of Hogwarts: A History.
"As suspicious as he might be acting," Snape said, pinching his nose, "Quirrell is genuine in his desire to help you. He is protecting the stone within this school until it can be moved. He won't do you any harm. If that proves untrue, you will leave him to me. None of what you discovered is to be shared outside of this room. Is that clear, Mr. Potter?"
"Yes, professor." He wasn't lying again, exactly, he only slightly nudged Hermione and Ron towards the answer to what lay under the trap door by the dog's feet. His visits with Snape went along similar lines, only with fewer subjects that would stop Snape's heart on a good day. One evening, however, Harry surprised Snape by bringing Draco along for one of his visits.
"Godfather, why didn't you tell me Harry was into dark magic and that you were giving him nutritive potions to treat the malnourishment and abuse under the hands of his relatives?" Draco was as blunt as Harry, a trait that Severus wasn't sure rubbed off on Draco from Harry or the other way around.
"Draco, it is simply because it is a matter of Harry's privacy and subsequently none of your business," he groused, bracing himself for another migraine. "Did you tell him?" He directed the question at Harry.
"No, you just did," Harry sighed back, equally fatigued by Draco's way with words.
"I knew it," Draco said triumphantly before punching Harry in the arm. "That's for not telling me yourself."
"Hey, I didn't want to trouble you with any of this...stuff."
"We're family, Harry. I'm pissed you didn't tell me." Harry looked at him quizzically.
"Don't tell me you didn't know," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, as smart as you are, you can be quite dense. Look, Dorea Potter, your paternal grandmother, was my maternal grandfather's sister. We are totally related." Harry's eyes bugged out. He wasn't sure if he was happy, shocked, or crestfallen at that point.
"Draco," Snape clucked, "Be careful with Harry's delicate constitution. You should know that all pureblood families are practically related to each other. Draco, you're distantly related to Weasley, who is technically from a pureblood family. I don't see you formally claiming him as your kin."
"Oh yuck, Severus. Low blow."
Harry's lessons with Flitwick and Quirrell were challenging, but mostly a lot of book work, which he was happy to do. Not wanting to stress his still developing magical core, they paced his spellwork according to what his body could handle. This included rudimentary spells that were up to par with third year standards. Beyond that, they taught a lot of magical theory, which Harry was able to pick up quickly with the help of the floaters' gift. Quirrell was a capable, but distant instructor who seemed to care for his advancement, but was erratic and quick to scold. He also took up the task of educating him on dark magic's history, stuttering the whole way through Grindelwald. When they got to Voldemort, however, the stutter was strangely absent.
"Voldemort was shrewd politician and a genius," he said, eyes taking on a strange, frenzied light. "With Dumbledore's restructuring of the Ministry after the defeat of Grindelwald, all dark magic was stigmatized despite its historic use to aid the wizarding world. Suddenly, Merlin was being touted as a light wizard simply because he was more powerful and all practitioners of the dark arts were wrongfully arrested. People flocked to Voldemort's side as magic itself was being phased out. More territory was being given over to the muggles as a measure of so-called protection for muggles against the dangers of magic. Where once magic was used freely, every move anyone made could cause mass panic over the return of dark magic. Harry, every dark spell out there once had legitimate uses in wizarding society, even the killing curse that gave you that scar. It offered painless, humane deaths to people in great pain nearing the end of their lives. That is why I say that dark magic is not inherently evil. It is all about intent."
"Sir," Harry said slowly, "what about the mass killings and blood purity nonsense? Was that part of the dark lord's agenda? It doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't because it wasn't," Quirrell answered too quickly, "Something happened to Voldemort at the height of his popularity. Blood purity has valid origins in the protection of the magical world from discovery by muggles. Inter-breeding creates security risks and the dark lord advocated strongly for better regulation of muggle relations, not this blood purity nonsense people talk about today. If muggles found out about magic and decided to use it for themselves, worse things than nuclear war could happen."
"If his reasoning was so justified, what happened to him? What started the war?"
Quirrell eyed him silently. "That would be telling, Mr. Potter."
On another evening, it was Snape's turn to give Harry a heart attack. "I knew your mother," Snape said, as Harry finished the last of the day's potions. Harry felt his heart clench at the professor's tone.
"I know," he said quietly, "That thing about the asphodel and the wormwood? Figured it out." Snape grunted, as if to say, "I should have known".
"She was my greatest friend and the day she died was the saddest in all my life."
"What was she like?"
"Kind. Beautiful. Cheeky. A lot like you, really." Harry snorted.
"I'm touched, professor. You think I'm beautiful?" Harry batted his eyelashes at him.
"That insufferable snark, you got from your father."
"You knew him too? I take it you didn't like him very much."
"No, I hated him, actually."
"For taking mum away?"
"Among other things."
Harry could feel that Snape was hiding something that he was too afraid to tell, but Harry decided not to push it. He didn't expect Snape to cave first, however.
"I need to show you something, but you must promise to see it through to the end and know that you might hate me after this." Snape looked genuinely afraid. Without warning, Harry was hit with a wave of memories transmitted through legilimency. He saw the prophecy, Snape handing it over to Voldemort, Snape begging that Lily be spared, the promise he made after her death to protect him. When he emerged, he was on the floor, being watched warily by Snape. As the tears coursed down his cheeks, he reached out for him and was immediately met with a fierce, fatherly embrace from the man who was the unwitting cause of his parents' demise. He wasn't angry, only sad for all that the both of them had endured.
"I forgive you," he said, meeting Snape's watery eyes. Snape floundered, not knowing what else to say.
"Your eyes, Harry. They're your mother's. I wanted to hate you for owning them, but I couldn't. It means...much to me that you do not look upon me with hate with those eyes."
It was this incident that Harry, the youngest seeker in a century, was preoccupied with on the day of the first quidditch match. Honestly, he saw the snitch earlier because he could see its magical line darting about the field. He was too distracted to notice that idiot of a captain shove him or that his broom was being cursed. Too fed up with himself to care for his own safety, he threw himself off the broom and swallowed the stupid snitch on accident. It wasn't a flattering way to win, but it was a win and the school with the exception of Slytherin agreed with him. Malfoy, the youngest Slytherin seeker in a century, was miffed at first, but he soon recovered, stating, "I don't want to touch something that's been in your mouth, Potter. Thanks for offering to let me hold it anyway." Despite Hermione's insistence that the culprit behind the cursing was Snape, Harry firmly insisted that it wasn't, knowing what he knew. His broom was wrapped in a malignant magical signature that didn't belong to anyone he could recognize. Looking around the stadium, he caught Quirrell's eye and felt a sudden prickling sensation in his scar. Somehow, he got the impression that it wasn't Quirrell he was looking at anymore. A passerby broke his line of sight and the moment was gone. Shrugging, Harry trotted off to celebrate his victory with his friends.