Chapter 15
When she showed up to lunch without Draco attached, the table cheered. They did ask her what happened with the Malfoys once they left, but all she said is that after talking to his parents, Draco had apologized sincerely and that was that. It was a boring story but that meant she didn't have to say it a lot for people to stop asking.
Things went back to normal. Church on Sunday was always a little hard with Professor Snape, but Saturdays brewing with him were much more educational and fun. She did her best to maintain the small ties she'd had with Slytherin by dragging Cedric over to sit with her and Anthony every so often – the Hufflepuff really diffused whatever hostility was at the table, so she felt better sitting there if he was present.
But then, a few days later, she was in her Transfiguration class when a familiar flush of magic went through her. Her hand was up in the air in an instant.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
She couldn't help but bounce. "Umm, can I go into the hall for a minute?"
Professor McGonagall and the rest of the class looked at her bizarrely. "Do you need to use the facilities?"
"No, no!" Hermione blushed. "That's not it at all. I-"
"Then may I continue the lesson?" said her teacher with pursed lips. "I trust you can still pay attention?"
"Ma'am, please, it's not that," Hermione insisted, barely staying in her seat. She could feel the tug becoming tighter and she knew what was coming. "If I can just look out the door—"
Too late. The door opened magically on its own and a platinum blond stumbled into the room. Hermione rushed forward to keep him from being pulled through the desks and Draco glared at her with only his half-dose of his usual venom.
"What did you do now?" Hermione huffed. She couldn't help but feel disappointed in him. It had only been a few days and the castle had decided he needed to be put back with her. Couldn't he behave?
Draco didn't dare yell in front of the Deputy Headmistress, but he still sneered.
Hermione turned to McGonagall. "Professor, I think I should go with Malfoy. Can I be excused so we can get this taken care of?"
The stern Transfiguration Mistress pursed her lips. "Mr. Malfoy, what is your current class?"
"Pfmsgfnm," Draco mumbled incomprehensibly.
Hermione knew though. "Potions, ma'am."
"Then I suggest the pair of you return there," she sniffed and cast a disapproving eye on Draco. "If Mr. Malfoy in some way broke school rules, I am certain Professor Snape will apprise you of the situation."
Hermione bowed quickly. "Thank you, thank you, we'll go now."
She dragged Malfoy from the room.
"I thought we were done with this nonsense," Malfoy huffed. "That spell dragged me halfway across the castle!"
"And what did you do?" She assessed him carefully.
"I, no, well," he sputtered, "it's not like I did anything bad. Potter was just—"
Hermione drew her palm down her face. "Of course you just had to fight Harry again."
"We didn't fight!" Malfoy drew up stiffly. "Potions are tricky, and if another ingredient somehow ends up in the cauldron …. We can just call it a bit of payback."
"For?"
Malfoy pursed his lips and remained silent.
Hermione guessed it immediately. "Please tell me it's not about being on the Quidditch team."
Malfoy sneered. "That's not my only reason. Potter is the most self-righteous, annoying –"
"Maybe he can afford to be self-righteous since he doesn't go around harassing people!" Hermione asserted, then sighed. "Well, might as well get this over with. Are you ready to apologize?"
His eyes went wide. "Apologize?!"
"Well, how else do you think this will go away?" Hermione demanded, hands on hips. "I mean, really, you know what you did was wrong. Harry has a hard enough time in Potions as it is and you sabotaging him is just cruel when he has to try so hard. Aren't you a little bit sorry?"
"It's Potter," Draco sneered. "He deserved it."
"And you deserve every single detention we still have with Professor Snape," Hermione reminded him primly, making the boy red with shame. "Potions is difficult for him right now; does it make you feel better to make it worse? That's horrible. I thought we decided you'd stop being so mean."
His eyes flashed, but despite his stiff spine he gave a unenthusiastic nod.
"Does that mean …?"
Draco strode forward. "Let's just get this out of the way, shall we?"
Together, the pair strode into Snape's first year Slytherin/Gryffindor Potions Class. He was cleaning up some mishap with an overturned cauldron that Malfoy looked on with a look that told her he had done that as he was dragged from the room.
"Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger," Professor Snape greeted with a curl. "Why am I not surprised?"
Instead of responding, Hermione nudged Draco forward. He gave her a seething glare, but still walked right up to Harry and stood proudly above his station.
"Potter," Hermione could hear him hold back his usual sneer, "of course the castle would be on your side too." Draco waved her off before she could intervene. "I suppose I can find another way to challenge you besides making your abysmal potions worse. Kicking a man when he's down is … not fair play. I apologize."
Always a prickly apologizer, Hermione thought as the magic released her, but at least he means it.
"Seriously?" Weasley gaped.
Draco didn't stick around, heading back to his seat. Professor Snape ignored the whole scene and turned to her. "Miss Granger, don't you have Transfiguration?"
She bounced and smiled up at him, making most of the room gape. "We're not doing anything special today, just a lecture on theory before turning teapots into tortoises. Do you need any help with ingredients? You had a new shipment of dittany the other day, right? I could hang some to dry, and then prepare it to distill."
"Am I never to be rid of Gryffindors?" he snarked, banishing the offending cauldron to the sink. "I have enough dried dittany. Go shred and steep the batch in the back for distilling. But if I find you anywhere near the distilling equipment—"
"You'll feed me to the werewolves, I know," she laughed and bounced to the back closet.
Harry, Ron, Neville, and every other first-year student watched her go with fascination. Who was Hermione Granger, and why wasn't she afraid of Snape?
So whenever Draco needed a reminder of his lessons, she ended up tied to him from anywhere to 30 minutes to a few hours while she and he worked through his behaviour together. Hermione found out she was actually pretty good at giving advice. And Draco, it seemed, was alright with her giving it after his parents had given the okay.
Speaking of his parents, she wished she could bring the twins up to the girls' dorm, because the chest the Malfoy's had given her was amazing. There was a ladder inside the lid that led down to a small library. It was the size of the top floor of her house, with a fireplace and sitting area and about a dozen wooden shelves. Some of them were full, but Hermione found a note on the armchair's side table that explained the two empty shelves.
The books are yours, however the empty shelves for your future purchases. I trust you will not have trouble filling them in the future. As for the fireplace, should you wish to use it as a floo you will need to open the chimney, as it is currently closed. There is floo powder in the cabinet to the right. The name you will call to return to it is "Hermione's Library". It's lucky your name is so unique, or I might have needed something more creative.
– Lucius Malfoy
Daedalus always came down with her when she went into the chest, there for cuddles. Hermione would have spent a lot of time down there if Professor Snape wasn't looking out for her like her parents would have. Many, many times he enforced her agreement to take part in all the school's activities: meals, Quidditch games, and even the frog choir. That wasn't necessarily his doing, but Professor Flitwick had walked into the Professor's classroom to speak about detention for his Ravens and had caught her humming over a potion. Professor Flitwick promptly asked her Professor for permission to enlist her and had whisked her away once a week to sing with the choir. Since it saved her from detention with Draco – no matter how pleasant the detention – it was more than welcome.
It wasn't just him keeping her from lying low in her chest; the twins were pulling her away to do animagus meditations regularly, and then she was pulled to their corner to do homework together.
They threw a birthday party for her in the Gryffindor Common Room. She got a few gifts from her friends – hairbands, books, dental potions(that one was from Alicia – she was the one who made fun of her flossing instead of using spells) – but the best gifts actually came from Mrs Malfoy and Professor Snape:
Mrs Malfoy followed up on her promise to get her that potion from America, and it worked. When she showed Professor Snape her now perfect curls and the potion he said that the potion took account of her magic when the hair was placed in it. Her hair had never been less frizzy or more perfect, and she'd never been more excited to send a thank you letter.
And Professor Snape told her he didn't give presents to students, but he did actively seek her out and hand her a new Potions book that day with a stern command of, "Read this if you want to improve beyond the confines of that unserviceable textbook." She was so happy she hugged him and earned another shout of "MISS GRANGER!"
The day after her birthday she brought one of the animagus books in her Malfoy trunk to Fred and George and showed them the animagus meditation poses. It was supposed to help them narrow down their animal until their body knew what their magic felt akin to. She remembered a few of them from a friend of the family who had shown them tai chi at a church event – eagle, tiger, monkey, dragon – but there were more. It seemed to narrow everything down though.
The three of them met under the stadium bleachers and did their exercises together to see if they could find their animal. The twins favoured the bird poses, clearly showing they were going to have some kind of wings. Hermione felt more comfortable on all fours, but she didn't think she had fangs or claws from the non-aggressive nature of the poses she chose. A four-legged herbivore? There were tonnes of those around, though, so she had no idea.
When the beginning of October rolled around, their mandrake leaves were set to put into their potions. They would each have twelve doses ready of animagus potion. If, after twelve months, they didn't have a form yet they would have to start all over the next year with a new mandrake leaf.
Under the bleachers again, the three of them sat cross-legged in a little triangle with their first doses in hand. The twins' both had a blue-ish hue to their otherwise brown drink, while Hermione's just looked dark and almost burnt with the swirls of black running through it.
"You're sure Lee doesn't mind?" Hermione deflected quickly, hoping to put off the inevitable. "It's pretty big."
"Granger, we're not Lee's only friends, you know," Fred pointed out. "He has fans-"
"And friends –"
"And the occasional girlfriend –"
"And he doesn't really care what mischief we cook up."
"Besides…." Both twins gave her a wicked grin, "We like having a secret with you."
The blush on her face didn't last long, because the twins immediately uncorked their vials. "Ready?"
She hurried to uncork hers too. "Ready."
"One, two, three!"
The dirt-flavoured potion was chugged down in seconds and vials discarded to centre of their triangle. Each of them closed their eyes and tried to focus on their meditations.
"Please not a bat, please not a bat." George chanted under his breath.
Fred susurrated a laugh under his breath. "Or a chicken."
That one earned a sharp laugh from her that she promptly choked back. "SHHHH! Focus!"
Both twins giggled for a second longer, but another glare from her and they quieted down with a pat on her head.
Still, the month past and neither she nor the twins had made themselves even partially transform. She reassured herself that it was normal for those really good at Transfiguration, like Professor McGonagall, to not get it for a year. At least the mandrake leaf wasn't in her mouth anymore and the potion was drunk. She'd just continue to try with the meditations (and her personal prayer, of course).
Sunday nights after church she always came back to the messiest common room of the week, packed with last-minute homework frenzies. The twins had slowly moved over from their corner to sit with Harry and Ron and Neville who she now regularly helped and who helped her if there were things she'd missed by skipping the first year.
But no matter how many times she helped Harry, the complaints about Professor Snape never improved. That first essay she'd helped with had come back with a large, red 'DREADFUL' written right across the top, and it never changed. They would be working on Potions homework and when she asked him about his grade that week he would thrust a scroll at her that was covered in red and slashed with either a 'P' or a 'D'. And Ron would start the verbal complaint, after which Harry would finish with a declaration of innocence.
"I didn't even do anything!" "There was nothing wrong with it!" "Goyle got an A!" "You even helped me with all of it, and he still gave me a 'Poor'!"
Everyone in the Tower had stories about Snape, but Harry's were clearly the worst and most consistent. She thought many times about asking the Professor about it, but invariably there was an additional lesson she had to learn, and an extra question that took too long to answer, etc. She never found the right moment or she forgot until the moment passed … or she chickened out. That may have been the main issue. She didn't want to accuse Professor Snape of anything, so she got too scared to say anything.
The sheer number of problems in the paper that Professor Snape marked off was extremely discouraging to her. She wrote essays for his class and helped Harry, but her third-year essays got better treatment than his. There just had to be something going on.
So Hermione paid extra attention to Harry. And when she paid attention, something she couldn't put her finger on made her heart squirm unhappily. . . Like when you saw a wounded animal or a crying classmate. But Harry wasn't injured, and she'd never seen him cry. So why did she feel the need to take care of him?
She started noticing things. His vocabulary was the first thing she noticed because of all his papers since it wasn't a very long list of words that he used regularly. Most of his sentences and words were simple. When she asked him, as politely as she could, he actually snatched his paper back from her with a muttered, "wanna be sure 'm using 'em right."
Then his eating. He seemed uncomfortable with cutlery. Not noticeable at first glance, but she really had been watching him a lot and he was certainly slower with the utensils than anyone else and fumbled when he picked them up. He also went for the fattiest, meatiest foods first even though he never finished them, instead of passing them to Ron before he grabbed some rolls or lighter fare.
On Saturdays, she noticed he would always wear his school clothes. Most children wore their home clothes gratefully on weekends to get out of the starchy button-ups, but not Harry. He'd leave the robe in his room but the rest of his school uniform remained on. Even when it was really hot, he'd just roll up his sleeves and leave it at that.
At first, it all seemed kind of normal, but the feeling didn't go away. She'd taken to drawing Harry over at breakfast to sit with her whenever she could, although Ron didn't seem to like sitting by his brothers and Harry look bewildered by her all the time. The shy boy was encouraged to talk to her, but she really could only talk about school. It was a safe topic, really, since they did homework together and shared teachers.
But whenever Harry said something smart he'd pretend he hadn't said anything or that it had been someone else's idea.
"There's a kind of connection between rhythm and spells like you're magicking with music," he'd said once. When she enthusiastically agreed and praised him for the insight, he'd gone wide-eyed and shook his head violently. "No, that's not – it really isn't my idea, I, er, Ron said it, I think."
She really couldn't understand it, but she did understand that the act made her heart feel as if a hand was clenching at it.
So, one of the nights where she was awake and her dorm was asleep, she knelt down to pray. If something was going on with Harry, then she needed to know what it was because she felt desperate to help him but she didn't know with what.
"Heavenly Father, please help me to know what's wrong with Harry. I want to help him, and I think it's you who is telling me so, but I don't understand what it means. Please help me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen."
The urge got stronger the next day.
"Harry! Neville! Ron!" She waved them over to her eagerly. It was a surprise to see Ron look angry, but Neville and Harry looked happy for the invitation so she ignored it. Maybe he was like her mum and didn't like Halloween? Although she couldn't picture witches and wizards saying it was a holiday glorifying paganism and satanism. Her mum didn't think that badly of Halloween since learning she was a witch, but she still knew she'd never be allowed to trick or treat or dress up like a zombie.
"Mind if I walk you to class?" Hermione asked hopefully, mostly looking at Harry. "You have Defence first, right?"
"We know how to get there, Granger," Ron complained.
"I know!" She held up her hands. "I just ... can't I? I won't be in the way."
Harry and Neville looked at each other and shrugged, as if to say 'girls', and agreed.
"So … are you going to the feast tonight, Harry?"
It was a thought Hermione had. Maybe she was feeling so protective of Harry because his parent's death was so close. Halloween had to be a tricky time for him, so perhaps he was feeling poorly.
"I don't have to?"
"No, you do!" Ron ejaculated, eyes wide. "Harry, you can't miss it! My brothers say there are always mountains of sweets and cakes and drinks! It's the most massive feast of the year!"
"Ronald, maybe there's something even more important!" Hermione hissed. "What if Harry wants to, I don't know, visit his parent's graves?"
Harry stopped in his tracks, eyes wide, and looked at her in absolute shock. "Their. . . graves? They have … ?"
"You've never been?" Hermione felt horribly for him, and it felt like her fault. With a comforting hand on his shoulder, she spoke as softly as possible, "I can't believe your family never took you."
Harry drew back then and snapped, "Well they didn't, okay?"
The anger wasn't expected, but Hermione persevered. "The books say they were buried right by the … the house they had in Godric's Hollow."
The books actually said they were buried by the monument to Harry's defeat of You-Know-Who, but that didn't feel like the right thing to say to him.
"Do you want to go?" Harry's eyes lit up and Hermione felt as if a puppy was wagging its tail at her. "I'm sure one of the teachers would take you. We could ask Professor McGonagall. It is sort of last minute, but we can go find her at lunch and see if she will."
Harry shook his head, eyes down.
"Don't wanna be a problem," he mumbled, scuffing up his shoe.
"I can come and ask for you, then," Hermione announced, eager to do this for Harry. "I'll meet you at lunch!"
So about midway through lunch, the pair of students approached the Head table together, garnering the attention of most of the staff. Severus watched with piercing eyes.
"Professor?" Hermione said plaintively. "Can we talk to you? It'll just take a minute."
Minerva took in the expressions of her two cubs and decided it must be serious. She ushered them both into the side hallway off the Great Hall before turning them to her.
"Well, Ms Granger, Mr Potter?"
It was the third-year that spoke first, her face pleading. "Professor, Harry was hoping someone could take him to his parent's graves tonight."
Minerva was struck dumb. Both her cubs were looking at her, begging her to do this for Harry when she should have approached him herself regarding his plans for the holiday. She should have anticipated that Mr Potter might want to remember his parents tonight of all nights.
"I'm sorry, Mr Potter," Harry looked down, dejected, and she moved to fix it, "I should have known. Of course you may visit them."
Both students beamed up at her until she spoke again. "In fact, after the Halloween feast, Professor Snape is heading to Godric's Hollow. Would it be alright if he escorted you?"
Hermione was absolutely unnerved by how angry Harry became in the span of one second. One moment he was looking hopeful, the next like he could punch something. Gone was the meek boy, here was a loud, brash one.
"No!" Harry yelled. "Not him!"
Hermione actually stepped back, physically moved away from Harry. But when Harry saw her, her fear obvious, he looked horrified.
"I'm sorry, sorry, I really shouldn't have yelled," he apologized hurried to her and Professor McGonagall. "I'm sorry, really."
Hermione nodded. The protective ball in her stomach just got tighter and tighter the more time she spent with Harry. He wasn't alright. She was sure of it.
"Well," Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, "do not do so again. It was merely a question, Mr Potter. Since Professor Snape goes to Godric's Hollow himself every year it seemed more efficient."
Hermione and Harry gaped. Snape visited his/Harry's parents? Every year?
"It would have been convenient, but I suppose –" Minerva continued, but Harry interrupted.
"He, he won't …" Harry bit his lip, struggling to get the words out. "Snape won't take me. He hates me."
Oooh, that man! Minerva thought, looking down at Harry. What have you done to this boy?
Minerva knew that their Potions Master was not the kindest man in regular circumstances, and he'd also been chomping at the bit because of Harry's arrival at Hogwarts. That he'd become a Gryffindor, that he looked like his father, all these things worked against Harry in Severus' eyes and she'd been hearing about it nonstop in staff meetings. And it seemed Harry knew it.
Her eyes flickered to an extremely concerned looking Miss Granger, and she had an idea.
"Well, I think you two must come to an accord, then," she announced to the downtrodden boy. "Here's what we will do: Miss Granger is on good terms with both you and Professor Snape. If she is the one to ask him to escort you, and if she has him promise to be respectful on this trip, will you trust Miss Granger and let him escort you? She could go with you two and keep things civil."
Harry's eyes widened. "But he won't! He'll never agree to be nice to me!"
"If he doesn't then I promise, Harry, I will take you there myself," said McGonagall kindly. "But if he does…? This could be a chance to get through to him, couldn't it? Maybe if he sees you outside of his Potions classroom it will make things better between you."
Or for him to see you next to your mother, she thought sadly. If Lily's headstone is what it takes for Severus to come out of this, then so be it. I'll put the pair of them there.
Hermione jumped forward, ecstatic. "The Professor can be nice Harry, really, once you see it. And you are great! Once he gets to know you there's no way he can hate you."
Then, a brilliant idea. "Harry, you have Potions after lunch, right? And I have Transfiguration! Professor –?"
The cat-professor was already conjuring the parchment for her.
"Here you are," she gave the slip to Miss Granger with an amused smile. "This will let Professor Snape that his student has volunteered to help with his first-year class. Or at the very least that you won't be late for mine."
"Yes!" She dragged Harry into a hug, barely noticing that he flinched at the little contact, before dragging him off to lunch. "Thank you, Professor!"
Professor Snape was gone from the Great Hall by the time they returned, so they immediately changed course to the dungeons.
"She's letting you skip her class?" Harry gasped, finally catching on to the piece of paper he had in her hand. "Why?"
"To help you and Professor Snape, of course," she said with a grin. "You're both my friends, so you should get along."
That pulled Harry up short. "Friends?"
"Well, yes, I think so," Hermione was suddenly anxious. What if Harry didn't think they were friends? "I-I am your friend, right? Because sometimes I get too excited and people get scared of me, and I don't want you to—"
"So we're friends?" Harry beamed. "Real friends."
"Yeah."
She pulled him by the hand all the way to the dungeons and the Potions classroom. Professor Snape wasn't there yet, but Hermione knew where to look for him after all her time helping and continued pulling Harry until they were at the open door to the storeroom.
"Hello, Professor!" Hermione chirped.
Snape smothered a wildly age-inappropriate curse as he banged his head on a shelf. He hadn't expected the Mormon Menace until later that afternoon, and no one but Draco arrived in Potions class early regardless. He spun, prepared to remind her that she was not in this class, and froze, his gaze locked on a pair of joined hands and emerald green eyes.
"Potter," he snapped. "What do you want?"
The mini-Potter shrank away from him just as he wanted, but Miss Granger was also there and looking at him with surprise and … determination?
"Harry wanted to ask—"
"Then he can ask for himself," Snape cut in sharply, glaring at the boy. "Well? You had something to say to me, boy?"
"No, I didn't!" Harry hissed. He pulled himself out of Hermione's hold. "Let's just go!"
"But Harry . . ?"
Harry Potter stomped off in a huff, that melodramatic, immature, spoiled little –
Then Miss Granger was in front of him, hands on her hips and ready to scold him.
"You scared him away!" she yelled. "I told Harry you wouldn't be mean to him, that you could be nice, too, but he thinks you hate him!"
Snape glowered. "He'd be right."
He wasn't expecting the crestfallen face he got. Wide amber eyes that had been so trusting now crushing him with their disappointment.
"Wh-what? Why?"
"Tread carefully," he sneered.
"No!" she stomped her foot immaturely. "Harry is nice and shy, and he-he needs help! Why were you mean to him?"
Snape glared down at the little hellion with more anger sparking through him than he'd ever directed at her. He didn't need to justify himself to a child!
"Five points from Gryffindor!" he roared. It was that or threaten to strangle the girl. "I do not answer to you!"
Hermione didn't care about the points, she just cared about Harry, about not understanding what was happening. She shrieked in frustration. "I don't understand! All he wanted was to visit his parents tonight! That all! Why can't you be nice to him today of all days!?"
The words pierced him like an arrow between the ribs, hitting his heart until it was bleeding out painfully. He had lived through his fair share of guilt trips at his hands or Dumbledore's to recognize the feeling, but he had never thought his treatment of a Potter would bring it on.
"He does not need to be coddled," he argued, with himself this time more than her. "He's a spoiled, arrogant—"
"Stop that!" The chit dared to kick him in the leg, him! A Professor! It wasn't a light teasing kick, either. His shin smarted. Did the girl where steel-toed shoes? Detention was right on his lips before her next words. "He's not arrogant, he's not spoiled! He works hard at his homework, even for this class when all you give him are Ps and Ds, and he doesn't even ask for help until I offer it! He's scared of his own shadow! And I'm going to protect him, so you're not allowed to insult him!"
Scared of his own shadow? That was not the angry boy who'd been in the class earlier, the one who'd stormed off at a less than cordial greeting. Potter certainly wasn't scared of him the way most students were.
Diversion. That was the way to derail the girl. His shin actually smarted. "Detention, Miss Granger, with me, for assaulting a Professor."
The girl finally blanched. But what followed was worse than her justice-fighter attitude. Her eyes gilled with impending tears, glistening in the torchlight.
Another diversion, he needed another diversion. "Go tell Potter I will not accompany the ungrateful boy. I deal with him enough in classes."
The girl didn't leave to find Potter, though, no, she had to stay and fight. Had to stay and murder him with those wet, amber eyes. "Why-how-he's just a boy! Why do you hate him so much?"
"His attitude—"
"You like Draco!" threw the girl, halting him. "He's the most spoiled, arrogant person I've ever met and you like him! Harry says you were mean to him in his first class just for taking notes!"
Taking notes? Snape thought, bewildered. He remembered the boy not meeting his eyes, drawing in his notebooks. Could he have been taking notes, not doodling the time away? He banished the thought. Even if he was taking notes, he'd still been cheeky after his questions.
"I didn't believe Harry when he said you hated him," the girl pressed, lips wobbling and speaking of impending tears. "I thought he didn't understand you, or your sense of humour, or how stern you are, but I was wrong! You-you're as bad at Malfoy! You're a bully!"
Severus forced himself not to take the word to heart. Bully. He'd been called that many times, been called worse, but he didn't deserve the moniker. Perhaps his treatment of the boy was harsh, but Harry Potter was almost universally adored; he should be taken down a peg.
"All he wanted was to see his parents' graves," Hermione said, her tone so disappointed in him she could put Dumbledore to shame. "He's never been. He didn't even know they had graves."
Never been? He couldn't believe his ears. Petunia had never once taken Potter to visit her sister, his mother? He supposed going on Halloween was riskier than the prim Petunia could manage, but in broad daylight any other day of the year she'd never once honoured Lily's sacrifice? Had the boy made it up so he could go this year? Thinking he'd be refused if he didn't make the story more tragic?
"I can't believe you!"
The girl turned to flee, but not in time to hide the tears he'd brought to her eyes finally cascading down her cheeks. He did not move to stop her. Instead, he stood stock still as he processed her child-like, yet emotionally draining arguments. He felt not only guilty of debasing Potter but of disappointing his charge. He tried to ignore it – tell himself he'd warned her from the beginning he was not a good man, that she shouldn't think him such – but the leaden pit didn't subside. He could Occlude, remove himself that way, but he found it difficult to do while seeing Potter's angry green eyes over his cauldron as the first-years brewed. The boy-who-had-her-eyes, rage tainting those emerald orbs.
Maybe rather than Occluding he could simply agree to take the brat to Godric's Hollow. He needn't apologize or say he was wrong – he was not wrong in his opinion of the boy – but it was a serviceable way to appease the guilt trip Miss Granger had taken him on.
Decided, he called Potter up after class and told him that he agreed to his request. If the boy could keep his insolent mouth shut, they could attend the grave without further aggravation.
Harry couldn't believe it. The Professor who he was sure hated him with as much anger as Uncle Vernon had for magic had civilly – if not with a scattering of warnings that he was to treat the trip with reverence – accepted the duty to escort him after the feast that evening. He was so shocked he almost didn't get angry when the Professor implied that Harry would laugh or be rowdy in the cemetery, or that he couldn't dress for the occasion.
Hermione had done something, he had no doubt about it. But she wasn't back at the common room after classes, and then when he went to the feast he didn't see her either. He wanted to make sure she was coming too, thank her for making this happen today, but there was no sign of her.
Finally, he gave in to his worry and asked the twins if they'd seen her.
"Sorry, Harry."
"Haven't seen her."
An older girl piped up then, leaning over the table to them. "Susan – the Ravenclaw I sit with in Defence? – says Hermione's locked herself in the first-floor girl's bathroom, crying, and won't come out, says she wants to be left alone. She's been in there all afternoon but nobody knows what happened."
His small spark of gratitude for Snape instantly died.
"Snape," he growled, glaring at the blank-faced man seated high above them.
"Professor Snape?" the twins looked at each other in surprise. "But spitfire's his favourite."
"She likes him."
Harry clenched his fists. "Snape hates me, though. And Hermione was trying to stick up for me but I got too angry, and then I left her alone with that git! I have to find her."
He rose to leave but the twins pulled him back. "Girl's bathroom, Harry."
"Best let the females get her, hmm?"
A dramatic whoosh of wind that made all the candles flicker accompanied a massive banging of the Great Hall doors against the stone of the castle as Professor Quirrell ran in. Students hushed and Dumbledore rose as Quirrell ran forward, looking pale and unsteady.
"Troll! Troll in the dungeons!" He swayed on his feet. "Thought you out to know."
Quirrell fell to the floor and everyone began to scream. Harry's first thought was that Hermione wasn't there. He was on the first floor, not far, but she didn't know about the troll. What if she tried to meet up with them after the feast and met the troll?!
Everyone was screaming until Dumbledore bellowed a mighty, "SILENCE!"
The room stilled.
"Now," he continued, "Prefects will lead their house back to the dormitories. Teachers will come with me to the dungeons."
"What about Slytherin?" One kid shouted.
"You will join Ravenclaw in their tower," Snape answered, glaring at the Headmaster. "Go."
At first, the chaos made it hard to think. He followed the Gryffindor prefect, just thinking about the troll. Then, one thought … Hermione. Harry was already bolting for the door, running fast as he could to grab Hermione and bring her back to safety. She was nice, only a year older than him, and had declared him her friend … she'd gone against Snape for him. No one stood up to Snape! And now she was in danger for it!
Distantly, he heard the thumping of large, heavy feet and ran faster until he crashed into the girl's lavatory.
"Hermione!" he yelled. He heard sniffles from a stall and skidded to a halt in front of it, banging furiously. "Hermione, we need to get to the tower! There's a troll loose!"
When Hermione opened the door in shock, he didn't give her time to process. He snatched her hand and prepared to run some more. "Harry!"
"Come on," he said, "we have to hurry!"
"Too late!" Two streaks of ginger flew into the room after them, wands drawn and pointed at the door. "Troll's on its way! Par imaginem!"
The twins seemed to fill in the doorway with bricks, although Hermione knew it was just an illusion of bricks. If the troll tried to smash through, there'd be nothing there.
"Maybe that'll work," the twins whispered, hushed now. The moved, George standing in front of Harry and Fred taking up in front of Hermione. "Be very quiet."
Then Hermione heard it. Grunts. Thumps. Wood dragging against stone. It sounded … too loud. The troll must be huge. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
The first thing they saw was the club. It poked through the illusion, testing it.
"Normal spells can't penetrate troll hide," Hermione whispered, panicking. "Fred, what penetrates troll hide?"
The twin flashed her a showy grin that veiled his nerves. "Don't know, but we're pretty good at making noise. Should stall 'im long enough."
"Enough for what?" Harry whispered, watching as the club lifted up through the illusion once more.
"Dumbledore, of course."
The troll chose that moment to ram itself through the illusionary wall, completely dispersing it and destroying the set of sinks as he tumbled into them. The club lifted and smashed down, cracking the edges of the stone and mortar.
If the troll used that club on them … that would happen, Hermione realized. They'd be cracked.
And the smell. It was absolutely rancid. She couldn't help it, she made a gagging noise that immediately drew the troll's empty eyes towards them.
Fred and George both threw out spells, summoning large sparklers that danced around the troll's large ears. The troll spun and swatted as if they were flies to be knocked away. But it worked. The troll wasn't focusing on them. Hermione realized she could distract the troll too. She could help!
"Ignis Sapphyrus!" Hermione screamed, no wand but both hands raised.
She'd hoped to send her little blue flame to stick somewhere on the troll, an unburning fire that the troll would try to put out but be unable to no matter how hard he swatted himself.
But in her fear, she'd overpowered her little bluebell flames, and it came out as a constant stream like a giant blue flamethrower, clinging to every surface on or around the troll … like its eyes.
The troll howled at being blinded and thrashed around, hitting himself at in the face and arm. It tripped and stumbled, dropping its club in favour of punching himself in the face to try and extinguish the fire. Hermione couldn't believe it had worked!
Then Harry pointed at the club. "Get that away from it!"
"Better yet—" Fred grinned.
"Use it," George finished.
The twins cast in perfect unison, levitating the club high above the troll's head. When the troll punched his club and their levitation faltered, Harry cast too. The twins and Harry dropped their spells together and with a very heavy club and some gravity smashed the troll's head. It slumped and crashed to the ground, throwing up dirt even as he crackled with blue fire.
"We—"
"Did it!"
Fred and George scooped up the pair in a merry, bouncing hug, jumping around in victory. The group laughed mostly in relief. They were alive!
"WHAT HAPPENED HERE!?"
The kids jumped. Their Head of House sounded angry, and they turned to the scene with new eyes. They saw the room on fire, the sinks and floors damaged and covered in water from the troll's stumbling, and then the fact that the four of them had been celebrating the damage …
Worse, Professor Snape and Quirrell were right behind the Transfiguration Mistress.
"Well?"
Fred and George jumped forward them and gave a dramatic bow.
"We have conquered the troll!" They proclaimed. "We accept your eternal gratitude most humbly."
McGonagall looked down at the troll and looked livid. "What were you all thinking? Running from the Great Hall to face a troll? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You were instructed to go straight to your dormitories, not troll hunting!"
Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look, and Harry looked away to keep from getting angry again.
"It was my fault."
They all turned to Hermione, who was now looking very upset once again. She tried to lie, but she knew she couldn't. Hermione wasn't very good at lies, and the truth … it was embarrassing, but at least it was better than lying. "I wasn't at the feast. I … I wasn't hungry, so I didn't want to go. They came looking for me when they heard about the troll and … they saved my life."
Hermione couldn't help but smile at the three who had come for her. Fred and George puffed up proudly, and Harry looked at her with what she thought was the same awed expression she had on her face.
"And why are you in the lavatory?" McGonagall demanded, breaking through their moment. "Miss Granger, if you were not at the feast why weren't you in the Common Room, or the Library?"
"It's not her fault!" Harry jumped in this time. "She was crying, alright, 'cause Snape made her cry! And Snape only made her cry 'cause of me!"
The teachers turned to the stoic Severus and gave him side-eyes.
"Again?" Minerva huffed, then turned back to Hermione. "Miss Granger, I thought that after the last instance you would know to come to me for help. Hiding away is not an acceptable response, especially when your teachers don't know where you are."
Hermione felt the tickle of tears creeping up her throat again and only nodded.
"However," Professor McGonagall straightened, "let's not linger on that. I would like to hear how four students not even through their OWLs managed to take on a fully-grown mountain troll and lived to tell the tale."
Harry, Fred, and George jumped to tell the tale. Harry did most of it, with Fred and George jumping in with sound effects and troll-like acting.
"And then she torched him with her hands!" Harry exclaimed, while Fred and George made whooshing sounds to imitate the flames. "And he went crazy, swatting and punching and stumbling—"
Fred whirled, making caveman noises while grabbing his face. Hermione nearly giggled.
"—And then we spelled the club up and dropped it right on the troll's head!"
George bonked Fred on the head, making his twin pretend to fall over (he didn't, which was good considering the floor still had troll footprints and spit on it).
"I'm impressed," Professor McGonagall praised the group, ignoring the scoff from Professor Snape behind her. She turned to Hermione with a grin. "Bluebell flames, Miss Granger?"
She flushed. "It was just supposed to distract the troll."
"Do you even know any offensive or defensive spells?" Professor Snape glared down at her and she could feel her heart sinking, even as she didn't answer. "This will be rectified immediately. You are not to run off into danger when you have no concept of how to defend yourself! Foolish girl!"
Hermione didn't know whether to feel glad that he was offering to teach her more spells or mortified at being called foolish. She kind of felt happy that he was worried about her, but she still felt angry at how he'd treated Harry.
"Well, I'm very proud of all of you," Professor McGonagall told them. "The three of you were very brave to go after Miss Granger, and that the four of you worked together well enough to successfully take down such a large opponent is a wonderful example of teamwork. I believe you deserve ten points apiece."
"Absolutely not!" Snape snarled. "You will not be rewarding such dangerous recklessness!"
"Hush," the Professor told him. "Now, Quirinus, I trust you will deal with the troll while I escort my cubs back to the tower."
"Wait, Professor!" Harry ran up to Snape, looking absolutely panicked at the man's leaving. "We're still going, right?"
Snape glared down at the little menace. He wanted to say no. So badly. "Do you truly deserve to after this stunt?"
Hermione saw Harry harden up against the fierce words of Professor Snape before he turned to McGonagall with determination. "Snape said he won't take me. Will you? Please?"
"I certainly could. . ." she trailed off, looking expectantly at Severus.
Professor Snape looked thunderous, but through his clenched teeth managed, "Be ready in an hour."
"With Hermione?" Harry dared impudently.
"Her and no one else!"
Professor Snape swept away, robes billowing behind him. Professor Quirrell just managed to scrape himself off the floor enough to examine the toll once the most terrifying thing in the room had left.
Hermione grabbed at Harry, who was grinning like a loon and pulled him along after the already moving Professor McGonagall. "That was so brave, Harry! And he agreed? When was this?"
"In class," Harry told her, "after you talked to him. What'd'you say, 'Mione?"
She blushed. "I don't really remember. I kind of shouted the first things I could think of. We argued about how you weren't arrogant or spoiled, and how hard you worked in classes. I kind of, er, kicked him. In the shin."
"Miss Granger!" McGonagall snapped.
"He gave me another detention!" Hermione quickly reassured her, ignoring the guffaws from the twins behind her. "He just wasn't listening to me, and I got really angry at how much he was insulting Harry. He kept acting like Harry couldn't do a single good thing, and that wasn't right! I know how hard Harry works in Potions and he still gets 'Dreadfuls' even when I help him on his essays. I get Es or Os in my class! It's not fair! He can't be allowed to treat Harry that way, can he Professor?"
McGonagall pursed her lips and appraised the pair of them. "Mr Potter, is this true?"
Harry avoided her eyes, instead looking at his scuffed-up shoes. "It's – I mean – with the homework, yeah. I don't want to be held back, but … I can't try any harder."
McGonagall didn't look surprised, only disapproving. Pursed lips and all. "If you still have those essays, bring them to me tomorrow in class. Headmaster Dumbledore is nearly as good at Potions as Severus – he is versed enough to grade you a first-year – and we will determine the course of action to take once we have your scores. If what you say is true, I will have your grade in Potions class overseen. But I believe this evening will also help, Mr Potter. I'm sure you will approach this as an opportunity to foster understanding between the Professor and yourself, yes?"
Harry nodded up and down as fast as her kitsune did following a treat.
"And Miss Granger?" she continued. "Ten points to Gryffindor for standing up for your friend and telling me about this problem. However, do consider that with Professor Snape it may be wiser not to kick and scream."
The Gryffindors were ushered into an anxious Common Room and immediately jumped on to tell their story. They tried to answer as many questions as possible, like how big the troll was and whether they were scared –luckily the twins and Harry kept out her wandless magic bit—but soon the school was invited back to the Great Hall to finish their interrupted desserts.
Before that, though, she wrapped up both twins in a massive hug. This one was returned without any sense of joking or levity. "Thank you for coming for me."
The twins squished her in their arms a little too tightly. "Merlin, spitfire, don't do something like this again, 'kay?"
"Nearly gave Fred a heart attack, you did."
"Yeah, and you didn't go white as a ghost, George."
"That was because Harry had run off!" George looked around and yanked Harry by the arm into their group hug. "You! Savior of the Wizarding World or not, keep out of trouble, you hear?"
"I promise!" Harry shrieked as he was pinched and tickled by the twin. "I promise!"
After seeing the twins off, Hermione and Harry had just enough time to change and run down to the dungeons to meet Professor Snape.
"What do people do, you know, at graves?" Harry asked on the walk down. "Do they pray? I don't know how to do that. Or do they just talk?"
"Talking to someone who isn't there is a prayer, I think," Hermione considered. "My family prays, so I could show you if you want. Most people bring flowers. Like a gift to show we remember them. Maybe … I don't know. You should just do what feels right. I can conjure some flowers if you like. They'll fade after a day, but if you wanted I could do that."
Harry gave her a shy smile. "Thanks."
Professor Snape said nothing as they trekked down to the village, not a word besides, "Hold on to an arm." As he apparated them. Harry didn't either, but he was probably thinking of what to say during the visit.
"'Mione?" Harry murmured as they entered the graveyard. He didn't say anything more, and it took her a second to realize what it was asking, but then she waved her hand and conjured a small collection of red roses.
"Will these be okay?"
"Yeah. . . thank you."
Professor stepped past them and reached the gravestone with long, brisk steps. Let them follow behind, was his cruel thought. She was my friend, and I knew her better than this brat ever cou—the inscription of 'LILY POTTER' on the headstone pulled him up short.
He'd always allowed Lily to be something akin to a conscience for him, but when it was her son he was leaving behind to attend her grave, conscience was a mild word for the punch in the gut the thought of her was. He was a miserable man, truly, but taking more claim to her than her orphaned son ... He had known her longer, loved her longer … but Lily would have loved the boy more, loved him forever … even if the brat didn't know how precious that was.
The hand he'd allowed to rest on the headstone fell away and he stepped back and into the shadows of the dead-leafed trees. He would play the observer tonight.
From the darkness, Severus watched as Potter hesitated and didn't even approach the grave at first. He stared at it as if afraid. He was reminded again of Miss Granger's assertion that this would be his first visit to their grave. It seemed the boy hadn't been lying. The tears in his eyes were real, as was the tremor on his lip, the shaking of his flower-clutching hand.
Perhaps it was because Potter was not focusing on him, was ignoring him, that he seemed different. Or the situation was getting to him. Yet he was shocked to see that the boy wasn't treating the trip casually or like some token gesture. More surprising still was when the boy knelt with Miss Granger by his side and offered a prayer.
"Since you're not talking to God, I think it'd be okay to just talk to your parents," Hermione said thoughtfully, folding her arms to show Harry. "I'll say a little prayer to them first, okay?"
The boy nodded, and he listened intently.
"Mr and Mrs Potter," she started, her voice taking on a softer quality than he often heard, "Harry's here to see you today. He's a really good person, and I think you would be really proud of him. But he's also feeling really sad today. Can you have the Spirit give him comfort, let him know you love him? Thanks. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."
Severus watched as Miss Granger looked to the misty-eyed child next to her and gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, that's all I could think of. Do you want to go now? You don't have to do it out loud or anything."
Potter nodded, and after a few more words of encouragement, she made the unexpected decision to step back from the boy's private moment and stand next to him instead. They'd not yet made amends for their angry exchange at lunch, but perhaps the girl saw what he was trying to do here. This trip was what had caused the argument – at least at the beginning – and him being the teacher to escort the pair was his offering to her.
And though he made no movement to greet the girl, she took his silence as acceptance to an unspoken request of support. He was turned into a leaning post, a bony chin on his elbow as her head rested on his arm, curly hair rubbing and shedding on his coat. He could have pushed her away, but she must have had a trying enough day to leave her this tired. Perhaps he would take points later.
The moment didn't last long. The atmosphere of the graveyard shifted dramatically from reverence to sorrow as Potter let loose a keening wail, his scarce tears from earlier multiplied tenfold in a flood on his cheeks.
Hermione jumped at the small but all-too-piercing noise her friend had made and fell to the grass next to him. Severus could hardly watch as Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, tried so hard to fight his tears that the sounds tearing from his throat could be heard echoing off the trees. He was scratching at his face around his eyes, twisting side to side, contorting his face in agonizing positions all to avoid the tears that had already escaped.
"Harry, Harry, it's okay." With a gentleness he scarcely knew Miss Granger had pulled the boy into a hug and wouldn't let go. "Just cry. It's okay."
The boy returned her hug in a tackle more than an embrace, squeezing the girl as if she were a life-preserver, and then let out his first real sob.
Severus was shaken to his core. This was the arrogant brat who knew nothing of sacrifice? This was the spoiled child who had never known a day of pain? Those tears were not perfunctory, shallow droplets, nor were they those of an innocent, unburdened child. He had seen too many people mourn not to see that this child was heavy with the weight of it.
What could Potter possibly had lived through to make him weep as if he'd lost them that day? Potter probably couldn't even remember them, yet he wept as depressingly as one who had.
He watched on in silence as Granger, the naïve soul she was, tried and failed at comforting the boy with words before she gave up, opting for allowing the boy to restrict her breathing for as long as he needed with his overzealous hold.
Potter … lived … with Petunia Evans. He had dismissed his dislike of the woman when Potter was placed with her because he knew his dislike came from her perfect little housewife life. Instead of intellectual classes, Petunia had taken up cooking and home economics. Instead of university, she'd married a man with guaranteed employment and who was a few years her senior. A veritable suburban queen that he had been sure would cook and clean around Potter all day long.
But he did not see Petunia in the boy. Her appearance was always spic and span and arranged just so. The boy's hair was even more of a mess than his father's, the cuffs of his shirt now had dirt on them, and the way he wore his robes indicated that he didn't care about how he looked. Even though he'd said to dress his best for this trip and yet the boy was wearing his school uniform and Severus had no idea why.
And Petunia delighted in how delicious she could make her food and yet the boy was skin and bones, no roundness in his face at all. Even James hadn't been that skinny his first year. He was surprised he hadn't noticed before. The boy was also short, terribly short. All those runts looked small to him, but Miss Granger right next to him made the small child seem smaller.
Was Potter Petunia's best effort? Or even a mediocre effort? With how protective Miss Granger had been, he'd be a fool to dismiss his thoughts as mere imagination. Especially as the image of Harry Potter keening in front of his parents' headstone was now burned into his mind.
On their sombre walk up to the castle, Severus decided on a test. An innocent way to find out if he should dig further.
"Miss Granger, I'd like to speak with Mister Potter alone now."
Miss Granger was smart, or at least could read him better than most. She only paused for a moment in the spikey grass before she realized he was in no way feeling angry or vindictive. Perhaps it was the moment back in the graveyard they'd both observed, maybe it was how simply he'd spoken, but she understood that he meant the boy no harm.
With a brief hug and whispered reassurance to her friend, Miss Granger skipped on ahead of them, waving when she got far enough away before she kept walking. He looked away from the girl disappearing higher on the trail to the castle and back to the boy hunched over and avoiding his gaze.
"Mr Potter," Severus looked him over for all the clues, "you should write your Aunt in the morning."
There it was. Potter had turned absolutely rigid at the suggestion, and his eyes that had been dried of their tears now sparkled again.
"I'm sure she'll want to know about how today went for you," he continued. Potter, subconsciously perhaps, moved towards the school. "And considering how dangerous the troll was, she will probably want your reassurances that you are safe and well. But that's how a family is, isn't it? Always wanting the best for you."
He watched as Lily's eyes that had been filled with tears, not a moment before turned cold as ice at the mention of family, and then shut off entirely when he mentioned them caring for him. It was a bittersweet victory at best to know he was right.
"It might be wise for me to tell her in person, actually," Severus mused aloud, earning a wide-eyed panic from the boy. "If you bring me your letter in the morning, I can deliver it to Petunia and tell her that the troll was not –"
"You can't!" Potter interrupted, looking terrified. He shrunk down at his own loud voice and retreated into a mumble. "You don't have to, sir, you already, er, did this tonight and Hedwig – my owl – she hasn't really gotten to fly yet. She'd love the trip."
"It was not a request."
Potter's fists were now clenched so tightly he could see the knuckles turning white.
"Professor, you really shouldn't just show up," he insisted, shaking slightly. "'S'not polite. I'll send a letter, promise. My Aunt an' Uncle just don't really like magic or wizards."
Finally, a tinge of truth from the boy. And one easily used. He went in for the kill.
"Does that include you?"
A gasp. A true inhalation of breath done in shock. Potter's downcast eyes flashed up to his and the sheer pain in his eyes made him falter.
"Sir," Potter was appealing to him with those wide eyes, "they don't treat me badly, sir."
"But they don't care for you."
The boy's shoulders slumped, but he made no sound.
"This is why me calling you spoiled insulted you so much. It couldn't have been further from the truth."
The boy reared back almost as if struck, and Severus sighed. In such cases, his own abasement was the easiest way to reach them. A little – he groaned inwardly – kindness would go far.
With that in mind, he knelt before the small boy much to Harry's shock. Now at his level, Severus gave him a sober look.
"I will not demand answers, Mister Potter," he vowed. "However, you must do a few things for me if you do not want this mentioned to any others."
The boy turned red but still gave a jerky nod.
"First condition:" he lifted a finger, "tomorrow morning before breakfast you will report to the Infirmary for a full physical examination."
"What?!" Harry yelped. "No! I told you, they never touched me!"
'They never touched me!' That was another truth Potter had just unwillingly admitted. He could hear it in the boy's tone that it wasn't just about hypothetical abuse. It was a tone that said they would never touch someone like him, a wizard. No care, no kind touches. It spoke of a deep level of neglect.
Snape nodded but remained firm. "Yes, you've said. But for my peace of mind you will get it done."
He could see the boy's dread, but it didn't look like he'd put up a fight and so Snape moved to the next point.
"Second condition:" Severus had only moments to think about this, but it was the best he could come up with, "you will bring me all your previous essays for regrading, and attend Miss Granger's Saturday tutoring session until I say otherwise."
That was a poor rule, one he never should have made, but he'd heard their complaints to Minerva earlier and now would admit he'd been unfair to the boy. His essays truly were half-decent and even outshone a fair share of his peers. But it had only angered him more. He'd been convinced that Potter was cheating or forcing another child to write it for him, but that ended now. His attendance at these lessons would give Severus an excuse as to his more reasonable grading of the boy and also allow him to observe the boy more closely week by week.
"What?!" Severus smirked at the boy's horror. "But you hate me!"
He stopped the boy right in his tracks. "No, I do not. I … apologize for how I treated you before, however I was told you were being raised in luxury."
First shock, then anger. The boy shook with anger.
"So you pity me?!" he yelled. "Is that it?! The poor orphan who has no one and nothing, right? Well, I have friends now! I have Hogwarts! I don't need pity!"
"It is not pity." Once again, he needed to halt the boy before he got too far along in his anger. Any further and the boy would run; he was already vibrating with energy, a fight or flight response to his intrusion merely moments away. "It is understanding. Perception is everything, Mr Potter, and before now I only saw your father; I did not know enough about you. I do not pity you as your situation is better than so many I've know, but I also understand that you are not the boy I thought you were and you did not do anything to deserve my treatment."
The wind left his sails and he halted in his anger.
"Now, a third condition, and the last:" Severus pointed directly at the boy's chest this time, "before you return there for the summer, anytime within these next six months, you will tell me what living with your relatives is like."
Green eyes widened in panic, and he held up a hand to stop the boy's frantic words and false denials. "This is not about discussing feelings or bemoaning your fate. Like I said, I have seen far, far worse. However, I need to know ahead of time what necessities to send with you: potions I can provide or other such supplies that will help you. If, as I suspect, your relatives do not feed you as they should then I will procure some food items that will store easily in your trunk and nutritive potions that you will be taking to stay healthy. Perhaps a means of communication that will let you send for help if necessary. This is purely a practical measure, Mr. Potter. If you do not tell me ahead of time then I will be forced to interfere either with your relatives or with the Headmaster to ensure your well-being. Is that understood?"
He could see from the sharp, unseeing gaze that Potter was thinking through that final condition thoroughly. As he expected. He clearly didn't want to admit that his family fed him only the essentials or less, but he also wanted what was on offer. Food was precious to the boy and made an effective bribe. It was sad, really, how well he knew what the boy was thinking.
"Are we agreed?"
Potter hesitantly agreed, and with that, they headed back to the castle.
He felt he should say something more. Something better. The boy had just mourned his parents – likely for the first time – and then had his world invaded by him; surely he should say something.
"Your mother had a vicious temper when provoked," Severus ended up saying, prompting a wide-eyed look from the boy. "If you feel at all deserving of your treatment, know that if Lily were," his throat clenched, "still alive, she would storm Privet Drive like an avenging angel for how they treated you. I'm surprised she isn't haunting her sister right now."
Lily's eyes looked up at him as her son pierced his heart and carved a piece of it for his own. Harry Potter had gotten to him. Those wide eyes were so awed, so hopeful.
"Really?"
He cleared his throat to remove the painful lump. "Her last moments were spent protecting you; she would not have wanted you to live unloved when she loved you more than life."
Severus nearly drew his wand when the brat flung himself forward and straight into his ribs. Just like his hug to Miss Granger, it was strangling and desperate. Suspicious sniffles were coming from his chest and he had no idea where to put his arms.
"Potter!" His voice came out hoarser than he liked.
The imp jumped back then as if stung, eyes filled with fear. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!"
"As you should be. I do not hug students," he said gruffly. "It's improper."
But when he saw that small, truly minuscule amount of trust he'd finally garnered from the boy die in his eyes, he couldn't leave it. Halloween had induced temporary insanity, Snape would claim. Or the shot of firewhiskey he'd had before escorting them to the cemetery.
"However, it seems you Gryffindors have no concept of what's proper," he announced dismissively. "Miss Granger does the same no matter how many times I remand her for it. It seems I cannot stop any of you."
He saw the moment Potter understood his hidden meaning. He cannot stop the miscreants, therefore he would not. Eyes alight once more, the boy took a hesitant step forward, and when Severus allowed his arms to twitch slightly outwards Harry launched himself once again into his arms. His chest ached, obviously from the crushing of his ribs and not from any sort of emotion, but the crushing sensation felt better when he wrapped one arm around the child to rest between his shoulders.
It took a moment for his patience to run out and his itching skin forces him to prize the boy from his person. "Miss Granger must think I've disembowelled you by now. A tempting option, but we should be heading back."
The pair continued on their path, silent and slightly uncomfortable.
"You have a good friend in Miss Granger," he managed to say. "She is very protective of you."
The boy blushed a little too deeply. "She's-She's nice."
This was becoming far too emotional. "If she attacks me again in your defence you will share her punishment. Do let her know."
"Yeah, yeah, I-I will, promise."
"Good. And Potter?"
"Yeah?"
He levelled a flinty gaze at him. "I needn't tell you that any mention of our conversation or my part in it should never reach the ears of anyone."
"Oh, no sir!"
"Be sure it doesn't, or you will regret it."
High above the entrance hall, in the bell tower, Minerva McGonagall watched with tears in her eyes as Severus held young Harry in his arms, no matter how short a time it was. She would remember the scene for a long time.