AN: Updates will take a bit longer now, back at work after the holidays. Please watch for the dates at the beginning of sections for the timeline, the month is the same but the years are not. Thank you for all of the comments and reviews; they are wonderful to read. :)
December 22, 1998
Harry stretched and winced as his back cracked with the stretch. He hadn't realised how long he'd been hunched over the desk with his tools. The knock at the door had interrupted his concentration, but not enough to make a mistake in his work. His chisels were sharpened before each session; able to take nearly translucent millimetre shavings off of the wood he was working on. His hand stayed steady as he shaved down the last piece, muscle memory fighting the slight cramping of his fingers threatening to settle in.
Harry walked to the door and opened it, staring at a slim and calm-looking Professor Snape.
"Did we change the time?" Harry asked, glancing at his watch. He'd set a timer that morning when he started working on one of the wands Ron had grabbed from the snatchers, and it hadn't gone off yet.
"No," Snape said, standing in the doorway, but not looming. He was still dressed in severe black, but his cloak was slimmer fitting than his teaching robes, and his cheeks were rosy from the cold. "I have finished my errands early."
Harry thought for a second before shrugging.
"That's fine."
Harry set his chisel gently down on his desk and turned out the light over the wand. Snape had stepped in and moved to the couch, draping his cloak over the arm and placing his leather case by his feet. Harry swallowed back a smile as he saw that Snape had removed his shoes, and was in plain black socks.
"Tea?" Harry asked, sitting down in his worn armchair. It didn't match the couch, but also didn't clash with it, and Harry liked that. He'd had enough of matching sets living with his Aunt and Uncle.
"Please," Snape said, not hiding his curious glances around the room.
Harry picked up his wand and flicked it toward the kitchen, where sounds of a kettle starting to heat up started shortly after.
"What exactly is needed to finish the NEWTS?" Harry asked. "It's not really something I had thought much about doing."
Snape's expression was unreadable, but Harry was used to that and it no longer bothered him.
"Why did you come back?" Snape asked instead.
Harry leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers on his chin. He tried to control his wince as a jolt of pain shot up his right arm, but Snape noticed it anyway.
"I had always planned to. I don't belong there anymore," Harry answered. He got up again and went to the kitchen to make the tea, without asking how Snape took it. Without needing to.
"I heard you disappeared for a bit as well," Harry continued, voice louder so Snape could hear him.
"Convalescing," Snape replied, his tone neutral. He was still looking around the flat when Harry came back from the kitchen.
"It still hurts you too?" Harry asked, handing Snape his tea. The hand that reached out to take it was slightly shaky, pale white near the ends of the fingertips and an angrier red tree branch-looking mark near the palm that disappeared under the hem of the sleeve.
"It was a curse, Potter."
"Not Harry anymore?"
Snape looked away, before sipping his tea. "I hadn't thought you'd want to remember that month. Dartmoor."
"I remember it often," Harry quietly said.
A pecking at the window shattered the intensity of conversation, and with an annoyed look on his face, Harry got up to let the bird in. He didn't bother to read the letter, just threw it to the table, and gave the owl a treat for its trip through the cold day.
Snape placed his cup down on the table and Harry could tell by the stiffness of his shoulders that the professor was back, and that there would be no more talk of Dartmoor.
"A bit immature to be avoiding the post," Snape said, his gaze on the pile of official ministry correspondence.
Harry scowled.
"It's nothing to do with immaturity. There's no deadline for my reply."
"The number of envelopes contradicts that," Snape sharply said, cutting to the point.
"And are you going to mark me on that?" Harry evenly said.
"Not for the NEWTS," Snape replied, after a second's thought. He didn't clarify further.
Snape withdrew a single sheet of parchment from his leather case and, to Harry's surprise, a small pair of thin grey framed spectacles.
"In order to receive your final NEWTS, you need to satisfy the following requirements: transfiguration qualification, the brewing of a complex potion, charms work, and an understanding of the government and organizational functions of the wizarding world."
"No defence work," Harry stated. He found himself calmer than he ever remembered being as a student listening to Snape. Knowing that the NEWTS would be nice to have but weren't necessary definitely helped.
"No," Snape said, the barest hint of a smirk hiding on his lips. "I believe your examples of work over the past 12 months are sufficient."
He passed the paper over and Harry was surprised to see that the potion and spells he was required to do were written down plainly. He was expecting a test, or a pop quiz, or some sort of requirement to think quickly. Snape seemed to correctly assess Harry's reaction.
"In the real world you will have instruction manuals and time to brew potions and cast spells. This is a ministry-set requirement, however, so they are included. The main focus of these lessons will be the last point: the preparation for life as a wizard."
"That's," Harry started, "that's good. The Weasleys have helped me with most things."
"I am aware," Snape said, flipping through some more parchment in his case. He withdrew a schedule and handed it to Harry. "We will start tomorrow with the potion. You will require these ingredients and…"
Snape looked around the flat again, and though he couldn't see the kitchen, his look of scepticism that Harry owned a cauldron was pointed. "A cauldron."
With that, Snape put his papers back in the case and stood, pulling the cuffs of his sleeves down over his hands.
"Right, tomorrow's fine," Harry said, also standing. He didn't know whether he should show Snape to the door or not, but it seemed like the right thing to do.
"Why did you choose to do this, over McGonagall?" Harry asked, his tone neutral. "She's the one who did the NEWTS for Ron and Hermione."
Snape first shook out, and then artfully swirled his cloak over his shoulders.
"I could not resist the chance to welcome the Chosen One back to the wizarding world," Snape said, making his sarcasm evident.
"Severus," Harry started, and Snape raised his eyebrow, waiting.
"It… it is good to see you," Harry lamely finished.
Snape pulled a small dark purple glass phial from his pocket and looked down at it, his thumb swiping over the cork stopper. He shook it a little, the swoosh of the liquid barely audible, before handing it over to Harry.
"There are some illegal ingredients contained within; take it and destroy the evidence," Snape said.
"It's not going to explode on me, is it?" Harry asked, mostly joking but also with a slight amount of legitimate concern.
Snape's eyes flashed a little brighter and he appeared to swallow back a smile.
"You may find it makes the cold less bothersome."
"Oh. Thanks," Harry said, glancing down at his arm.
"Tomorrow, Harry," Snape replied, with a slight nod of his head as he stepped out the door.
…
Harry stared at the letters, laid out on the coffee table by order of delivery. Four from the auror division, one from Kingsley. The first was a general inquiry to his health and plans and an afterthought welcome back to the wizarding world. The second asked what his career plans were. The third asked if he would like to train in the auror division. The fourth offered a job. Kingsley's note was a thinly veiled question as to why he wasn't answering the first set of letters.
He tossed Kingsley's letter back to the table and slouched on the couch. When he was fifteen, he'd wanted nothing more than to be an auror, to be the sort of wizard who chases down criminals and solves cases. Now just three years later he had an arm that he couldn't fully rely on, a secret that kept him up at night thinking of how it would be reacted to once revealed, and a hobby instead of a job.
As if it knew that Harry was angry about it, his arm started to tingle with a sharp pin-like pain that started at his fingers and began radiating up his wrist. It had been quite bad the year earlier, when they'd first been cursed, but over the summer the pain had been much more tolerable, almost non-existent some days. Harry supposed that a curse that would burn his nerves away from the inside would naturally lend itself to being affected by the cold.
The bottle that Snape had given him was sitting behind the letters, and Harry could see the empty portrait of George to the right of it. Some people had had bigger prices to pay in the war, Harry reminded himself. It didn't make him feel any better, and he downed the bland tasting potion in one go.
…
Harry watched a pair of bowtruckles do acrobatics on the branches of a wiggen tree as he waited for the shop attendant to finish ringing up another wizard's purchases. He had a small bundle in one hand; apple wood, willow, and red oak blanks, and was holding a muffin in the other hand, just out of reach of a weird looking plant that kept trying to grab it. The plant shop was surprisingly busy for a Tuesday, but then, it was the Tuesday before Christmas and Harry noted that most of the sales were of Christmas plants and flowers. There were a few young wizards buying bouquets of perfume-y smelling flowers, and some older witches shopping for house plants and potion ingredients. A tall blonde witch with a bright green scarf stood hunched over a display of cacti, near the door.
Once he'd paid, Harry tucked the bundle in his coat pocket, uncaring that it stuck out a little, and turned to leave. He didn't have a lot of plans for the afternoon, but also didn't fancy spending a lot of time in the Alley.
"Mr Potter."
Harry stopped, spying out of the corner of his eye that Ollivander was standing in a tiny aisle to his left, holding onto a box of Fionnán Daley's Dragon Dung Plant Enhancer with one hand, and his very handsome walking stick in the other.
"Mr Ollivander," Harry greeted back.
"Very unusual to see into you so frequently," Ollivander said. "And purchasing such fine wood. One would almost assume that you have begun making wands."
Harry glanced down at the parcel in his pocket and shrugged.
"Not making, no. And not selling."
"I see," Ollivander said, giving Harry a smile that wasn't fully genuine. Harry had no doubt from their earlier conversation that Ollivander would be more than a little interested in further inspecting his miraculously-fixed wand, and finding out more about the Elder wand. But he also knew that Ollivander had a business to run, a successful one, and that he'd likely not be so eager to share knowledge any more.
"That is fortuitous. I am, of course the oldest and most respected wandmaker and shop in England, but against Harry Potter, well. Perhaps not as strong of a competitor facing the star of the wizarding world."
Harry felt his fingers twitch at that.
"I was a while ago. I think people are more interested in celebrating the first post-war holiday now. Happy Christmas, Mr Ollivander."
Harry gave him a little wave and stepped back toward the door, making it clear that he wasn't up for more awkward conversation.
"And to you as well, Mr Potter."
Harry stepped out into surprisingly bright sunshine and headed back toward his flat. He knew eventually that Ollivander would find out that he was fixing wands, and hadn't tried to fully hide it. He didn't want to do it as a job, just as a hobby that he could use to help a few friends. It had seemed like a better way to spend his time, rather than working for the ministry.
…
December 24th, 1997
"Lumos."
Light bounced around the small room to muggle lanterns hanging on the walls. There was a cast iron fireplace in the corner, a simple wooden table against one wall and two chairs opposite. At the end of the rectangle-shaped room was a tall platform, waist height, with a large mattress on it. Harry sat on the bed, against the wall, and Snape in one of the chairs, arms gingerly held motionless in their laps.
"A bothy."
"Yeah," Harry replied. "They're mostly in Scotland, but there's some in England too. To muggles this is just ruins."
"I'm impressed, Potter," Snape stood and walked to the table, mere steps away. He kept his arm as still as he could against his side, but Harry knew that it still hurt even with the small amount of movement.
"You planned a hideaway in advance."
Snape looked down his considerable nose at the potion brewing away on the nicked and marred wooden table. There hadn't been much stowed away for emergency potion brewing, but Snape had found enough to make something. Harry had wisely chosen not to mention that Snape's potion brewing seemed to suffer when being done with his non-dominant hand.
"More than one. If you'll note, Hermione isn't here."
"The one time it would have been helpful," Snape grumbled. "This salve will need to be rubbed on our skin and hands. I've arrested the curse, but the nerves partially burned away. Growing them back will be extremely painful."
"Brilliant," Harry groused, slowly moving to push the blankets around on the bed. His right arm flopped down, having lost enough nerves at the bottom to have no control whatsoever over it. Every bump against the bed or wall shot sparks of pain up, but he was determined to make a bed, use whatever salve Snape had made, and pass out.
All he'd wanted was to see his parents' grave for the first time, to see if he could feel some sort of closeness to them. Putting a tracer on the stone, and a curse, was such a petty act of cruelty that Harry felt like throwing something.
Harry had been so focused on stuffing his pillow into the case that he hadn't noticed Snape approach. Standing awkwardly at the edge of the platform, holding onto a small cauldron with a wood spoon sticking out of it, looking if he was debating whether to sit on the platform or just continue to stand.
"You may as well sit. It's the only bed in the place and it's big enough," Harry crossly said. He waited for Snape to arrange himself on the wood platform, balancing the cauldron just off the edge of the mattress.
Harry figured he'd be doing a lot of strange tasks for the war, and had indeed done so over the years, but sitting in a small stone bothy just before Christmas, lathering a foul and yet oddly minty smelling salve on his arm whilst sitting next to Severus Snape was well beyond the strangest he thought would come up. Relief was coming to his burning fingers, and Harry worked to spread the salve faster.
"I was not expecting the stone to be cursed," Harry said breaking the silence.
Snape raised his eyebrow at this, looking mostly unimpressed.
"A wizarding gravestone, in a wizarding village, belonging to the parents of the most wanted wizard in Britain. On Christmas Eve."
Harry shrugged, and was pleased to find that the feeling in his arm had subsided quite a bit already.
"I reckon Vol...the dark lord is more wanted than I am. Just by different people. And you touched it too."
"Yes," Snape sighed. He stuck the wooden spoon back in in the cauldron and tapped his fingers, seeming pleased. His arms, though rather wiry, had a healthy amount of muscle on them and Harry was fascinated watching them tighten. The skin was mostly pale, with a dark smattering of hair, and no tattoos save for the ugly dark mark.
"Likely set by one of the many who appeared shortly after touching it," Snape continued. He said nothing more, and Harry looked at him with suspicion.
"What aren't you telling me?"
"I am suspicious that you trust me, after the events of the astronomy tower," Snape threw back. The lighting in the bothy was brighter than it was in the dungeons of Hogwarts, and the lack of proper teaching clothes made it easy to see how much younger Snape seemed than he did as an imposing professor.
"You know why," Harry said, scratching his shoulder. He, like Snape, was wearing just a t shirt, and though not as muscular, knew his arms looked fairly okay. "You said it earlier."
"Silence isn't trust," Snape said.
"Except it sort of is," Harry pointed out. "Some secrets can be very destructive. And that isn't the only reason."
"Working for the Order as a spy is not a valid reason," Snape said, rolling his eyes. "It's in the title."
Harry was surprised to find himself almost smiling. It hadn't been that long since he'd entertained thoughts of murdering Snape, or at least harming him, and here they were almost having a civil conversation.
"I realised a few things, not long after the night that you killed Dumbledore," Harry started, watching Snape's face for his reaction. There was a slight flinch that Harry did not miss. "The first was that the likelihood of the Half Blood Prince leaving his potions book in that cupboard for ten years for me to happen upon it was ridiculous. You planted it."
Snape said nothing, but he did look like he was trying to hide the barest of smiles.
"Secondly, I used Dumbledore's pensieve to go over my memory of that night. He asked you to kill him."
This time he got a reaction, and it wasn't a pleasant one.
"You know nothing of what he asked me," Snape hissed, leaning forward so his hair draped across his face.
"And I can't ask him," Harry argued back. "But all along he's said he's trusted you. So, I tried to see why. And I still don't know if I'm fully right to, though there's not much choice now."
Snape's eyes were dark and piercing, but Harry wasn't afraid of him. Somewhere between losing Dumbledore, and running for his life from the ministry, Snape had no longer become the scariest person in Harry's life.
"I suppose you'll have to wait and see," Snape said, though he'd lost some of the vigour in his voice.
Harry rolled his eyes and turned, laying back onto the mattress. The salve Snape had made, which Harry was pretty certain he wouldn't have done if he wanted to harm Harry, was working quite well and his right arm felt an almost numb tingling at the top of his shoulder, where the curse had been arrested. It was a welcome relief from the fiery burn when they'd first reached the bothy.
"Looks like I'll have plenty of time," Harry said, speaking to the wall. "Given that neither of us can move our wand hands, we can't really leave here."
A thick and awkward silence filled the bothy as that information landed, though Harry suspected Snape had already come to that realisation. Harry waited for an angry reply, but the reply was in a calmer tone that Harry didn't expect.
"This is a very small space, Potter."
"Yeah, it is," Harry responded, managing to keep most of the sarcasm out of his voice. "There's another set of blankets in the box by the fireplace. Sleep wherever you want."
He rearranged his arm as he listened to Snape mutter and pull the blankets out of the box. The bothy had warmed up comfortably despite the bitter wind howling outside, and the oversized mattress on the platform was pretty comfortable.
"Well then," Snape said, laying on the bed, stiffly and at the edge furthest from Harry. "Christmas eve in a run-down bothy in Dartmoor. I'm sure it's exactly what Harry Potter asked for. Nox."
Harry made a face, but didn't turn to look at Snape. He'd gotten himself comfortable in the blankets and wanted to fall asleep before the salve wore off.
"Two years ago, you told me that I'd better be careful, because it's a very lonely life," Harry said instead, staring into the rafters above them. "As if that was any different from what it is now."
…
December 23rd, 1998
Harry opened the window and blinked at the whoosh of cold damp air that flew in with the post owl carrying the Daily Prophet. A smaller owl followed with a small folded letter, and Harry tossed them each a piece of sausage from his breakfast. Both were then immediately ignored, as Harry unfolded the paper and sighed at the front page, and the photo of him bundled up for winter as he walked through Diagon Alley.
"POTTER VS CARVER – BATTLE OF THE WANDMAKERS IN DIAGON ALLEY"
For fuck's sake, Harry thought.