As time passed on number 4 Privet Drive, Harry started realizing more and more that he was woefully unequipped to deal with his situation. What had sounded as an enticing, be it vague proposal from Erised, was in fact very much a trial of patience.
He'd gotten past one year of his life on almost perpetual repeat of events already unfolded long ago. He'd gotten a mere few and brief opportunities to actually do or say something and when he looked back, he couldn't find any evidence that he'd made whatsoever difference with his words and actions.
"Touch only what you have to save" had turned out to be a very strict rule, with clenching gut feelings when he was about to deviate, and if he could not remember clearly what to say or how to act, he'd been reduced to what could only be described as fast-forwarding of the events. During those times he'd felt much like a passenger in his own body and the nauseous physical feeling was the least of his concerns. His friends were eleven, even if he could speak to them, he couldn't think of anything to say. The things that interested them now were too childish to reconcile. All the more, the major events in his own life did not pertain to any modification. He was helpless to do something about Scabbers, or Voldemort, or even save the unicorn.
Even with Snape, where he supposedly could make a difference, Harry felt very much out of his depth. The man had this determination to hate him going on and Harry very much doubted that Snape's attitude even depended on his input. He seemed to draw a picture of Harry without actually looking at him – and what little he saw could only serve to confirm his most negative presumptions.
Even so, Harry couldn't deny that the listlessness he'd felt after the final battle had all but vanished. Even in this strange situation, even unable to share his thoughts or change anything, he relished seeing all the people he would come to lose later on the way. He'd even managed to make precious few but all the same new memories with Snape and with Dumbledore.
Harry had thought that if he acted differently, he could perhaps make Snape not hate him so much. It seemed however that Harry had no idea what was the right thing to do or say when it came to the man. He couldn't point out a single person Snape actively liked for a reference. Well, besides of course his mother. Yet Harry didn't know enough about her in order to guess what she'd done for him to like her. Then again perhaps she didn't do anything in particular. Perhaps she'd just been in the right place at the right time.
Wasn't he supposed to be in the right place at the right time? It seemed to him, he might be already too late.
Perhaps Harry was thinking about it wrong, perhaps the man was always meant to hate him and this had nothing to do with saving him. That being so, Snape remained the only person to whom Harry could actually talk.
During vacation on Privet Drive, Harry had ample time to think and not much else… well at least if one didn't count nightmares as an occupation.
He had six years and almost no resources to save one life. And all he could seem to change so far, was himself.
"Hang on…" Harry muttered to Ron before he could stop himself from uttering. "There's an empty chair at the staff table…Where's Snape?"
"Maybe he's ill" he added before Ron had a chance to say the same line and leave him with:
"Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him —"
"Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."
Harry shivered and turned around meeting Snape's eyes a bit apologetically. It didn't work though, not that he really hoped it would. The professor seemed viciously satisfied with their situation exactly as the first time around.
They followed Snape to his office
"So," he said softly, "the train isn't good enough for the famous Harry Potter and his faithful sidekick Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a bang, did we, boys?"
"No, sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it —"
"Of course.", Harry said at the same time much quieter than Ron though. After he exchanged a brief glare with the professor, he let his eyes stare at the far wall as he knew what was coming.
"Silence!" said Snape coldly. "…Six or seven Muggles in all. I believe your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?" he said, looking up at Ron and smiling still more nastily. "Dear, dear…his own son…"
Harry rolled his eyes and waited some more as Snape went on to enlist the Whomping Willow of all things as another innocent victim of their, no doubt, gruesome crimes.
"It was my fault, sir.", he said mildly and he winced at the contrast with Snape's tone.
The professor whirled to look at him, his expression murderous.
"Explain Potter." He snarled.
Harry sighed. Snape was not going to hear him, he could see that plainly.
"My aunt and uncle hate magic. They refused to let me come back and locked me in my room. Ron merely helped me escape."
One of Snape's eyes trembled looking at him. Harry vaguely remembered one of his doing just that when he'd swallowed a Bertie Bott's bean tasting of ear wax.
"Enough with the theatrics, Potter!", he spat."Most unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. You will wait here."
Harry sighed facing his white-faced friend who no doubt believed they would be expelled tonight. He couldn't even laugh to assuage his fears.
Instead he stood up, taking in the cold grey feeling of the room committing to memory the phials on the shelves, the unlit fireplace, the less than soft chair, the stones on the wall in the hopes to understanding better the cold vicious man he was struggling to save.
Behind the big desk, invisible to Ron who was deep inside his head in worry, he pulled a drawer and dropped a small parcel beside parchment and spare quills.
Ten minutes later Snape returned with their Head of House later followed by Dumbledore.
Harry stood there cataloguing Snape's expressions, wondering how it was possible for such a delight to be derived by the possibility of the expulsion of a twelve-year-old. But of course it could not. Snape wasn't expelling him after all. He was expelling James Potter. Harry could remember clearly enough only one other occasion he saw such malicious glee on this face and it had been on the night Sirius was supposed to receive the dementors' kiss. Harry shuddered internally at the thought of his professor rejoicing at his own death.
In the end, Snape looked as though Christmas had been canceled.
Later that evening found Snape staring at the suspicious unmarked package in his drawer. He had already cast every revealing charm he could think of and it was quite clear the thing, whatever it was, wasn't jinxed. Still it was too suspicious to open. Snape sighed and undid the cover to reveal a dusty book with a faded burgundy cover. He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the volume as if daring it to do a back-flip. As it didn't do anything strange, Snape lifted it up and stared in disbelief. It was a tome he'd never seen before in what looked to be Greek. Intrigued, he opened the cover of "Σκοτεινών Τεχνών: Φιλοσοφία" and a note fell off on his desk.
I hope you find it as illuminating as I did
P.S. The pages are fragile
Snape reread the strange note a couple of times before squishing it and throwing it in the waste-bin. He took the book and examined it carefully. It did indeed look fragile and poorly maintained. There was dried blood on the back cover.
He spent the rest of the evening pretending it wasn't there.
Harry spent the next few weeks blissfully free of Slytherin heir's monster in studying Occlumency and potions at every available moment. As for the potions classes Snape's attitude towards him couldn't be described as anything but strange. The professor no longer pretended not to notice him, on the contrary, he stared at him it seemed in every moment which he couldn't fill with more productive business. He also got to point out every single mistake Harry made and didn't miss the chance to fill his remarks with an extra pint of sarcasm either. But all in all that made Harry feel on a cloud. Once he was used to this attitude and he himself got the positive attitude towards the professor, he found the remarks constructive and highly helpful so much that he felt his technique had never been that good before.
As Harry read through his potions book, he remembered the last potions class this week. Snape had gone on to check how they were doing and smiled nastily when he reached Harry. "It's good to see that after I have provided such thorough instructions for you to read of, you still are trying to manage to turn your pitiful potion blue, Potter.", he sneered and Harry not jumpy anymore, put the bowl of powdered horn down, instead dropping a pinch of mandrake root in his cauldron and smiled. At this the potions master made a small sound of approval and went on to supervise the others.
It really felt great and he hoped it would at least stay this way for the duration of his second year.
"Sir," Harry ventured after one of the lessons.
Snape's head snapped up from the parchments of student essays he'd began reading after dismissing the class.
"I was wondering if you could advise me, professor."
"On what pray tell could you possibly need my advice Mr. Potter?
"Antidotes, sir." He mumbled almost incoherently.
"Excuse me?"
"Antidotes, sir. I have been researching….well trying to research antidotes for uncommon poisons. I cannot wrap my mind around Golpalott's Third Law and I just hoped… well could you possibly recommend some literature that would be closer to my level? I really want to understand the logic behind it."
Snape actually snorted to this, much to Harry's amazement.
"Potter, to be honest with you, I sincerely doubt even Golpalott understood fully the implications of his third law." He said looking at Harry intently. "But whatever for would you need to know about antidotes?"
"…Nothing, nevermind." Harry said turning to leave, knowing very well he couldn't begin to explain to Snape his thirst for information on the subject.
"Start with Alchemy." Snape said startling him. "Here, these are some helpful volumes, and you will undoubtedly need this –" he continued handing him two notes.
Harry's eyes widened at the recommended readings and moreover, the pass to the restricted section needed to procure them.
"…Are you sure, sir?"
"Take it before I change my mind, Potter."
Harry snatched the parchments away smiling widely despite his best effort to remain nonchalant and dashed out of the classroom.
On Halloween much as he remembered Mrs. Norris was found petrified yet again. The only difference being that now Harry was perfectly capable of recognizing Lockhart's woefully idiosyncratic behavior. Even so, Harry had expected a marginally different reaction from Snape who had done and said the exact same things for his part. So in his mind still, probably Harry and the other two had done nothing, but they were very suspicious none the less. Were Snape's aberrations in behavior only saved for there were no witnesses, honestly?
Harry didn't have time to ponder this new or rather old development as the trio started scheming to reveal Draco Malfoy as the heir of Slytherin. Oh joy, he thought as Thursday afternoon potions came to be and he already knew exactly what would happen there. He was supposed to divert the attention of the whole classroom in order for Hermione to sneak in Snape's office and steal ingredients for the polijuice potion. It was not like he had any choice on the matter. So, much like last time, Harry prodded the Filibuster firework with his wand and threw it into Goyle's cauldron.
Snape for his part, once again reacted on the spot, dispersing Deflating Drafts like he was awaiting just this sort of accident.
When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.
"If I ever find out who threw this," Snape whispered, "I shall make sure that person is expelled."
Harry smiled crookedly as Snape was looking right at him. Well it was his fault alright, but it could've been anybody else and the potions master as per usual jumped to the conclusion that the boy who lived was at fault. That of course infuriated him. Harry resorted to staring at the wall for the next ten minutes and tried to be one of the first to leave the classroom. It didn't happen however.
"Mr. Potter, stay after class.", Snape drawled.
Harry sighed and dropped his bag turning around and going to Snape's desk.
"Sir?", he ventured after a few minutes of silence.
"Should I use a pensieve to learn exactly what had happened or would you save me the trouble?", he asked calmly.
Harry looked at him with blank expression.
"I'm sorry sir but I think a pensieve would work better.", he couldn't possibly explain to Snape why he'd done it anyway.
"If,", he replied coldly, "something of this sort happens ever again you'll be out of my classroom permanently."
That didn't feel good. Not good at all. Harry could feel emotion well up inside him and he made himself look away from the testing onyx eyes only to feel something wet on his cheek. Oh fuck why? He wasn't the first person Harry had disappointed but somehow this felt way worse even than testing Dumbledore's patience. This served to prove something has changed alright. The first time around Snape had simply left the point. So why was he talking to Harry about it now? Was it possible that this time he thought Harry would understand if being confronted? He was wrong if he thought that. Harry had no control and he knew he would disappoint the potions master way more in the future. This didn't cheer him up in the least. It told him his plan couldn't possibly work. Even if it worked it would be at the cost of constant disappointment for Snape. Or was it for Harry? He pushed the thoughts down. He would live and this wasn't the time.
"Yes, sir.", he managed and hurried to escape Snape's penetrating gaze.
The next time Harry saw Snape was at the dueling club. It wasn't a happy occasion as Harry was about to perplex Snape even more.
"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young — maybe it'll be him."
"As long as it's not —" Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.
Harry registered with a slight delay what the fool was saying because he had just realized something of importance. It was Snape that taught him the disarming charm. The charm that would become his trademark and the same charm that finished Voldemort. If it wasn't for him, he continued thinking, Harry wouldn't be alive today. Snape's saved Harry's life so many times and what had he ever done for him? Well ok, he went back in time with the sole purpose of saving him, but really was that a conscious choice? And moreover in a practical sense what had he done for the potions master…ever, at all?
As they readied themselves, Snape looking positively ready to tear Lockhart apart, Harry felt once more fixed on the potions professor's form. He'd never seen him actually duel in a real life situation, yet he had the inkling that he was proficient. Harry definitely wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of Snape's rage.
"One — two — three —"
Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.
Harry stared with renewed appreciation as he couldn't remember ever seeing someone producing such an effect with this spell. Long feud with the Marauders would hone those skills, he guessed.
Next they were supposed to be paired off and Harry swallowed, still not looking forward to becoming persona non grata for the rest of the year.
Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.
"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered. "Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter —"
Harry smiled slightly to Snape's wonder. It wouldn't do to try and pair with Hermione.
"Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter."
Harry readied his wand wondering if he could be allowed a little leeway with fate on this one. After all Snape was here and he wouldn't change anything of importance.
So after they'd bowed and the count had started, Harry was quick to deter the quick draw of Draco with a well timed "Expeliarmus" of his own. It worked, and Draco's wand flew into the air only to land at his feet. Nobody seemed to have noticed except for Draco himself and of course, the Potions Master.
After the others had managed to beat their partners, some bloodied, others unscathed, Lockhart had decided that maybe it might be a good idea to show them how to defend themselves. If of course he could omit dropping his wand in the process. So yet again Snape had decided to suggest he be paired with Malfoy. Everything had to be a power move on Snape's part. Harry would never understand what Snape saw in the boy. After all, it was Draco that was the personification of a young James Potter, spoilt and privileged brat that he was but the Potions Professor didn't seem to notice.
When Draco summoned the snake Harry knew this was not a thing he could tamper with. The familiar gut feeling told him it was time the world knew he was a parslemouth.
Next thing he knew, Harry shouted stupidly at the snake, "Leave him alone!" And the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry.
He looked up at Justin, grinning, and of course found him angry and scared.
"What do you think you're playing at?" he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.
Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry didn't like it.
What would he think of him now, after this? Not that he was the heir of Slytherin surely. Perhaps the professor would pity him. Or more likely he'd hate him more for some unknowable reason. But he was officially a freak now even by wizarding standards and there was nothing he could do about it.
As time passed the need to do something for the potions master increased but nothing sprang to Harry's mind which needed to be done. Professor Snape was fine on his own it seemed but that didn't assuage Harry. He'd do something even if it was as small as an anonymous birthday gift.
Meanwhile, in potions class his personal agenda was monitoring Snape's possessions without getting him suspicious. A few months of this got him as far as listing five things Snape now lacked. By the holidays however, he already knew a present he simply had to give him even if it was unwelcome.
He passed the whole Christmas break in thoughts of Snape, guessing whether he was at school or at home spending the holidays alone. He much hoped it was the former, though even at Hogwarts the professor would surely prefer being alone on Christmas eve. Harry cursed the fact that Snape hadn't let him get close enough to send a holiday card at least. It was the same really as Harry couldn't imagine Snape being happy getting mawkish things like cards. That too made him decide not to congratulate him for his birthday in any way, just leaving the present in an un-present-ly way and leave it be.
So on the eve of ninth of January Harry used his cloak to sneak into Snape's office and place the quill and its stand on their usual place on Snape's desk along with a paper bag and a small note attached to it.
On the morning of the ninth, when Snape entered his office, he immediately sensed something was off. He couldn't place it though. So it was half an hour later, when he went on to mark a few essays before breakfast, that he reached absentmindedly for the quill and saw something strange. His first thought was that he was seeing things, being half asleep and all, but a moment was enough to realize that wasn't the case. There on his desk stood a silver ornamented quill stand along with a quill with the same silver inlay and near them stood a paper bag and a…note. Snape narrowed his eyes and took the note in his hands.
I would have put them in your personal storage but I thought it would be a serious breach to your privacy. I hope this compensates at least a bit for the caused inconvenience.
I hope the quill is acceptable.
Snape looked back at the quill. The silver stand was engraved so it pictured a thick poll with the letter "S" on its center and an emerald-eyed snake weaving around it until it reached the top where it opened its mouth and swallowed the quill. It was beautiful and very detailed work down to the last silver scale. It made Snape sigh in frustration and open the bag just to busy himself. Bicorn horn and boomslang skin. Great. He was starting to think of placing a ward on his office but realized that would probably only serve to prompt Potter to leave his…"presents" in front of the door.
The next few weeks taught Harry a valuable lesson. Snape only dealt with things he knew how to cope with. This defense mechanism was the thing that kept getting in his way to earning the trust of the potions master, he concluded. It was because Snape didn't know what to make of him that he acted so strange (now he was back on a Notice-me-not as long as Snape was concerned). Harry never got to see him use his gift in class but still hoped he could appreciate its aesthetic value if not the practical one and it wasn't thrown in the trash.
Two months later found Harry in potions class staring unblinkingly at his favorite wall while Malfoy tried his best to suck up to Snape. Of course it would work, he thought. It was actually a little sad how hungry the professor was for a little acknowledgment. Harry found himself reminiscing Snape's childhood. He was starting to realize that if Snape wasn't who he was, the whole war would come to pass differently. Harry wouldn't live in the first place as, if Snape hadn't had such a terrible childhood, he probably wouldn't become obsessed with the dark arts, wouldn't seek the company of Death Eater wannabes, wouldn't call Lily a mudblood and what was more, he wouldn't become a Death Eater himself, hence he wouldn't be able to beg Voldemort to spare his mother's life – which prompted her sacrifice and saved his life. There was nothing Snape had done which was wrong when he thought about it from this perspective. They were all the right things. But perhaps if he wasn't a budding Death Eater, Lily would have fell for him. Of course Harry would then disappear from the face of earth but…wouldn't that be a good thing in the end?
He couldn't think like this of course. There was nothing he could do and no way to know what would have happened. Perhaps then Snape would have been killed by Voldemort, anything could happen.
As it was, Harry turned to look at Snape's smug expression and, though it still saddened him a little, he felt glad he had the chance to know this man who had sacrificed so much for him to be able to live and win the war. If only Snape could look him in the eye and recognize how he felt about him…but what good would that do? Hadn't he ascertained he would continue disappointing this man? It was no good.
After this he decided there was nothing more he could do this year, unless something sprang up, which he knew wouldn't. He went on pretending to be twelve for the most part and trying in vain not to get a headache at the noise everybody made constantly around him in the great hall, corridors and Gryffindor dorm. It was the growing up thing, he was sure of it as he didn't remember having complaints about the noise the last time he was twelve. There was the strange part where he started understanding why Snape didn't like teaching kids and especially dunderheads – they seemed to make the most noise for a start and considering potions…well it resulted mostly in loud noises too. He could act his age (as far as being subdued was akin to any age in particular) only in potions and that was one more reason to single it out as his favorite subject. There was one more thing he thought about while staring at various walls through the school year. He could put his efforts in becoming an animagus. Of course it was not at all necessary and he could waste valuable time but what else was he supposed to fill his time with? He was sick with Occlumency and as much as he liked to be in the dungeons he didn't much fancy becoming a potions master. Snape wouldn't be able to digest that, he was sure. On the other hand if his father and Sirius were able to become animagi why couldn't he too? There were bound to be books on the subject. So he spent the rest of his free time in the library reading and copying texts of the seventh year curriculum in Transfiguration. It proved to be a long study subject so he didn't get his hopes up of ever achieving it but still vowed to spend the next holiday researching.
It was after the fight with the basilisk and on the pajama feast that Snape approached him unexpectedly.
"A word, Mr. Potter."
Puzzled but not enough to stop him from getting up immediately, Harry followed Snape as he went out of the Great Hall.
"Congratulations for the performance with the basilisk.", he said cordially and Harry eyed him suspiciously. The last time the potions master congratulated him was just before he accused him of stealing from his private storage and threatened him with Veritaserum.
"I almost died there.", Harry replied.
"I heard."
"It was foolish. I shouldn't have done it.", Snape stared at him as though he'd just grown a second head. "But thank you, sir. Was that the reason you wished to speak to me?", but he didn't answer. "Sir?"
Whatever it was, Snape snapped out of it.
"No, that was not the reason I wished to speak to you. Due to certain circumstances concerning excessive quantities of pure basilisk venom I find myself lacking a second pair of hands –", he paused as if to gather his thoughts. "And the headmaster suggested, given your avid interest in antidotes, that I borrow you for a certain period of time to brew several potions for me."
Harry's eyes lightened as he beamed. He couldn't believe his luck and with him being only a second year that was quite an honor.
"Certainly, sir!", he answered enthusiastic. "When should I come?"
Snape snorted in an undignified manner and Harry's eyes widened. Now that was a first.
"Whenever you have a free period tomorrow on Mr. Potter.", he said, nodded, bidding good night and with a swish of robes was off to the dungeons.
Harry partially wished he could go right now.
As a few days passed however, Harry had to rethink the concept of honor. All he was doing was slaving to a pissed off (for 'obvious' reasons) potions master in every free moment he got. Snape was constantly around cursing and threatening under his breath when not remarking Harry's abysmal work (which according to Harry hadn't worsened since yesterday). He was playing patient though, trying his hardest to concentrate and to not screw up as the potions he was making were important indeed.
It was just the fact that they had to make so many in such a short time due to the short life-span of the basilisk venom for which Snape didn't have the appropriate container and could put in stasis for merely a week before it degenerated. Snape's explanation of this was far more complicated of course but Harry could only gather so much reason from the string of big words that escaped his mouth like an antelope chased by a lion.
Snape was more tensed and stressed than usual and Harry could only resign himself to this so far. On the third day of their mutual torture in the dungeons, he finally snapped. It happened ten minutes into the work when the potions master suddenly dropped a vile and it crashed on the floor dripping venom. That served to infuriate him enough to start shouting curses as if the vile was at fault for escaping his fingers.
"Sir!", Harry tried several times to no avail till finally, "SHUT UP!"
Snape stared him like he'd just realized he wasn't alone in the room.
"Please, sir, sit down and rest for a few minutes. I'll manage."
Seemingly at loss for words, the potions master complied. Harry sympathized with him knowing he was only there for a few hours a day, as Snape spent his whole day doing this. When next he had to go to classes, he scooped the curriculum his professor had made for these potions and tried to study it and found they were actually ahead of their schedule. When he next spoke to the potions master, he pointed out this and managed to persuade him to modify the table so to spread what was left into even numbers to the days ahead. This done, their time together was much more pleasurable for the last four days. With three botched potions and one vile spilled, Harry deemed their work admirable. Snape deemed it lacking…but Snape was Snape and there was nothing that could have been done about it.
Overall when traveling back 'home' Harry went over the events of the past year and felt generally satisfied with his doing. The next one though…could prove a challenge.