Oddities

Harry hadn't even gotten through a full week of classes, and Snape had already taken 50 House Points and given him detention. How would he be punished for this latest offense?

Honestly, it wasn't his fault. He couldn't have known that the staircase would swing the wrong way, forcing him to take a longer route. He hadn't expected to run into Peeves either, who'd found a way to block the door he needed to get through. Both were perfectly legitimate excuses, though did it matter? Of course not. He was still 5 minutes late – no way Snape was letting him off the hook for that.

He slipped into the Defense classroom, cringing as a dozen heads swiveled in his direction. Snape looked up from his desk, black eyes narrowing as they met his.

"Sir, I…"

"Sit down, Potter."

Was that all? He frowned, taking a seat next to Ron and Hermione.

"I saw little progress in our previous class," Snape said as he rose to his feet. "I am, however, forced to concede that the fault lies with your previous instructors."

"Where were you?"

"Shhh!" he hissed at Ron.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. As I was saying, it will take time and effort to overcome such shoddy teaching. Split into pairs, if you will."

Like last time, he teamed up with Ron, the two of them standing a few feet apart as they waited for further instruction.

"Nonverbal spells," Snape continued, "might very well save your life if you learn how to cast them efficiently. Consider that when you perform this exercise."

Harry wasn't ready for Ron's attack. He reacted without thinking, a jet of red light shooting from the tip of his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, taking Ron's arm and heaving him to his feet. "Once again, you've failed to heed my instructions. Why?"

"I'm not trying to…"

"Why?" he repeated. "What goes through your mind when you're attacked?"

"Trying not to piss himself, I'll bet."

"Quiet, Draco!"

Snapping at a student wasn't unusual for Snape. Snapping at Draco? Harry glanced at Ron, who shook his head in bewilderment.

"Mr. Potter? I'm waiting for an answer."

"I… I don't know, sir. Nothing, I guess."

He braced himself, expecting a snarky remark. Instead, Snape looked thoughtful, scrutinizing his features like he expected to find the answer there.

"Nothing?" he repeated. "Yes, well, see me after class."

Suddenly, it all made sense. Snape was choosing to be neutral, trying to catch him off guard so he could be twice as nasty in private. What would it be this time? More detentions? Suspension from the Quidditch team? Harry scowled, lifting his wand as Ron launched another attack.

"Protego."

This time, it was a whisper rather than a shout, though he still felt like a failure. It didn't help that Hermione overheard him, shaking her head as she disarmed her opponent.

"Like this, see? You've just got to…"

"Class dismissed."

He stayed where he was, swallowing his anxiety as the other students trickled out. Ron was the last to leave, shooting him a sympathetic look over his shoulder.

"Nothing," Snape said, closing the door with a flick of his wand. "That's the best explanation you can give?"

"I… I don't think anything or feel anything. I just act."

"Interesting."

Snape moved closer, giving him that peculiar look he'd seen earlier. It was as if he was trying to see right through him, black eyes lingering on his face for an abnormally long time before they flickered away.

"With your permission," he said, "I'd like to try an experiment."

His permission? Since when had Snape asked his permission to do anything?

"Um, okay."

"Silencio."

It happened so fast Harry didn't have time to block it, even with a verbal spell. Of course, he didn't have that option now, unable to utter a word as Snape lifted his wand again.

"Repel me."

How was he supposed to do that? He didn't know how…

"Expelliarmus."

The wand flew out of his hand, landing halfway across the room. Snape retrieved it with a summoning spell, tossing it in his lap.

"Try harder," he said. "Expelliarmus."

This time, Harry managed a partial block, catching his wand before it hit the floor. Snape nodded, taking aim at him again.

"Expelliarmus!"

He didn't know how he did it, but the strength of his Shield Charm knocked Snape backward, sending him tumbling over the desk. Great. Now he'd definitely be punished.

"Well," Snape said as he pushed himself to his feet, "it seems you are capable of casting an adequate nonverbal."

Adequate? Harry blinked. That was like anyone else telling him it was bloody brilliant.

"Expelliarmus!"

Again, he blocked the spell, though this time, Snape had the forethought to brace himself against the wall. He stumbled only slightly, canceling the Silencing Charm as he righted himself.

"Now," he said, "What have you learned from this little exercise?"

"That I should muzzle myself if I want to cast nonverbals?"

"What did I tell you about cheek?"

"Sorry."

Snape jerked his head, dismissing the apology. "What did you learn?"

"I learned…" Harry frowned. "I guess I learned that I automatically choose the easiest option. When that was taken away, I…"

"Not the easiest," Snape said. "The most instinctual."

"Yeah."

"And what does that tell you?"

"That it's a habit? I don't think about it, I just do what I know how to do."

"Indeed," Snape said. "You cast verbal spells because that knowledge is already ingrained in you. Of course, that also hinders your ability to follow instructions…"

"I'm sorry."

"You're not listening, Mr. Potter."

"No, I am! I only meant…"

"Miss Granger has had no trouble with these lessons. Do you know why?"

"Hermione's good at everything."

"No, it's because her magic doesn't come naturally. It's a conscious choice. Predetermined. Logical. Methodical."

"So," Harry said, "you're telling me I need to be more like her?"

Snape shook his head. "I'm telling you that your magic works differently. As such, your learning process must be different, too. For you, it isn't about following instructions. It's…"

"Forming habits?"

"Precisely," Snape said, looking oddly pleased. "The nonverbal will become instinctual, but it won't be easy. You'll need a great deal of practice."

'Yes, sir."

"Apply yourself. I expect to see improvement next class. If I don't…"

"Yes sir, I understand."

Snape nodded, jerking his head toward the door. "Dismissed."


Severus should've assigned another detention. He should've at least taken a few House Points. Potter had arrived late, after all, which…

Potter? No, Harry. He'd started referring to him by his first name, at least in his own mind. Outwardly? The boy was still Potter, a student he was supposed to despise. Unfortunately, the latter was swiftly becoming a problem.

If anything should happen, he's going to need you. He'll need your protection, but more importantly, he'll need your love. You're the only father he has, Severus, no matter what James or anyone else believes. Promise me…

For nearly a week now, he'd sat up all night reading Lily's letters. He'd committed the pictures to memory, spent hours in the Pensieve. He'd even watched her go through labor a couple more times, still stunned by the knowledge that the child she'd given birth to was his. It was as miraculous as it was tragic, one brief, shining glimpse of the life they might've had together.

That memory broke his heart, though he also found comfort in it. He hated to see her suffer, of course, but the expression on her face as she'd gazed at their newborn child…

When I took the Vow, I felt like I'd lost everything. I didn't know how I was going to make it through the next three years. Harry changed all that. He brought me back to life, gave me joy and hope and a sense of purpose. I can't even begin to explain how much I love him, or how much I love you for giving him to me.

It still hurts, being apart from you. It's scary, not knowing what to expect. But even if the worst should happen and I never see you again, I know I'll be able to face it because I have Harry. I'll have a part of you with me, always, one that no one can take away.

Insane, perhaps, but he'd started responding to her letters. Sometimes he wrote as if the past 15 years had never happened, making promises he'd never be able to keep. Other times, he remained in the present, struggling to articulate his regrets.

Dear Lily,

You never had to ask me to protect him. I have done so for all these years, never knowing that he was mine. Asking me to love him? That's the one thing I couldn't give you. I wasn't even willing to try, because the truth is, it was so much easier to despise him. He was Potter's child, or so I thought, the reason I lost you long before that night in Godric's Hollow. I couldn't look at him without seeing everything that had gone wrong in my life, all my mistakes and failures. How was I supposed to move past that?

To tell you the truth, I still don't know how. I don't know how to reconcile with the past, the way I've treated him, the regrettable things I've done. I don't know how to cope with the present either. All I do know is that I don't hate him anymore. I don't want him to hate me either.

What do I do, Lily? How can I even begin to make up for all the damage I've done when there are so many factors working against me? The war, the need for secrecy, the Dark Lord and Dumbledore and the Vow. That bloody Vow… I have no choice but to go through with it. I must do the one thing our son will never, ever forgive. What's the point in attempting to earn his trust?

There is no point. Deep down, I know that. It's already too late, yet I can't seem to stop myself from trying.

It was foolish, really. Foolish and selfish and remarkably shortsighted. Worse than that? It was downright cruel. Knowing he had to kill Dumbledore, yet still making an effort to repair his relationship with Harry? It would be far more merciful to let his son go on hating him.

That was the brutal irony in all of this. He'd spent years mistreating Harry and never, not once, had he regretted it. Now that he wanted to make amends? Being harsh was the kindest thing he could possibly do.

The kindest, though certainly not the easiest. All those years of coldness, snide remarks and unfair punishments? Every bit of that had been directed at Potter's son.

"What goes through your mind when you're attacked?"

"I… I don't know, sir. Nothing, I guess."

If that response had come from Potter's son, Severus would've interpreted it as laziness. He would've taken House Points or assigned detention, dismissing the boy as a lost cause. Hearing that response from his own son? That was another matter entirely.

"I don't think about it, I just do what I know how to do."

Instinctual magic. Severus knew it well, having wrestled with it himself in his younger years. His instincts had driven him to cast Dark spells, far more extreme than were necessarily warranted. He'd had to learn through trial and error to form appropriate habits, treating nasty curses as a last resort rather than his first defense.

Harry would learn to control his impulses, too. True, he needed practice, but he was certainly capable of…

"Shit. "

Severus gripped his arm, his stomach twisting as the Dark Mark started to burn. Rushing to the Pensieve, he rid himself of all his most vulnerable memories, stashing the remnants behind his shields. Would it be enough? He hoped so. The alternative was unthinkable.

Somehow, he maintained his composure, retrieving his robe and mask before he sent word to Dumbledore.

"I have been summoned. I'll notify you when I return."


"Ah, Severus. I'm so glad you could join me."

"My lord." He bowed deeply, careful to show the proper amount of respect. The two of them were alone in the Malfoys' drawing room, a sinister stillness hanging heavy in the air.

"Please, be seated."

He did as he was told, already knowing what to expect. He'd heard rumors for weeks, whispers of the Dark Lord's increasing paranoia. Really, he was lucky he hadn't been summoned before now. Other followers had been called in multiple times, subjected to deep scrutiny that left most of them cowering in fear.

Severus didn't cower. He remained stoic, swallowing his terror as he pushed various memories even deeper into the recesses of his mind.

"I won't waste your time, Severus. I know you have duties to attend to."

"Yes, my lord, though my allegiance to you always takes precedence."

"Does it?" Voldemort said, his serpentine eyes gleaming.

"Of course," Severus responded. "See for yourself."

"Far be it for me to refuse such an offer. Legilimens."

As always, his first instinct was to push back. Forcing himself to relax, he took a slow, deep breath as he brought a memory to the forefront. Had he been less skilled, this tactic would be obvious. Fortunately, he'd learned how to make it seem natural, as if the recollection had surfaced without conscious thought.

He showed Voldemort an image of himself at the gates, taunting Potter and taking excessive House Points. There he was again, snarling at Potter as he gave him detention. Potter… he couldn't allow himself to think of the boy as anything else. Instead, he focused sharply on these memories, the hateful ones, the ones he'd already come to regret, knowing they were exactly what the Dark Lord wanted to see.

The rest was easy. He supplied the information he'd been given, carefully chosen tidbits with that made it seem as if he'd been spying on Dumbledore. He followed that up with several glimpses of himself bowing before Voldemort, memories that had been colored by his own manipulations.

And what would the Dark Lord see? A version of Severus who was utterly servile, desperate to please his master. He'd been careful to remove any trace of resentment, his real feelings buried so deep that even the most skilled Legilimens could never hope to reach them.

"Good," Voldemort said, nodding as he withdrew. "Very good. I'll summon you when I require your services again."


Severus didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. Not until he stepped outside, nearly fainting with relief as he gulped in huge mouthfuls of chilly autumn air. He gave himself a moment to recover before he strode across the grounds, eager to get back to Hogwarts.

No, he didn't want Harry to hate him, but what was he supposed to do? At this point, he had no choice but to play his part to utter perfection. To deviate from that path, even a little, could easily spell failure. Not just failure for himself, but for Harry, too.

He couldn't let that happen. Not now. He'd always intended to protect Lily's son, of course, but that had taken on a whole new meaning, so much deeper and more significant than he'd originally thought. Reading her letters, watching those memories… the most painful thing about it was that he hadn't been there to keep them safe. Not just her. Them.

That wasn't his fault. Not entirely. If Potter hadn't forced her to take that bloody Vow…

Severus shook his head, pushing the thought away. The point was, he hadn't been there when they'd needed him. Perhaps it was too late for Lily, but their child, the one he'd never known existed? That child was still very much alive. Whatever it took, Severus intended to make sure he remained that way.

Yes, he'd protect Harry. There'd never been any question of that. Telling him the truth? That was another matter entirely. Even if Harry believed him, which didn't seem likely, it was too much of a risk. He refused to put his son in further danger simply for the sake of coming clean.

So what was the alternative? Allowing Harry to live out the rest of his life believing he was Potter's son? Just the thought of that made him feel ill, but what else could he do?

Severus sighed, shedding his robes as he entered his quarters. One by one, he withdrew his memories from the Pensieve, replacing them in his head. Many of them revolved around Lily's box, of course, all those truths she'd managed to reveal from beyond the grave. Letters, pictures, memories…

His eyes widened, fixating on the last silvery strand that still clung to the tip of his wand.

"Lily," he said quietly, "you're a genius."

Five minutes later, he'd conjured a second box, larger and more plain than Lily's. He duplicated her photographs and tucked them inside, enclosing the letters she'd written specifically for their son. He added some of her memories, too, though he was far more selective with these. Did Harry really need to see his mother give birth to him? Probably not. Better to show him the aftermath, an exhausted yet blissful Lily cradling her newborn baby as she drifted off to sleep.

That, of course, was the easy part. His own memories? He wasn't ready to delve into those quite yet. He settled himself in his armchair instead, summoning quill and parchment.

Dear Harry,

If you have obtained this box and the contents within, it's safe to assume that I am dead. It's also safe to assume that you feel no grief over my demise, and for that, I cannot blame you. I have made many mistakes in my life, though my greatest regret…

Harry would never see this particular letter. Severus would rewrite it a dozen times, not satisfied until he'd agonized over every word. Nonetheless, he felt better, signing it with a flourish before he tucked it in the box.

He couldn't risk telling Harry the truth. Not when Voldemort was still a threat, when secrecy was a matter of life or death. He couldn't undo years of damage in a matter of months, nor could he avoid killing Dumbledore, a betrayal that would surely make Harry hate him even more than he already did.

But someday…

Someday, the truth would be revealed. In the meantime…

He couldn't go back to the way things were before. Deep down, he knew it, recalling the look he'd seen in Harry's eyes that day. Those brilliant green eyes, remarkably like his mother's… eyes that for once, had looked at his father with something other than hatred.

It wasn't much, just a flash of relief when Harry realized he wasn't going to be punished. Following that, he'd been more receptive to what Severus was trying to teach him. Still wary, but receptive.

Wasn't that a good thing?

Yes, of course it was. Harry needed to know how to defend himself, and Severus was in a position to impart that knowledge. If there was a way he could do so more effectively…

Attempting to earn Harry's trust for his own sake? Yes, that did seem selfish. Doing so as part of the war effort? That was more excusable. Not only that, but he'd have the perfect cover if Dumbledore started asking questions.

"As much as I loathe it, it's impossible to teach such a spoiled child without a bit of coddling."

And if word got back to Voldemort?

"My lord, he won't be under Dumbledore's protection forever. Earning his trust might very well work to our advantage."

Yes, that would do.

Severus's rationale was solid, though he wasn't thinking about Dumbledore or Voldemort when he fell asleep that night. He wasn't dwelling on Harry's education either, important though it was. All he recalled was the way his son had relaxed in his presence, if only for a moment. No hatred, no animosity, just…

Relief.


"Get out! I don't want to see you in this office ever again!"

Harry had never seen Snape so furious, white faced and shaking as he'd flung him across the room. That had been nearly a year ago, the night he'd seen those awful memories in the Pensieve. Snape would remember it too, no doubt. He'd get his revenge by assigning some disgusting punishment, whether that was scrubbing bedpans without magic or sorting rotten flobberworms.

Still, it was strange that he was allowing Harry to come back to his office. Almost as strange as the way he'd acted in their last class. No punishments, no snarky remarks? Why hadn't he…

"Here for your detention, I presume?"

Harry jumped, whirling around to see a black clad figure approaching from behind. He nodded, deciding it was best not to speak as Snape ushered him inside.

"Sit over there."

A table had been set up on one side of the office, piled with sacks of… well, he probably didn't want to know what was inside them. He sat down, awaiting further instruction.

"You'll find a number of jars at your feet," Snape said. "Fill them."

He opened the first sack, expecting to find insects or animal parts. Instead, he caught a whiff of a sweet fragrance, his eyes widening as he withdrew a handful of dried blossoms.

Lavender?

This was a trick. It had to be. He emptied the first sack, filling several jars before he reached for the second. More lavender? He repeated the process, shaking his head as he opened the third sack. He expected the last one to contain something hideous, but it was just more flowers, a soft, pleasant aroma filling the room as he twisted the lid on the final jar.

"Sir, I…"

He trailed off, realizing that Snape was watching him. Snape quickly averted his eyes, but not before Harry caught a glimpse of his expression. It was the same look he'd seen in class, strangely curious, almost… hungry? Whatever it was, it didn't make sense. He felt like he was looking at a stranger.

"I've finished," he said. "What else…"

"That will be all for now. You may go."

Was he joking? Harry headed for the door, expecting Snape to tell him how foolish he was before assigning his real punishment. He twisted the doorknob, let himself out into the hall, and even then, Snape never said a word. There was just that look, one that still puzzled him as he joined Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room.

"Less than an hour and he didn't make me do anything awful. He didn't punish me for being late to class either."

"You're bothered because he's being nicer to you?" Hermione said.

"No, it just doesn't make any sense."

"He's probably plotting something." Ron shrugged. "Earning your trust so he can turn the tables on you."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too, but he's never acted like this before. When he wants to be nasty, he's just nasty. He's never acted…"

"Nice?" Hermione suggested.

"I wouldn't call it nice. Just… less horrible."

"Maybe he's tired of torturing you the usual way," Ron said. "Thought he'd try something different."

"Torture? That's a little strong. Professor Snape might be strict, but…"

"Strict? He's a miserable git, Hermione, and you know it."

"You really shouldn't…"

"Like I said," Ron interrupted. "I think he's up to something. I don't know what it is, but it can't be good."

"If he wanted to punish Harry…"

"That's not what I mean."

"No?" Hermione said. "Then what are you talking about?"

"What if he's trying to earn Harry's trust so he can hand him over to You-Know-Who?"

That thought had crossed Harry's mind, too. In the end, he dismissed it… not because he trusted Snape, but because he had faith in Dumbledore. Even if the headmaster was wrong about Snape's real allegiance, he'd never let…

"Come on, Ron." Hermione shook her head, giving him an exasperated look. "If Professor Snape really was working for You-Know-Who, don't you think we would've figured that out by now?"

"Not if he's been hiding…"

"I'm tired," Harry said. "Think I'll head off to bed."

As much as he loved his friends, he wasn't in the mood to listen to them bicker about Snape. That was especially true for Ron, who always jumped to the worst possible conclusion. Harry did the same thing, honestly, but right now…

Sad, maybe, but some small part of him wanted to believe that Snape had no ulterior motive.