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Like I've had hard knocks all my life
Like I'm a Bible Belt wife
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On the first of March, another of Draco's idiot schemes to kill the headmaster came to light-again, through no skills of Severus's. Evidently the boy had poisoned a bottle of mead in Slughorn's possession, one that was supposed to have been a gift to Dumbledore, a gift the old Potions Master never got around to actually giving. Slughorn only managed to poison Ronald Weasley, nearly poisoned himself and-of course-Harry Potter, because Harry Potter was always involved.
At least Severus didn't have to save anyone's life this time. But Draco had very nearly killed two people, neither one of whom even vaguely resembled Dumbledore.
And still, all the Monitoring Charms remained silent. Meanwhile, Draco's work in all his classes remained just satisfactory enough that Severus had no reason to demand a private meeting.
At the Quidditch match the next weekend, Draco again didn't even show up as a spectator. Severus was again sorely tempted to skip the match himself. As a Head of House, he was required to attend all Quidditch matches, but as his own house was not playing today, the requirement was somewhat...looser. However, stalking Draco around an empty castle would be about as fruitful as his Monitoring Charms, so Severus opted to attend the game. He sat next to Minerva, who greeted him warmly. On her other side, Luna Lovegood stood up and began the match commentary as the players rose into the air.
"How is Harry Potter doing in your class?" Minerva asked him.
He felt a flash of annoyance, along with something else that was not quite annoyance. He had nothing to say about Potter, other than 'His life preserves the Dark Lord's life, and therefore he has to die.' He imagined asking for Minerva's advice about how best to deliver the news to the boy.
Instead, he said, "I do have other students, Minerva. As do you, if I recall correctly. Perhaps one day we could discuss one of them."
She whipped around to glare at him, but didn't say anything. Her glare deepened to a frown, and he turned back to the match.
As Miss Lovegood continued her dreamy commentary, Minerva leaned over and yelled into the girl's megaphone, "It's Cadwallader!" The crowd laughed, but Severus couldn't work out why.
Minerva looked at him again. "Yes, let's talk about other students, Severus," she nearly hissed at him. "Let's talk about Miss Lovegood, whom Filius recommended for this job because she's been having a problem with bullies, and he thought this might help her fit in, and I agreed to it, despite my better judgment. What do you have to say about her?"
He looked away, but she was clearly waiting for a response. So he gave her his best one. "I find that despite her nonsensical babbling, she has a more intuitive grasp of magic than most of her peers."
Minerva snorted. "Yes, Severus, we've all gathered that. But what about the girl-do you worry about her? Does she have any friends?"
"I-" I saw her at the Christmas Party with Harry Potter. God, he couldn't say that, not now. He clammed up.
"What about Miss Bell or Mr. Weasley, who were both nearly killed this year under very odd circumstances. What have you to say about that?"
Severus glowered in the opposite direction, but Minerva kept at it.
"Or let's even talk about Longbottom, who made an O on his Herbology O.W.L., but somehow only scraped a low A in Potions-a feat which I have never seen in all of my years of teaching! Would you like to discuss him, Severus?"
He didn't even know how to derail her when she got like this. It was like being yelled at by your mother, your big sister, and your teacher, all at the same time. And she had barely even raised her voice.
"Or what about Mr. Malfoy, who has certainly not been the same this year-not since his father was sent to Azkaban. He's made a point to not miss any more assignments, but he clearly has more pressing concerns than my essay about the Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law!
"Or even Albus! You should know more about his injury than the rest of us-it's clearly Dark Magic. I may not be an expert, Severus Snape, but I'm no fool, either-and you must know about it, but do you ever even mention it?"
He finally turned to look at her. He kept his face blank. "Yes, you've made your point, Professor McGonagall. Thank you."
"I don't think I have, Professor Snape. When it comes to safe topics for discussion, I follow your lead-all in the name of friendship. But don't ever think that Harry Potter is my only concern. You-you!-made Harry Potter a safe topic to discuss. So we discuss him." She huffed and turned back to the game.
He shifted in his seat and remained silent. Minerva leaned over towards Miss Lovegood and yelled into the megaphone once again, "Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!"
She settled back into her seat.
"Potter is doing fine in Defense," he offered after a few moments.
She snorted. "It would be best if you stopped trying right now."
He almost made a retort, but her eyes widened and she stood up so fast she almost knocked him over. She cast at least three Cushioning Charms before he could even turn to see what had grabbed her attention.
It was Harry Potter, of course, bleeding profusely from a head wound, with the Gryffindor Beaters holding on to him and dropping him gently on the magically soft ground below.
At the sight of the bleeding Harry Potter, Severus's first thought was, "...but he must be killed by the Dark Lord!" He hated himself for it later.
In the following months, there were no more ridiculously lethal, if feeble, attempts on the headmaster's life. All of the Monitoring Charms on Draco remained quiet, though Severus diligently refreshed them at the beginning of each week.
And then, on a perfectly ordinary Thursday evening, just as Severus was about to enter the Great Hall for dinner, he felt a sort of rumbling that was not quite a sound, almost as if a Muggle helicopter were flying low overhead.
It seemed to take Severus a long while to process the feeling, but finally it came to him in a rush: it was the charm for the Unforgivable Curses. Draco had just tried to cast the Cruciatus Curse.
Severus could tell the boy was up a few floors, and he broke into a run, even as a second Monitoring Charm beat through his senses-this one alerting him that Draco was in mortal danger. He knocked a group of second-year Gryffindors aside on a staircase, and flew down a corridor as he heard screams from a door just ahead: "MURDER!" yelled the voice, "MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!" He burst into the boys' bathroom.
Moaning Myrtle was the one screaming. The one who had attempted murder was Potter.
Potter had used Sectumsempra on Draco Malfoy.
His aim had been good; Draco was bleeding profusely. For his part, Potter was white as a sheet and his mouth hung open stupidly as he knelt over the bleeding boy.
In a surge of vindictive protectiveness, Severus shoved Potter roughly aside and began the Healing Charm on Draco. It was a very near thing-if Severus had been a few minutes slower, not even Blood-Replenishing Potions could have helped. As it was, he had to perform the Healing Charm three separate times before the boy was even sensible. He helped Draco up so he could escort him to the hospital wing.
But first, he told Harry Potter to wait for him.
Luckily, Draco was in no fit shape for conversation, which left Severus to his own thoughts on the way to the hospital wing. Where had Potter learned that spell? That was his spell, no one else's, and moreover, it was Dark Magic. Had he misjudged Potter that badly? Last year, if Potter had used Dark Magic on any number of people, Severus would have barely sneezed at it-but this year, Potter seemed to be on a much more even keel. Had the boy finally learned the art of deception? Was he finally burying his feelings, even practicing Occlumency?
Or-worse, much worse-had the part of the Dark Lord that lived in Potter taken hold? A parasitic growth, Dumbledore had called it.
It was horrifying. Perhaps it would even be best to kill the boy now, even before he killed Dumbledore.
God, this year was getting to him.
But then, how did Potter even come across that particular spell? Severus could think of no possible way. And what drove him to use it? Draco, of course, attempted the Cruciatus Curse, but Severus put that aside. A true Gryffindor like Potter would repay the Cruciatus Curse with the Jelly-Legs Jinx, or some such nonsense-he had countered the Killing Curse with the fucking Disarming Charm, for fuck's sake. As much as Severus protested, he knew that Potter was not like his father. He would not use a spell like Sectumsempra.
And yet he had. He did. So Severus was wrong about something. And he was missing a rather big piece of the plot, given that Potter even knew the spell.
He deposited Draco in the hospital wing, and stayed long enough to ensure that there would be no lasting damage. And then Severus made his way back to the boys' bathroom. He reminded himself of the facts: Draco had tried to cast the Cruciatus Curse first. After that, he'd been in mortal danger. Whatever had led up to the Cruciatus, it had not been life-threatening. Draco had escalated.
But Potter had doubled down.
The moment Severus reentered the bathroom and banished the infernal Moaning Myrtle, Potter was already spouting something that sounded like an excuse. Severus was not interested. He had two questions that needed answering, and he hoped he would find honest answers to both of them. He hoped to get Potter properly angry first, because an emotional Potter was so easy to read.
"Apparently I underestimated you, Potter. Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?" he asked quietly.
But the boy wasn't angry at all, merely panicked. "I-read about it somewhere," he replied, with that pause Minerva once told him about. It seemed that any emotion at all made the boy so transparent he might as well be wearing his Invisibility Cloak.
"Where?"
"It was-a library book. I can't remember what it was call-"
Severus cut him off before it got even worse. "Liar," he said, and decided he had had enough of this conversation. He dipped into the boy's mind. He didn't have to dig deep: right on the surface was indeed a book-Potter's battered old copy of Advanced Potion-Making for which the boy felt a surge of affection, as if it had been given to him by a very dear friend.
"Bring me your schoolbag," Severus said, "and all of your schoolbooks. All of them. Bring them to me here. Now!"
And Potter turned and left the bathroom without a word. He was gone for ten minutes, during which time Severus paced the bathroom and thought.
He had invented that spell in his sixth year, the same year he had buried himself in his books because he no longer had Lily. One of his favorite books had been Advanced Potion-Making, and he had a habit of writing his thoughts in the margins of his books. It was the one benefit of having his mother's old hand-me-downs, and a way to make it feel like the books were really his instead of hers.
It was certainly possible that Severus had written that spell in that book. But then how would the book have come into Potter's hands? Severus had sold back some of his textbooks when he was younger, and the Weasley family certainly had their share of second-hand items, but Potter surely never did. Besides, Severus was certain he'd kept Advanced Potion-Making.
And then Severus remembered Slughorn praising Potter's Potions skills, and how the boy became evasive on the occasion. If the boy was using Severus's old book, with all its improvements and additions, his prowess in Potions could easily be explained.
Severus heard the pounding footsteps of someone sprinting full-out down the corridor. As the footsteps reached the bathroom door, they slowed and stopped, and Potter walked through the door, attempting to look calm but panting like he'd just run a mile. Severus rolled his eyes at the Gryffindor subterfuge, but something still didn't quite fit. These were not the actions of a boy capable of using Dark Magic to murder a schoolmate.
Parasitic growth, his brain supplied.
Well. One thing at a time. He demanded Potter's schoolbag, and pulled the books out one by one. Potter's copy of Advanced Potion-Making was brand new, and certainly not the one Severus had seen in his mind.
"This is your copy of Advanced Potion-Making, is it, Potter?" he asked.
"Yes," the boy panted.
"You're quite sure of that, are you, Potter?"
"Yes."
"This is the copy of Advanced Potion-Making that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?"
"Yes."
"Then why does it have the name 'Roonil Wazlib' written inside the front cover?"
Potter looked for a moment like he might throw up, but he gathered himself heroically to issue his worst lie yet. "That's my nickname," he said.
A small, detached, and slightly hysterical part of Severus understood that if he told this story to any of the other teachers over a glass or two of firewhiskey, they would all be roaring with laughter. Severus might even laugh with them-but that would be later. For now, he had to deal with a teenage boy who needed to be murdered. But not by him-and not yet.
Maybe he would have that glass or two of firewhiskey alone, later.
"Your nickname," he repeated, with remarkable restraint.
"Yeah...that's what my friends call me."
"I understand what a nickname is," he said, again with the remarkable restraint, but then decided to fuck it all and peek back into the boy's mind. There was a name, a nickname. The Half-Blood Prince.
Well. Son of a bitch. Potter hadn't been corrupted with Dark Magic by the Dark Lord; he'd been corrupted by a sixteen-year-old Severus Snape.
Severus distracted the boy with detentions and Quidditch taunts, which were such paltry distractions that even Potter would have probably been able to see through them, if he hadn't been in such a state himself. Severus left the bathroom before he could say anything truly stupid.
The Half-Blood Prince. The name was jarring. Severus had made it up for himself as a sort of an apology to Lily-she may have been Muggle-born, but he was only a half-blood. It was a poor apology, one she never even heard because he never shared it, not with anyone. It was a nickname only in theory-because, as Potter had helpfully pointed out, a nickname is what your friends call you. Severus had had no friends.
But here was Harry Potter who knew the nickname, and felt a surge of affection for the boy who'd made it up. Severus had not mistaken that.
It was surreal.
He had no time to dwell on it; he needed to report the incident Minerva. He made his way back to the Great Hall, where she was finishing her dinner.
"Severus," she greeted him. "What's wrong?"
"I caught one of your students performing Dark Magic on another student. I've given him Saturday detentions for the rest of the year."
Minerva paled considerably. "Who was it?" she asked quietly.
He grunted. "Harry Potter."
He felt slightly bad for her; she looked woebegone. To her credit, she neither contradicted him nor made excuses for the boy. "Who was the other student?"
"Draco Malfoy."
"Oh, Severus! What happened? How is Mr. Malfoy? What spell did Potter use?"
He hedged a bit. "Draco is in the hospital wing, and will be fine. I can show you my memory, if you don't mind taking us to Dumbledore's office." For Dumbledore was once again absent from the school, and as Deputy Headmistress, Minerva had access to his office.
She agreed, and Severus showed her his memory from the time he burst into the bathroom to the time he left to take Draco to the hospital wing. When she came out of the Pensieve, she was shaken. "I'm glad you were so close by, Severus. You...you have grounds for expulsion."
Severus frowned. He'd been so caught up, he hadn't even thought about expelling the boy. It didn't matter anyway. "Dumbledore would never stand for the expulsion of Harry Potter."
"Hm," she said. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go lay into Potter."
"Godspeed," he said, after she'd already closed the door behind her.
The next morning, he cast the Eavesdropping Charm on Potter, set to activate if he or anyone around him mentioned the phrase "Half-Blood Prince." He could renew the charm every week, at the same time he renewed Draco's. He wondered how many charms he could cast at one time before someone noticed. Perhaps he should try it with hexes.
As useless as the charms had been for Draco, the one on Potter produced results just a few weeks later. That night, Severus was alone in his office marking papers when he clearly heard Miss Granger's voice say "Half-Blood Prince."
"Oh, not again," Potter groaned in reply. "Will you please drop it?"
Severus put down his quill and closed his eyes.
"I'm not dropping it," the girl said, and Severus blessed her, "until you've heard me out. Now I've been trying to find out a bit about who might make a hobby of inventing Dark spells-"
"He didn't make a hobby of it-"
"He, he-who says it's a he?"
"We've been through this! Prince, Hermione, Prince!"
"Right!" And there was a sound of paper being slapped onto a table. "Look at that! Look at the picture!"
There was a long pause, during which Severus could only imagine what the picture showed. Whatever it was, Potter seemed unimpressed.
"So?" he said.
"Her name was Eileen Prince. Prince, Harry."
Severus's stomach dropped. This was going to go bad, quickly.
But then Potter burst out laughing. "No way," he said.
"What?" Miss Granger replied, but she didn't sound nearly as confused as Severus was.
"You think she was the Half-Blood...? Oh, come on."
Severus frowned. Maybe Miss Granger hadn't yet made the connection, as unlikely as that seemed.
"Well, why not?" she said. "Harry, there aren't any real princes in the Wizarding world! It's either a nickname, a made-up title somebody's given themselves, or it could be their actual name, couldn't it? No, listen! If, say, her father was a wizard whose surname was Prince, and her mother was a Muggle, then that would make her a 'half-blood Prince'!"
"Yeah, very ingenious, Hermione..."
And it was. Thank goodness the girl stubbornly insisted the Prince in question was a woman. The genders were the only details she'd got wrong, really. She even knew one of the players.
"Listen, Hermione," Potter said. "I can tell it's not a girl. I can just tell."
Severus had no idea what he had written in that book. His handwriting could easily go either way, so what had he put in there that had Potter convinced? (God, he hoped it wasn't crude drawings of penises. Only teenaged boys ever doodled that, and Severus wasn't entirely certain he was immune to that brand of idiocy when he was sixteen.)
"The truth is that you don't think a girl would have been clever enough," said Miss Granger.
"How can I have hung round with you for five years and not think girls are clever?" he asked. Implicit in this discussion was the fact that both Potter and Miss Granger agreed that the Half-Blood Prince was clever. "It's the way he writes, I just know the Prince was a bloke, I can tell. This girl hasn't got anything to do with it. Where did you get this anyway?"
"The library. There's a whole collection of old Prophets up there. Well, I'm going to find out more about Eileen Prince if I can."
"Enjoy yourself," Potter grumbled, half under his breath.
"I will. And the first place I'll look is records of old Potions awards!"
There was silence for a few moments, and Severus held his breath. Was the discussion over? Shit, how many Daily Prophets would he have to remove from the library? If there was even the tiniest marriage announcement for Eileen Prince and Tobias Snape, Miss Granger would find it. And soon.
Finally, Weasley spoke. "She's just never got over you outperforming her in Potions," he said.
"You don't think I'm mad, wanting that book back, do you?" Potter said. (Had Potter lost the book?)
"'Course not," Weasley said. "He was a genius, the Prince. Anyway...without his bezoar tip...I wouldn't be here to discuss it, would I? I mean, I'm not saying that spell you used on Malfoy was great-"
"Nor am I."
"But he healed all right, didn't he? Back on his feet in no time."
Severus snorted. Draco would have died if Severus hadn't been monitoring him.
"Yeah," Potter said uncertainly. "Thanks to Snape..."
Severus was stunned that Potter would admit to it. He worried, suddenly, if Potter would wonder at how Severus knew the exact right charm to heal the wounds he had inflicted.
But Weasley was already speaking again. "You still got detention with Snape this Saturday?"
"Yeah, and the Saturday after that, and the Saturday after that. And he's hinting now that if I don't get all the boxes done by the end of term, we'll carry on next year."
Hinting? Severus had directly told him as much during the last detention, in the emptiest threat he had ever given. There would likely not even be a next year, for Severus or for Potter.
"Here, Harry. This is for you," said a male voice that Severus couldn't immediately place.
"Thanks Jimmy...Hey, it's from Dumbledore!" Severus perked up at the sound of parchment being unrolled. "He wants me to go to his office as quick as I can!"
"Blimey," Weasley whispered, "you don't reckon...he hasn't found..."
"Better go and see, hadn't I?" Potter replied, with much rustling and footsteps.
While Severus would have loved to find out what that was about, Dumbledore's office was heavily warded against Monitoring Charms. Severus hastily canceled the spell. He'd overheard quite enough, anyway.
Back in his sixth year, Severus had had that book instead of friends. And now, Harry Potter considered him a friend because of that very book. (Well, not him, but a version of him-the lonely sixteen-year-old him.) Harry Potter, whose date to the Christmas Party had been Luna Lovegood.
Harry Potter, whose father was James Potter. The elder Potter had openly reviled Severus, mocked him for his scholarly pursuits, and had only dated the most popular girl in school. Now it seemed that the only things his son had inherited were his terrible hair, his terrible eyesight, and his pedestrian last name.
And soon, Severus would have to tell Harry Potter that he couldn't live if he wanted the Dark Lord to die. But first, the boy had to carry out some secret suicide mission that Dumbledore was foisting on him even now.
His own life might be a fucking joke, but sometimes he thought Potter's was high tragedy.