And so it goes. Here is where old Snape gets a bit more OOC, so if OOC Snape bugs you, your warning appears here. Again, if you don't mind, I don't either ;)
I am still stuck at home, now more because of the curfew than the water(it's currently 10pm, curfew in my area is dusk-dawn). My Partner's birthday was today, and I am sad to have missed it, but they seem to have had a good day. Moreover, we celebrated our own way over the phone. They've been worried about me, though.
As for you, dear reader, I assure you I am fine. A bit tired of being cooped up, but fine. As I write this, my family is gathering more supplies for tomorrow for the evacuees, as some of our neighbors have been able to leave home(it's Texas- the majority of vehicles are raised trucks) and bring materials to nearby shelters. Here is a chapter for you, so that I can return to that task.
Enjoy!
Lily Potter was in the process of distractedly tucking her only son into bed when he surprised her.
"Mum," he asked, "will you tell me a story?"
Lily laughed. "Oh, Harry," she said, ruffling his messy hair, "you haven't asked me that in a while. I was beginning to worry you were too old for such things."
"No one's too old for stories, Mum," Harry said, also smiling, wishing he could hear his mother's laugh more often.
"Alright, my silly Harry. What do you want to hear about?"
"An adventure," Harry said immediately.
Lily smiled. "Well, when I was about your age, I had plenty of adventures right here in this house. Do you want to hear about one of those?"
"Yes please!"
"Very good, Harry," Lily replied, as praise for her son's manners. "Well, when I was little, I knew a wizard boy, and we used to do magic together, right here in this room."
Harry's eyes were wide. "Was that my Dad?"
Lily smiled sadly. "No, Harry. I met your Dad much, much later."
Harry visibly deflated. "Oh."
"My friend and I loved to make things fly around the room. He was not very good at it, though. I had much more control over my accidental magic than he did."
Harry nodded. His mother had told him not to be disappointed when he found that he could not yet control his magic. Most people couldn't, and they were still very good at it once they got their wands, she had said.
"He was quite a bit better than me once we got to school and started doing real spells," she told him, "but there was one time, here in this room, when he tried much too hard."
Lily's face held a mischievous grin.
"What happened?"
"Well, he scrunched his face up, like this-" Lily scrunched her own face up in a way that made her son burst into giggles- "and he held his breath, and I turned to look at the object he was focused on. When I turned back, his entire head had blown up like a balloon!"
"It did?" Harry asked.
"Yes. It looked like those "Air-Head" commercials that come on the telly. As soon as he realized what was happening, his head deflated, but his entire face was bright red the rest of the day!"
Harry laughed, imagining a nameless child such as himself with a ridiculously large head. "Was he ok?" he asked gleefully.
"Oh, sure. His pride was injured, of course, but he made up for it later by trouncing me in Chess. And now it is time for you to go to bed, young man, lest your own head blow up like a balloon from you concentrating so hard on staying awake," Lily put in, smiling.
Harry sighed and leaned back into the covers while his mother tucked him in and turned out the light. Just before she left, Harry spoke again.
"Mum… Whatever happened to your friend, the wizard boy? Is he still alive?"
There was a pause, as Lily debated on what to tell her son. Though she did not actually know of Severus Snape's true status, to her, the little wizard boy who had accidentally ballooned his own head had died long ago.
"No, Harry," she answered softly. "He died while we were in school."
And on that, she turned and left the room, leaving Harry with a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Professor? Are you home?"
It was the afternoon. Harry had just had lunch and was now knocking on Professor Snape's door, hoping he could spend time with the older man and perhaps learn about more advanced potions and magic. Then he remembered the boy whose head had ballooned, and thought the magic might could wait, but the potions couldn't.
Finally the professor opened the door, seeming a bit grumpy. "Baker," he spat, and Harry knew he had picked the absolute wrong time.
"Y-yes, Professor?" he answered, shrinking back in fear.
Professor Snape sighed and pinched his nose. He took a deep breath.
"Come inside, Baker," he said, sounding resigned. Harry, delighted, bounced past him into the home. "Yes, Professor," he exclaimed as he did so, much less terrified, much more at ease.
Severus Snape did not own a television, but he did have a radio, and walls and walls of books. Harry stood mesmerized in the doorway, staring around the many shelves. He was certain most of these books would not be the same as the ones his mother owned.
"Please sit on the sofa, Mr. Baker, and have a cup of tea," Professor Snape told him, sending an extra teacup to the table. He tried not to smile at the amazed look the young boy had, watching the teacup move across the room on its own. He followed it to the in-table and sat down delicately on the sofa, as though he might shatter it.
"Is there anything in particular you wish to know, Mr. Baker?" Professor Snape asked, lazily flicking his wand and banishing the stack of essays he had been grading to a box in the corner.
Harry tore his wide eyes away from the box and looked to the Professor. "Can you teach me that?" he asked, forgetting all about his earlier thoughts on difficult spells.
Professor Snape frowned. "Channeling magic without a wand is extremely difficult, Baker, even for an experienced wizard. As much as I dislike children, I must admit I would rather not have harm come to you on my account."
"Erm," was all that Harry could reply. He didn't quite understand the words the Professor was using.
"You could hurt yourself," Professor Snape said impatiently.
"Oh," Harry said, suddenly remembering his mother's story. "My mother told me a story last night about a boy who tried a bit of magic that was too hard for him, and his head blew up like a balloon. I guess he was straining too hard, or something."
Professor Snape, for just a moment, appeared shocked and surprised, but quickly recovered, and did not ask to hear the entire story. "Straining does not help to cast spells," he said instead. "Intense focus and concentration on what you are doing, yes, but holding your breath and trying to just make something happen simply does not work."
"Do a lot of kids blow themselves up like that, Professor?" Harry asked, curious.
"Unfortunately so, but most of them are also able to deflate themselves. I have seen a rare few students at Hogwarts go to the infirmary to be deflated, however. I myself attempted wandless summoning charms as a child and found myself in the same predicament once."
Harry's little eyes were wide. "You did? Did it hurt, Professor?"
"No. I did not notice until I looked into a mirror and saw that my head was six times its normal size. I would encourage you to avoid such a thing, though. Just because I was not injured does not mean you would not be."
Harry pouted at this, but sipped his tea quietly, without complaint.
"Is there something you wish to learn, Mr. Baker?" asked the Professor once more, beginning to sound irritated again.
Harry looked at the books around him. "I want to help my mother," he said quietly. "I don't know exactly what I want to help her with, but I want to. And I want to learn more. Can…"
He hesitated, looking over to make sure the Professor was still listening. "Can I read some of your books, sir?"
Professor Snape seemed slightly shocked. He considered Harry for a moment, carefully eyeing him for what seemed like forever before finally saying, "You may, but you must tell me which titles you are interested in before opening them, as some of them may not be appropriate for you. If you can tell me what potions your mother provides to the apothecary, I may know how to brew them to be more effective, though I doubt you will be able to help very much with those. As for learning magic… You will learn magic when you turn eleven and begin your schooling at Hogwarts, if your mother agrees. However, I can teach techniques that will help you focus, and I can teach you how to study and to write essays. That will put you ahead of your peers once you enter school, and perhaps save me at least one headache each week."
"Will you tell me about Hogwarts, sir?"
Professor Snape's mouth twitched. "Perhaps. Part of the intrigue of Hogwarts is not knowing all of its secrets until you get there."
Harry made a face. "That's what Mum says, only I just thought she didn't want to talk about it because… Because of Dad."
The boy looked into his tea. "I wish I knew him. Mum won't talk about him, and I've never known anyone else who knew him."
"If he was a wizard, I might have known him," mused Professor Snape. "What was his name?"
Harry looked up nervously. "Mum won't tell me his full name. I think she's afraid I'll start talking about him, and then people will know who we are, and then-"
"-you would both be in danger. Yes, Mr. Baker, you've said so often."
Harry nodded, taking his last sip of tea and setting down his teacup. "I have to leave by six o'clock if I want to make it home before my mother starts to worry. Can I… Can I read one of your books?"
Professor Snape gestured to his shelves. "You are welcome to search for something that interests you. Please avoid breaking the antique ornaments that I have as decorations here, however," the Professor grouched, sneering slightly out of habit.
"I promise to be careful," Harry said.
"And remember what I said about these books. Not all of them are OK for you."
"Yes sir."
After searching the shelves, Harry found, in a corner, an old collection of Little House books. He had read the first, of course, as his mother had it in her collection, but he hadn't known there were more. He took them to the Professor at once.
The professor raised his eyebrows. "Didn't you want to learn more about potioneering, Baker?"
Harry blushed. "Yes, sir, it's just… I didn't know there was more than one. Can I read these first?"
Severus sighed. This was a child, after all, and a smart one. After a moment, he begrudgingly approved them, and soon Harry was quietly reading on the sofa, next to the fire, while the Professor graded essays.
"Mr. Baker," Professor Snape broke him from his reading spree, "it is about time for you to leave."
Harry looked up at the clock on the wall. It was 5:45. "Can I mark my place and continue tomorrow, sir?"
Professor Snape looked at the clock as well, not wanting to look at the boy's face. "I must return to school tomorrow," he said quietly. "I will not be here."
Harry tried to keep tears from springing into his eyes. The professor was the closest thing to a friend he had made in his entire life, as far as he could remember.
Finally, Professor Snape looked at him. "If you like the books that much, you may take them home with you, Evan. I daresay I read them enough as a child, and do not need them anymore. You may also pick out one other book to take with you, as I know you originally were searching for something more academic."
Harry looked at him with his wide, watery green eyes, which had not been glamoured. Professor Snape was taken aback by their likeness to that of a friend from his past.
"Really, sir?"
The Professor nodded, expressionless. Harry broke into a grin, and tackled the alarmed Professor in a hug.
"Thank you, thank you!" he exclaimed, letting go before the man could react. He quickly dashed back to the shelves, picking up a book on Potions theory, which quickly earned the Professor's nod of approval. "I promise I'll be careful with them, and I'll return them next time you're home, sir!"
"I will be here for the Easter holidays," Professor Snape said.
"See you then, Professor," Harry cried happily, hugging the books tightly to his chest and bounding out the door, drunk on happiness. He had books. And not just any books, but the Little House on the Prairie books, and he could take them home and read them, and to him, they were new.
Severus thought to himself that during Easter, perhaps he should show the boy where the library was, but also knew he might miss the company of the child who knew about potions and liked to learn new things.