Sept. 7, 1991 - Early Afternoon - Diagon Alley
Diagon Alley, though quieter now that term had begun at Hogwarts, was still an amazing place and Harry had a hard time quashing his desire to skip happily down the street. He settled for trotting either slightly behind, or at the side of his teacher. The professor really did have a long stride.
Their first visit was Gringott's Bank. They were met by the goblin that had assisted Harry the first time he'd been there; Griphook.
Snape bent slightly towards the goblin. He spoke softly, "The Headmaster told me that there would be a bag of galleons for Mr. Potter." GripHook shook his head slowly. "What have you for him?"
"James and Lily Potter left a vault of coin for their son. It is in the name of Harry James Potter so it did not come under the purview of Mr. Dumbledore." The goblin sneered in, what was for him, a pleasant expression.
"Do you have a key for the young man?" inquired Snape. The goblin nodded. "Very good, GripHook. We should like to visit Mr. Potter's vault first then mine."
Griphook's very long finger beckoned the two wizards over to the cart that would take them rocketing through the depths of the bank to their vaults. Harry enjoyed the ride and couldn't help it as a bit of laughter escaped him at one point. A quick glance towards Snape assured him that his teacher wasn't disturbed by his exclamation of joy. Nor, by the ride.
Once at Harry Potter's vault, Griphook opened the great oaken door and Harry and Snape stepped in. Harry politely took the suede coin bag that Griphook gave him, but Snape was still staring around at the vault.
There was a respectable pile of galleons; perhaps just enough to get Harry through school. Snape knew that the Potters had been a very wealthy, pureblood family and he couldn't help but wonder where the rest of the fortune was. He was also disturbed by the distinct lack of personal effects. Snape knew that when Lily and James moved to Godric's Hollow, the cottage was a small one and they couldn't move many of their cherished possessions into the small house.
Where were all of Lily's keepsakes? She'd inherited at least half of her parents belongings when they'd been killed by Death Eaters. Potter should have had this vault packed with the detritus he always had. Even the man's closets were worse than anything Lucius might have had. James Potter had always liked quantity over quality and Snape recalled, how even in school, the boy had always worn something different on the weekends.
"No more than 100 galleons, Mr. Potter," instructed Snape as he motioned the goblin out of the vault where he could speak to him. Once out of sight of the child Snape lowered his voice. "Did the Potters ever have any other vaults beside this one?"
Griphook answered, but only because he'd received the paperwork from the Headmaster that gave Trustee Custodial privileges to Severus Snape. "At one time the Potters had a total of fifteen vaults, Mr. Snape. After the death of his father, James Potter sold most of the contents, including five properties, and funneled the proceeds towards the war effort."
"Is that all that's left?" Snape asked in disbelief as he glanced over his shoulder where Harry was crouched down in front of the pile of gold. "What of his mother's things? Did his father not leave his son anything... personal?"
"That is all that is left, Mr. Snape. Mr. Dumbledore sold off all the Potter effects and properties once James Potter gave Right of Attorney to Mr. Dumbledore, with the exception of a scrapbook of photos that she'd begun for her son." Griphook glanced around Snape to be certain that the boy was still busy counting galleons. "As for James Potter, he left an Invisibility Cloak which is now in the possession of your Headmaster. There were instructions to give it to the child for Christmas his first year at Hogwarts."
Snape sneered at the mention of an Invisibility Cloak. No wonder the Marauders had been such experts at sneaking about the castle!
"I counted them all out, Professor!" Harry announced proudly as he stepped out of the vault.
"Very good, Mr. Potter. Back in the cart. We have one more vault to go to," said Snape ushering him into the cart.
Griphook climbed in the front and as soon as the two wizards were seated, the cart sped off down into the infernal depths of the bank. Upon reaching their destination Snape moved smoothly from the cart but Harry stumbled.
Harry tripped from the cart as his head was still spinning with the euphoria of the ride. Snape caught him, though, and righted the boy who was giggling inanely. Snape made a mental note to give him a Calming Draught once they left the bank.
Griphook slipped the heavy key into an iron door that squealed in protest as the goblin pushed the large door open. Harry had to put his hands over his ears for a second against the harsh grate of the rusty hinges.
"Can I go in with you, sir?" asked Harry.
Snape only thought a moment before nodding. "Just don't touch anything without permission. There are some fragile tapestries in there I don't want damaged."
"Okay, si..." Harry's eyes widened and he stopped so abruptly that Snape ran into him as he tried to go through the door.
The vault was not a particularly large one but the contents were of a variety. There were many living portraits of Prince ancestors Snape really knew little to nothing about, a few wardrobes open to reveal old gowns of beautiful gilding, and robes for wizards and witches of all colours. Three chests of "pirate booty" were filled and spilling over with jewels, goblets, and silver. Here and there were rolled and unrolled carpets and tapestries. Lastly was a stack of bolts of wool, silk, linen, and blends of beautiful fabric. All of these were items Snape had not been able to sell, or he kept for himself that he did not want in his quarters at Hogwarts.
Snape kept the gold and silver pieces and the jewels for investment purposes. His own earnings from his teaching at Hogwarts, and the few brewing contracts he held secretly, were set to the side of the vault in glittering stacks of gold, silver, copper behind wards only he had the "key" to.
"It's like Aladdin's cave!" gasped Harry.
Snape smirked smugly. This vault that he and Harry were in now, was the original one Snape had acquired for himself when he began selling potions at seventeen to help pay for his education and his eventual apprenticeship. He had not intended for it to become what it was, but when he'd been somehow roped into babysitting the young, five year old Malfoy heir, he had taken the little brat with him to Gringotts. Draco's estimation in regards to how 'boring' the vault was had led to Snape spending uncounted hours transforming the vault into a place to entertain an inquisitive child.
"Go on," encouraged Snape. He was glad that he had never taken the trouble to reverse his creation. "I need to find something, so enjoy yourself."
Harry let out a whoop that he immediately curtailed at Snape's glare. He then ran past one of the wardrobes and settled in front of a chest of glittering goodies.
Snape stepped toward the un-moving portrait he had painted of his mother when he was still a very young boy. Eileen Prince Snape had always been a thin woman; a state that only worsened with a number of illnesses she contracted after he had started at Hogwarts. Tobias would take his wife to Muggle hospitals but their pills and palliatives never did a thing for her. St. Mungo's, potions, magical cures would have healed her but magic was forbidden in the Snape household.
The melancholy wizard raised a slim finger to the pale, painted cheek of his mother. He imagined her smile. Eileen's smile was that of the sun after a rainstorm. No matter the trials Tobias put her through, or the grief she put up with her son, Eileen always found a reason to smile. Snape had caught that smile in his oil paint. His finger-tip brushed the corner of her smile and he permitted himself a dour smile.
Eileen had succumbed to complications from pneumonia when her son was fifteen. He had been at Hogwarts and had not known at all of her illness. Tobias Snape, a notorious drunkard, could not be found and it had been Lily's parents who had sent word of his mother's death. He learned later, that it was actually Lea Evans, Lily's mother, who had found Eileen, in a cold house, alone, and had obviously succumbed to her illness some days earlier.
Although the Headmaster had offered to let him go home, the last person the teenaged Snape wanted to see was his father. He learned, that summer when he had no choice but to go home, that they'd been so poor that his father could not pay for a burial plot or a funeral. Eileen had been ignominiously buried in a pauper's grave by an anonymous grave digger. Tobias, when he had returned home, had no idea where his wife had been put to rest. It wasn't until his father was killed in a street brawl when his son was 18 and just preparing to leave Hogwarts behind that Snape had learned of his true inheritance from the Prince side of his family.
Thinking, at first, that his father had known about the money, but had, out of spite, never said a thing to Severus, had angered him. The old goblin who'd told him of these vaults, CatchWick, had firmly explained to him that his father couldn't have known, because his mother had not known. Snape had come into the Prince inheritance merely by default. Eileen had had no siblings and her father, Agravain Prince, had scribbled the name of his only known, living heir, onto a scrap of parchment on his deathbed: Severus Snape.
Resentful at being nothing more than the afterthought of a dying man, Snape held no desire to see the Prince family vaults. He had his own, small vault that held the little he made from selling potions. That was enough.
It was Lucius, though, who had forced him to face up to the side of his family he wouldn't acknowledge. Snape, of course, had seen little point in it since they were all dead, but Lucius had impressed upon him the importance of knowing where you came from.
The two young men had visited Gringott's together to view all the vaults. One of the most fascinating vaults had come from Elias Walter Prince. Originally, he'd been a naval Captain. Gold from the Caribbean called to him and lured him from respectable poverty to wealthy pirate. Wizarding pirates were no less notorious than their Muggle counterparts, and, Snape discovered, tended to get along with Muggles on the sea better than did land-dwelling wizard-kind.
The two young wizards had spent hours in that vault reading Elias' old logbooks and journals. There was little of the wealth that Elias had accumulated left but this the two Slytherins had gathered into a large steamer trunk. It was down in this vault that Snape also found a bolt of black silk wool. He had never felt cloth so soft, nor so luxurious before. On a whim, he had taken the cloth, and later, when he'd received notice of his acceptance at Hogwarts as its Potions instructor, he had his first set of teaching robes made from the fabric.
Lucius soon became bored with the Prince family vaults, for the Malfoys had their own vaults, many of which Lucius had yet to even unlock and that went further down into the cavernous depths of Gringotts. Snape had been going over the inventory that CatchWick had given him when he'd inherited the Prince vaults when he came across a list of items that tugged at his own passion, Potions.
Snape had gone as soon as he could to the vault that had once been owned by Aloysius Severus Prince. Snape had learned that not only was Aloysius Severus his namesake, but that the looks he'd long attributed to his lout of a father, had come from this wizard. In the vault had been a very old painting of Aloysius with his family, two sons and a raven-haired wife, Charlotte Black. The knowledge was enough for him to finally forgive his mother. The rest he learned about Aloysius was the true gold in all these vaults.
Aloysius Severus Prince had been not just a contemporary of Nicholas Flamel, he'd been a staunch rival. Aloysius had been an alchemist and all his journals, his library, his lab notes, and much of the lab itself, had all been preserved in this vault. Snape plundered this vault to outfit his private lab at Hogwarts and his own library swelled with the journals and books he brought back to his small suite in the dungeons of the castle.
Finding what he was looking for, the Potions Master tucked it into his inner robe pocket. He then turned, grabbed a few handfuls of galleons, and then went looking for Harry.
Harry was seated in front of a different chest of jewels (the pirate looking chest had been a non-descript steamer trunk the Potions Master had transfigured). He wore a ruby tiara on his head and several necklaces of pearl, ruby, emerald, and other precious stones around his neck. Snape would not destroy the illusion that much of the glittering jewels were just glass. All of this was ignored as the child's eyes were glued to a large, old book, that had animated, sketched images. It was one of Captain Elias Walter Prince's journals.
The pirate captain had had talent with the written word, and had also been a somewhat talented artist. His journals were liberally decorated with his sketches, many that were animated.
Snape walked up, silently, behind the little boy and watched as Harry read the words and allowed his fingers to trail over the the sketches that shifted under his fingertips. In this journal, the captain was recounting his ship's encounter with a giant, white, sea serpent.
Harry watched as a sketched sea serpent rose from the sketched roiling, dark waters that held the tiny ship, the Phoenix. Up, up, and up rose the great beast from the watery depths, dwarfing the tiny ship below it. It opened its great, toothsome maw and bent to crash downwards upon the ship, but the captain and his crew took out their wands. They aimed and the beast was caught in a blinding sphere of yellow-blue light. The death throes of the serpent brought it nearly crashing down onto the ship, but it just missed it. The waves that rose up, though, swept over the side of the ship catching one, hapless crewman and dragging him back down into the swirling sea.
"Oh no!" gasped Harry.
Snape allowed himself a small smile at the child's reaction, but remained quiet as Harry quickly flipped the page to the next drawing. At his touch, the sketch came to life. Captain Prince was at the railing as pencil-drawn sparks fell from his wand. The sparkles vanished into the sketched sea where they drew the fallen crewman from the water. The rest of the crew rushed in like a swarm, gathering around the injured man, tending to him. Soon, he was coughing, and the other crewmembers were cheering at his revival.
"Yes! Way to go!" crowed Harry.
Snape dropped a bracelet to let Harry know he was near. Harry flinched only a little. Snape expected him to perhaps drop the book, but the story so captivated him, that Harry could not let go of the journal. He raised it up towards his teacher.
"This is a terrific story, Professor! Would it be all right if I read the rest? I really want to know how it all comes out." Harry's green eyes sparkled and Snape allowed a very small smile to ghost at the corner of his mouth.
"As you described it, Mr. Potter, my vault is Aladdin's cave. Anything you find you may either keep, or borrow. That, since it tells the story of one of my ancestors, you are welcome to borrow." Snape gave the small boy a stern look. "I expect you to treat it as the treasure it is, Mr. Potter."
Harry closed the book carefully and held it against his chest. "I will, sir. I promise."
Snape gestured for the book, and just for a very short moment, Harry hesitated before handing it over. He watched as Snape shrank it, then hid it away in his pocket. Snape then divested Harry of the tiara and the jewels that he had festooned himself with. He knelt down when he saw the glitter of a too large ring upon Harry's thumb.
Holding the small boy's hand, he stared in wonder at the silver ring that held a small, cut emerald in it. "Wherever did you find this, Harry?" He asked in wonder, forgetting to address the boy more formally.
"That cup over there," said Harry pointing with his other hand towards one of the wardrobes. A cup, a candlestick, and a set of brushes and combs were seated on the bottom of the wardrobe."I picked it up and this fell out." Harry took the ring off and handed it to Snape. "It's really shiny and green."
Snape held the small ring in the palm of his hand. The silver was a bit tarnished, and the emerald had not been of the highest quality. It hadn't mattered to him. The colour had perfectly matched Lily's eyes. Snape had collected every knut, sickle, and galleon he had to have this ring made specifically for Lily on her 15th birthday. Unfortunately, before he'd had a chance to give it to her, Snape had been notified of his mother's death and the following circumstances of that year made it impossible to give it to her.
Unfolding himself from his crouch, he summoned a ring box. One box beat out several others in leaping to Snape's hand. He took out the gold ring that was within, tossed it upon the heap of glass beaded treasure, and gently placed the old silver and emerald ring within it. He then handed it to Harry.
"This belongs to you, Mr. Potter," he spoke solemnly.
Harry took the small ring box and beheld the ring settled upon the black velvet. "But, Professor Snape, sir," he whispered as he stared at the ring. "This must cost... I mean, it must be worth more than any of this stuff in here!"
Snape regarded the small boy. His horn-rimmed glasses hung askew on his face and his messy hair was growing out, and although he still looked quite a bit like James Potter, Snape didn't seem to mind so much anymore. It was what was inside that mattered, that shone through those emerald eyes of his mother. Harry was fast revealing that, in the positive, he was a kind, thoughtful, and very polite child. Despite his vile relatives, somehow, Merlin only knew, Harry had retained the innocent, wondering air all children had.
He gave Harry the small, half-smile that only touched the corners of his mouth and nodded. "You're so very right, Mr. Potter. That ring is a treasure that is worth more than anything than all the vaults in Gringotts."
Harry looked in awe down at the ring. "Really? Why?" He pushed it back towards Snape. "Sir, you ought to..."
Snape closed the ring box and closed both of Harry's hands over it. "I cannot keep it, Harry. It would have been a gift for your mother, but...circumstances prevented her from ever receiving it. I would be pleased if you kept it for her."
Harry looked up into the dark eyes as he heard the sadness in his teacher's voice. He wanted to ask more questions about the ring, but he saw a glint of pain, too, in his teacher's eyes. He decided to leave the questions for later. He tucked the ring into his pocket, making certain that it was safe.
As they were leaving the bank, Harry slipped his hand into Snape's. For Harry, it assured him that he'd be better able to keep up with the long legged wizard. For Snape, it was another sign of Harry's trust in him, and it warmed him just as a gust of a cool breeze swept down the street.
Their first stop after the bank was an appointment Madame Pomfrey had made with the Oculist. The Eye Healer was Dominic Dymshank, a slightly beefy man who moved laconically and smiled and laughed a lot. Harry hardly knew his eyes were being examined until Healer Dymshank directed Harry out of the exam room to the waiting room.
In the exam room, Healer Dymshank spoke to Snape. The wizard's smile faded as he indicated two chairs for them to sit upon. Snape took his chair reluctantly, sitting stiffly, prepared for the worst.
"How often has the boy been subjected to head injuries, Professor Snape?" asked the Healer rather bluntly.
"Head injuries?" Snape's heart plummeted to his feet as anger at the evil Dursleys bloomed like a dragon's breath of flame in his breast.
"As an Oculist, and a wizard, I have rather more intricate and sophisticated diagnostic spells at my disposal. I am able to discern old injuries that affect the eyesight now." With a wave of his wand he brought up a three-dimensional image of what was more than likely Harry's eyes and optic nerves. Every section was coded with a different colour.
"Do you see those red patches" The Healer pointed out nearly a dozen of the red patches that glowed various shades of red, and even though he didn't entirely know what they were, Snape felt his stomach tighten into a knot at the sight of them.
"What do they indicate, Healer?" asked Snape tautly.
"Old bruising and scarring, sir. This one," and he tapped the darkest of red patches. "This is the oldest. It indicates that there was an injury to Harry's head at about four years of age. This one, I believe, is what exasperated what would have been a mild problem that could have been corrected in adulthood. Unfortunately, this, combined with the other injuries, means that magical means cannot be used directly upon the eyes or optic nerves to repair the deficiencies in his eyesight."
Snape stiffened his back at the impulse to slump in horror. Those damned Dursleys! "Can his eyesight be helped by glasses?"
At this, the Healer smiled, "Yes. Glasses combined with several Corrective Spells will provide him with 20/20 vision. It will take a bit of adjustment so Harry will need to come back so I can fine tune the lenses for him every few months." The Healer rose to his feet. He began to pace and Snape watched him uneasily, dreading even worse news.
"Professor Snape. As a Healer I am obligated to report those past injuries to Childrens Services. I have no doubt they are a clear indication of abuse." He looked down at the seated wizard. "Were you aware of this?"
Snape rose to his feet. He did not care for the condescending feeling he was receiving from the Healer as he sat beneath the man. He gave Dymshank a curt nod. "It was recently discovered that his current guardians in the Muggle world have not had Mr. Potter's best interests at heart. However, I would ask that you hold your report..."
"Sir, I cannot..." began the Healer with a slight vehemence.
Snape held up his hand. "Healer, I do understand the legal concerns and I am not asking you to completely withhold your report. I am asking that you delay it. As you saw, this is Harry Potter and his is a rather delicate situation."
The Healer scratched his chin. "Muggles, you say?" Snape nodded. "Has he a guardian here in our world?"
"As his Head of House, I do act as In Loco Parentis during the school year. However, in Mr. Potter's case, the final word belongs to Albus Dumbledore." Snape tried not to show his disagreement with that situation between himself and the Headmaster.
"And, the Headmaster knows?" asked Dymshank.
"He does." Snape's teeth ground, audibly as he considered several thoughts, but then returned to the original. "Two weeks, Healer Dymshank. Could you hold your report for two weeks?"
Slowly the Healer nodded. "Two weeks, then, Professor. For now, let us get Harry fitted with glasses."
While Harry looked at all the frames, the Healer gave the boy a more edited version of his vision problems, and to Snape's silent gratitude, nothing was mentioned of any past injuries.
Harry stood in front of a rack of frames, but did not pick anything out. After ten minutes of this, Snape intervened. "Mr. Potter, you can't pick out something appropriate if you don't try something on. Are there any frames that appeal to you?"
Harry cast a stricken look at his teacher, and to Snape's surprise, the small boy gave him a little finger beckoning that clearly meant the boy wished to speak to him, privately.
Snape walked over to Harry and leaned over slightly, to be able to better hear the boy if he should whisper. Harry did, but at least he aimed his voice towards his teacher. "None of them have any prices, sir. Aunt Petunia always said glasses were really expensive."
Snape's eyes narrowed and a small sneer appeared on his face at mention of the detested woman. "You need not concern yourself with the cost, Mr. Potter. Just choose something that you like, and..." Snape caught the boy's arm as he went to grab a pair of frames. "And, do not choose any frames only because you think I am hurrying you. You are allowed to take your time." Snape glanced around the waiting room and saw a row of chairs by the entrance. "I shall wait over there."
"Okay, sir. Thank you," Harry said softly, with a small smile. He watched to be sure that his teacher was seated and then he returned his gaze to all the frames.
After another fifteen minutes, and after trying on about ten pairs of frames, Harry found himself torn between two. When Snape recognised the dilemma, he spoke up. "Bring them over here, Mr. Potter, and let me have a look."
With a grateful smile, Harry brought the two frames over to his professor.
One set of frames was slim, gold wire, oval shaped, and with ear pieces that curled around the back of the ear. The other pair were made of Bison horn and looked rather like highly polished black marble. They weren't oval, but a bit more square with straight ear pieces.
The Bison horn frames reminded Snape entirely too much of James Potter, only because they were black, and he felt an instant dislike for them. Counting, internally, to ten, he pushed aside that old rivalry and scrutinised the frames from a purely aesthetic view.
"Turn to the side, Mr. Potter," he instructed. Harry did so. "Hmmm. I'm afraid you look a bit like a Ministry clerk, Mr. Potter. They are quite heavy looking and appear to overshadow your features. How do they look to you?"
Harry turned away from Snape so he could look into the mirror on the wall. He shook his head as he studied himself. "I look sorta old like Mrs. Figg down the street," commented Harry.
Figg? Arabella Figg? "Who," Snape asked slowly, "was Mrs. Figg?"
Harry was removing the Bison horn frames as he replied, unaware that he'd said something that set off his teacher's internal alarms. "My babysitter. Aunt Petunia didn't like her cause she had a lot of cats and smelled funny. She was nice enough, though and I liked her cats."
Snape ground his teeth as his hands clenched tightly together. It was the same witch he knew. That dotty squib who, for some unknown reason to him, had been part of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. The few times that he'd interacted with the woman, she couldn't stop talking about her cats. She was distressingly graphic about the more disagreeable, physical aspects of the animals. He, who had no qualms about squeezing the disgusting contents of a Bubotuber, had actually felt ill after Arabella Figg had regaled him with a colourful, descriptive recitation of one of her cat's hairballs. He'd been thankful the inane woman hadn't thought to bring along a photograph!
What was Figg doing on Privet Drive? How long had she been there? If, as Harry said, she had been his babysitter, why had she not ever seen any signs of abuse?
Indeed. The woman was dotty, but Snape did not think that she was unobservant. He recalled all too clearly Madame Pomfrey's medical history on Harry. Far too many of his injuries would have been difficult to hide.
That decided it. He already had intentions to visit Privet Drive, but now he wanted to speak to Figg, if she was even still there. First, though, he needed to speak to Lucius. The report that the Oculist threatened to deliver to Childrens Services could muck everything up. What little he did know of the Headmaster's machinations, the Dursleys were important to them. Should they be arrested and removed as Harry's guardians, there was no telling what Ministry interference might do.
The Headmaster was a powerful wizard, but even he had to bow before the Ministry if they chose to act against his plans.
Harry could wind up some place worse than the Dursleys. He could wind up right in the arms of an enemy's family!
"Sir?" Harry interrupted his thoughts, and Snape realised that the boy had been trying to garner his attention for several seconds. Harry wore the second pair of frames, and Snape had to settle himself within in order to give the frames proper scrutiny. "What do you think, Professor? They feel kind of light."
Snape nodded. "They appear rather better than the other ones, Mr. Potter." He wouldn't say it, but the frames were of such thin, gold wire as to nearly be unnoticed. It allowed for his green eyes, Lily's eyes, to be properly seen. "Do you like them, Mr. Potter?"
Harry turned again to look at himself in the mirror. He smiled shyly. He did like them. He felt a bit more grown up in the frames. "Yeah... I mean, yes, sir. I really like these."
Harry firmly decided on the wire frames and so the Healer fixed lenses into the glasses, added a few Corrective Spells, and then gave some final instructions to Harry and his teacher.
"Headaches are common, but those generally have to do with some of the Corrective Spells exercising muscles in the eye that have not been disciplined. They're mild and can be alleviated by rest or a Headache Potion. If you're getting migraines, Harry, that isn't normal, and I'd like you to tell Professor Snape at once so he may contact me. A little bothersome blurriness or dizziness is part of the adjustment period, but if that gets excessive, again, tell your professor. I would like to see you in a week, then." The Healer smiled and Harry grinned.
Snape nodded in understanding, making mental notes. In minutes, they were able to leave the Oculist's office with Harry wearing his new glasses and exclaiming over their clarity.
Harry hated Madame Malkin's Robes & Dress Shop. Well, not the shop. The owner. Madame Malkin was a sour-faced woman perhaps in her 50s with greying brown hair. Her hair was in a tight bun with what looked like chopsticks stuck in it. She fussed. She didn't stop talking. And she complained so horribly over having to make new robes for Harry, that he felt unusually close to losing his temper. He did crack when she had finished with the complaints and began to insult him; saying he was small, and skinny, 'rangy like a plucked chicken'.
That was it for Harry. Instead of hitting the woman, which was very tempting, he swallowed his anger, and the second Madame Malkin turned away from him, he tossed off the scraps that would eventually become his new robes, jumped off the fitting stool, and dashed out into the street. He peered up and down, wondering where his teacher could have gone.
Well, he sort of knew. Professor Snape had told him, before dropping him off at Madame Malkin's, that he had to pick up some things at the herbalist shop that weren't available in the greenhouses at Hogwarts. But, where was it?
He knew he ought to just stay put, but Harry doubted that anything could hurt him on Diagon Alley. So, picking a direction, he ran down the street, his head swivelling left, then right, as he kept an eye out for Snape. He skidded to a halt when he saw the opening to a rather dark looking street. He looked up and saw a weathered sign waving, and squeaking, that read Knockturn Alley.
Harry approached Knockturn Alley with trepidation. He wrinkled his nose at the peculiar smell that wafted towards him from the dark alley. It made him pause.
It smells horrid and doesn't look any better, Harry's mind stated the obvious. Stay away! his inner voice warned. This was the one that always spoke to him and advised him on what to do if Vernon or Dudley were coming after him. No, he thought, the professor wouldn't be down there. Maybe I ought to go back... A toothless old hag with some very questionable... things in a basket smiled at him. Most of her teeth were black with rot. He reeled backwards.
Harry let out a squawk as hands gripped him tightly and he found himself half-trotted and half-carried away from Knockturn Alley.
"Where do you think you were going, young man?" demanded Snape, towering over Harry imperiously.
Snape still had his upper arms in his grip and Harry's teeth chattered as he stuttered, "I-I-I wasn't g-g-g-going in there, sir!"
Seeing the look of utter fright on the boy's face, Snape abruptly let Harry go. He'd frightened the child more than Knockturn Alley had. A cold lump formed in his belly as he took a step away and then crouched down. "Mr... Harry," he spoke softly. "Harry, I am sorry. Knockturn Alley is a terrible street for a little boy to enter and it... it frightened me when I saw you there."
"I wasn't going to go there, Professor!" Harry spoke rapidly. "It smelled awful and then that scary witch smiled at me and she had…" he shuddered involuntarily. "... there were crawly things in her basket... " Harry closed his eyes tightly as he heard his voice beginning to rise. He hated when it did that. That's when he'd start to beg his uncle to stop. "Wait..." Harry said softly as what his teacher had said to him finally registered. "You were... afraid? For me?"
A part of Snape wished he'd not revealed that much, but he could see that it was important to the boy. Harry had probably never heard anyone voice their concern for him. Snape touched Harry's cheek and found it warm. He rose out of his crouch. "Come along, Mr. Potter. I think we both are in need of a small break." Harry didn't hesitate to slip his hand into Snape's and Snape squeezed the small hand, not tightly, but firm enough to reassure the child that he didn't mind this at all.
There was a cafe nearby, so they both stepped inside. Snape ordered a large coffee while Harry ordered a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. The September weather was still pleasant so Snape directed the small boy outside and to a round table with a glass top and shaded by a bright, multi-coloured umbrella.
Harry blew on his hot chocolate and enjoyed watching as the small marshmallows slowly melted in the heated beverage. He took a few cautious sips and was pleased at the warmth and the sweetness.
"What's your coffee taste like, Professor? It smells good."
Snape gave Harry a slightly puzzled look at the odd, out of the blue question, and then he gazed down into the blackness of his coffee. "Mine is bitter, but rich," he answered carefully. "Of course, it does depend on the blend one indulges in, and additives such as extra flavours or sweeteners."
"Rich? Is it wealthy?" He chuckled softly and Harry sipped his chocolate. "What do you like, sir?"
Snape smirked in amusement at the small boy, and then leaned back in his chair. What a sublimely odd conversation he was engaging in with Harry Potter! "Rich, in this case, means that the flavour is strong. I suppose my favourite would have to be a coffee that is dark and rich in flavour. I prefer my coffee to wake me up."
"So you don't fall asleep in class," interjected Harry. He was enjoying this conversation. He sort of felt like a grown up. Harry didn't notice that his legs, which didn't reach the ground, were swinging happily under his chair.
"That would be disastrous, both to my classroom and my reputation should I fall asleep in the middle of a lecture." Snape picked up a napkin and Transfigured it into a small cup. He poured a measure of his coffee into the cup and pushed it smoothly over to Harry.
Harry put aside his half finished mug of hot chocolate and put his hands around the cup of coffee. It did smell good. Like warm memories. He lifted the cup to his lips, blew over it, just in case, and then took a careful swallow. And thought his face was going to turn inside out.
"Gah! That's really bitter!"
To Harry's surprise, the Potions Master laughed, deeply, for a few seconds. Then, with a wave of his wand, he Vanished the small cup of coffee. Harry reached for his hot chocolate and took a mouth cleaning gulp.
"You like that, Professor?" Harry grimaced for emphasis.
"I do indeed, Mr. Potter. However, as I said before, there are all kinds of coffees, and many different ways to prepare the coffee bean. It is possible you may discover one you like," Snape declared.
Harry's next question caught Snape off guard, but only for a moment. "Are coffee beans used in any potions, sir?"
Snape had not, yet, had the boy in class, but he was heartened by the question. He had held some reservation that Harry might take after his father, and not be at all inclined towards Potions.
Slipping subtly into teacher mode, he replied, "As a matter of fact, the coffee bean is used in quite a few potions, Mr. Potter. Many stimulant type potions use the coffee bean. There is also a Migraine Potion that relies heavily upon the caffeine in the coffee bean for its efficacy."
"Wicked!" enthused Harry. "I can't wait for Potions class!" Harry brought his hot chocolate up for a large swallow since it had cooled considerably. He smiled over the rim of his mug at his teacher. He was suffused with warmth, more than what the hot chocolate had sent through him. The professor had scared him, at first, when the older man had discovered him at the mouth of Knockturn Alley, and grabbed him. But, Professor Snape wasn't angry at me! He was scared FOR me!
As for Snape, he was mulling over his thoughts the curious fact that Arabella Figg had been Harry's babysitter. To his knowledge, if she had ever reported any abuse to the Headmaster, he didn't know of it. It bothered him that he felt that if she had, Dumbledore would have done nothing about it. All for the sake of Blood Wards which did nothing to protect Harry from his relatives.
What if Harry had died in their care? Those red patches the Oculist had shown him angered Snape. The broken bones and the bruises were certainly reprehensible enough, but to hit a child, a four or five year old, in the head with such strength that the eyes were permanently damaged?
And Dumbledore wanted to send the boy back with a few Protection Spells wrapped around him? Did it not matter that Harry would be alone? Possibly not fed. And if they couldn't touch him, what would stop the verbal abuse? In Snape's opinion, that was no worse than beating a child.
It made no sense, which meant that there was more to this insanity than Snape knew. The Headmaster could be tactless, even thoughtless, but Snape was well aware that beneath that sherbet lemon, kindly old man exterior, there beat the heart of an old warrior; a general, who would not be stopped if he knew he were doing the right thing.
Just how did that 'right thing' involve Harry?
Snape finished his coffee, removing his thoughts from the Headmaster, Figg, the Dursleys and mysteries. Right now, he and Harry needed to finish their errands.
"Were you finished early at Madame Malkins, Mr. Potter?" asked Snape.
Harry shook his head and licked at the chocolate that lined his upper lip. "She kept complaining about having to re-make all my school robes, and then she said I was a small, rangy chicken!" Harry scowled. "She seemed to think I should find that funny! It's not! I know I'm small, but so what? Lotsa kids are. She's mean, Professor." He finished the last sip of his hot chocolate. "Do we have to go back?"
"I'm afraid we do. This time, though, I'll stay with you and do my best to keep Madame Malkin's concentration centred on your robes."
"Thanks, Professor!"
When Snape and Harry returned to the robe shop, Madame Malkin was far too insulted over the fact that Harry had run out of her shop and told Snape in no uncertain terms that she was done with the 'rude, little boy!' She did not chase them out, though, but had her assistant take care of Harry.
Cherie was a nice, pretty young lady who wore her brown hair in a loose braid down her back. A magical measuring tape danced obediently around her and she had dozens of pins in a small cushion upon her wrist. She quickly draped the robes pieces back over his shoulders and smiled.
"Such a handsome young man," she smiled as she chalked a few markings on the cloth. "How do you like Hogwarts so far, Harry?" Cherie asked as she began to pin the pieces together.
"It's great!" he replied. "It's got moving staircases and portraits that talk to you, and I just bet it's full of secret passages and neat stuff like that." He whispered slightly. "I even met a ghost with silver, icky blood all over him!"
Cherie chuckled and removed a few pins to adjust the robes. Harry continued, "Professor Snape teaches Potions there. I haven't gone to his class, yet, but I bet it's really interesting."
Cherie shot the stiffly sitting Potions Master a charming smile and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Why do you think Potions is so interesting, Harry?" she asked him.
"Well, you get to mix all these different things like plants, and coffee beans, and even chicken livers to make all sorts of stuff. I read Draco's book an' he told me that it's a really hard class but it's the best one because Professor Snape is the smartest teacher in school. Draco said he's a Potions Master and that means that he knows everything!"
Snape rolled his eyes, but his cheeks tinged slightly as the assistant caught his eye, again, and smiled at him.
Cherie had Harry turn around as she assessed her pinning and measurements. She then looked at Snape. "Professor, what do you think?"
Snape scowled at the woman. "They are unstitched robes," he replied acerbically.
Cherie laughed and her annoying measuring tape decided to dance around his head. "I see that nothing gets past you, sir!" Snape huffed in annoyance and slapped at the measuring tape. It darted away from him and spiraled around Harry's head before going off to dance in a corner where a rack of dresses hung.
Cherie turned Harry again, made a few more adjustments to the pins, and then placed her hands upon her hips and nodded her approval. "I think a two years Growth Charm ought to work just fine." A wave of her wand and the robes slipped up over Harry's head and shimmied across the room before disappearing through a doorway into a back room.
"Now, Harry, dear," Cherie began as a small notepad floated towards her and she snatched it out of the air. "Three sets of robes for school ought to suffice, until the end of October. Another three sets will be of a warm, wool blend for winter. If you need new or additional robes, I'll keep your measurements on file. Scourgify works wonders on surface debris, but do keep the robes regularly laundered. They'll last longer that way."
Once his school robes were taken care of, the two wizards stepped outside of the shop and Snape regarded Harry as they walked up the street.
"Why are you smiling like a lovestruck loon, Mr. Potter?" smirked Snape thinking he knew why the boy had such an expression upon his face.
Harry's cheeks coloured. "I'm not lovestruck!"
"Really? You appeared to be quite enamoured of the young lady," teased Snape.
"No I wasn't!" scowled Harry. "What's enammered mean anyway, Professor?"
"Enamoured," he replied, correcting Harry's pronunciation. "It means to like someone so much that you may be falling in love."
"Yuck." Harry tried to walk ahead of his teacher in indignation, but Snape's long legs soon caught up to him and Harry was quickly tired of walking so fast to keep up a pretense. Snape slowed his walk and Harry took the older man's hand into his again. "Where are we going next, sir?"
"We are going to pick up your textbooks, and then I think a visit to the Muggle side of London is in order," replied Snape.
They crossed the street for Flourish and Blott's. Harry asked, "Why are we going to Muggle London, sir?"
"There are several stores there that carry everyday clothing that's less expensive than the shops here in Diagon Alley," replied Snape. As they walked through the door of the book shop, a bell overhead chimed, announcing their arrival.
"Aren't my robes enough?" asked Harry solemnly.
"The fashion has changed, Mr. Potter," explained Snape. "Robes tend to be open to allow for shirts, trousers, during school days. Hogwarts by-laws allow, now, for more informal wear during the weekends so I do believe you may desire a comfortable wardrobe change."
Harry shook his head as he lowered it. His voice was tremulous, "S'Okay, sir. I got clothes that I can wear."
Snape stopped their progress up the pavement. He looked pointedly at the child's loose clothing; a shirt that fell to his knees, worn jeans held up to his waist by a piece of rope, and trainers that had seen better days - a decade ago. Pieces of duct tape overwhelmed the trainers.
"That clothing is destined for an incinerator as soon as we purchase something adequately fitting, Mr. Potter." Harry was about to protest but Snape held up his hand. "You need new clothing, Mr. Potter and should you not have enough galleons, I will make sure that you do. Now, let us finish our shopping."
Harry followed his teacher to the main counter where a white-haired man with round spectacles sat. He was reading, Hogwarts, A History.
"Hello, Professor Snape!" smiled the old man. "How are you doing today?"
"Quite well. I am here to pick up the order for Harry Potter."
Harry had slyly stepped just close enough to his professor that he was somewhat hidden by the folds of the older wizard's robes. The old book seller peered down at him.
"I'm going to make a guess that you must be Harry Potter." He smiled warmly and Harry took a step away from his professor.
"That's me, sir."
"Wonderful!" He summoned a package that came zooming in and settled itself on the counter. "All brand new texts, Mr. Potter."
Harry stepped boldly up to the counter and held out his arms for the tall package. The bookseller levitated the package and Harry nearly buckled under its weight. Snape caught him, steadied him, and took the package, shrinking it neatly so he could store it in one of his pockets.
"Thank you, Mr. Blotts," nodded Snape.
"Make good use of those books, Mr. Potter!" Mr. Blotts waved cheerily and then returned to his book.
"Those were really heavy," muttered Harry. "When will we get my wand, Professor?"
"Clothes first, then Ollivander's, and last will be the Apothecary."
"Oh, great! Thank you, sir!"
Harry had several pairs of new trousers, a couple pairs of shorts for the warmer months, a dozen shirts that Snape insisted could not all be purple. Purple, it seemed, was Harry's favourite colour. He also got a pair of boots, in black leather, to go with his school uniform, a new pair of trainers, socks, t-shirts, and pants.
It was when Harry meant to pay for the clothes that he realised he only had wizarding gold. "Professor," he whispered, "I don't have Muggle money."
"It is unnecessary, Mr. Potter," Snape spoke softly so that only he and Harry could hear their conversation. "Your money is just for your books, your wand, and your school supplies," he explained.
"But, sir, how am I...?" asked the small boy.
"As I mentioned before, do not concern yourself, Mr. Potter." Snape removed a wallet from his trouser pocket. He began counting out the appropriate amount for the clothing. "Your relatives should have provided you with new clothes, so, I've decided that, just this once, I'll pay for them."
Harry could see that Snape was firm in his decision, so he put away his money bag, and then held half of the packages his clothing was in until they returned to Diagon Alley. Once there, Snape shrunk all the packages and tucked them into a pocket of Harry's new jeans. Harry was also wearing a new shirt (his only purple one he'd been allowed) and a soft, lightweight jumper that Snape had picked out for him that was beige and dark brown. On his feet were the new trainers and Harry was enjoying the bounce of the new shoes and how good they felt on his feet.
"Are you hungry, Mr. Potter?" Harry simply nodded and Snape led him over to a new looking restaurant.
Harry studied the menu, smiling as he could clearly read all the words. For a moment, that distracted him, but then he remembered he had to eat, so he concentrated on choosing something. As he did so, he thumped the edge of the menu on the table top.
Snape's hand stilled the thumping menu. Harry looked around the side of his menu and gave his teacher an apologetic glance. "Order anything you'd like, Mr. Potter. Don't just order what is inexpensive."
Harry's eyes widened. "Really? Are you sure, sir? I don't eat that much."
"I suspected you thought you did not and that is something we are going to work on. Now, order whatever you like."
Harry ordered turkey with gravy and stuffing and cranberry sauce. He also ordered some pumpkin juice, and since they were eating out for dinner, Snape allowed Harry to indulge in the restaurant's specialty cake, a confection called 'Chocolate Bomb'.
Snape ordered the roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and had a small bowl of chocolate chip ice cream for dessert. He drank coffee through the meal since they still had two stops left.
An hour later, just as the sun was vanishing along the horizon, Harry and Snape left the restaurant and headed down the street to Ollivander's. The wizened wandmaker peered at the two wizards and then leaned far over his counter to scowl at Harry.
"Mr. Potter," he drawled. "Don't tell me you dislike the wand that chose you?"
"No! I thought it was great! But... but..." Harry silenced himself as a vision of his beautiful wand splintering beneath his uncle's heavy footstep rose up in the forefront of his mind.
"Oh dear! That is a tragedy!" murmured Ollivander and Harry backed up right into Snape. He wondered if the wandmaker had read his mind.
"Mr. Potter just needs a new wand," snapped Snape. "Could we get on with it?"
Ollivander gave the Potions Master a glare before disappearing into the stacks of wands. When he returned, he held out a grey box to Harry.
"Yew. Twelve inches with a unicorn hair core."
Harry touched the wand lightly. His fingers felt slimy. He pushed the box and the wand away. "Not that one." He grimaced.
Ollivander smiled and disappeared again.
Twenty minutes seem to crawl by at a snail's pace as Harry tried wand after wand. At one point when Ollivander was muttering under his breath, Harry yawned, and swayed slightly on his feet. Snape glowered. Harry had had a very long day.
Finally, Ollivander let out a yelp, possibly of discovery, and nearly ran to his counter. He then slowed and presented the box which was a forest green. He reverently removed the lid.
"Apple wood, Mr. Potter. You may wish to read the lore surrounding the apple tree. Tis not at all as humble as one might think." Just as Harry lifted himself on tiptoes so he could see the wand, Ollivander pulled it away. "Eleven and a half inches with Ashwinder Ash as its core." He lowered the box down over the counter to Harry's level. "I've never made another like it, Mr. Potter."
Harry peered into the box at the wand which resembled a slightly green tinted, gnarled branch. It was as though it had been broken off its mother tree. Harry picked up the wand and was immediately pleased at how it felt in his hand; as though it always belonged there. He could feel his own magical core reaching towards the Ashwinder Ash and connecting with it. He waved it and shouted in delight as sparks of pure purple burst forth from the tip.
"Ah yes! That's the one, Mr. Potter! The. Very. One!" He leaned further over his counter and Snape was worried that the man might tumble over it. "Mark my words, Mr. Potter, learn what this wand means, and what it is capable of."
"Great things?" Harry realised that in echoing the wandmaker's words from when he'd bought his first wand, he was being rude. "Sorry, sir."
Ollivander shook his head. "Hardly, Mr. Potter, although the possibility of accomplishing great things does exist for every witch and wizard, you will find..." he smiled and his eyes twinkled secretively. "Well, I leave that to you to discover, Mr. Potter."
"Professor, I think this wand is even better than my first one!" Harry, barely hearing what the price was, handed his galleons to Ollivander, and still staring, very happily, at his wand, walked out ahead of Snape.
Harry was supplied with almost everything he needed. Their last stop would be Slug & Jiggers Apothecary since Snape had to order some last minute supplies for Potions class.
He and Harry both were feeling tired and although Harry would be able to return to his dorm to put away all his new things, Snape still had quizzes to grade and Draco's detention to deal with. He'd be lucky if he'd get to bed by 2am this night.
As they entered the somewhat stuffy apothecary, Harry's spirits appeared to lift. His eyes widened as they took in the jars and bins and baskets of ingredients, the shelves of supplies such as cauldrons from the smallest at 2 and three-quarters inches to the largest which was one that was big enough for Harry to crawl into. One wall had a dazzling display of phials and bottles from utilitarian plain, to delicate, hand-blown glass, or cut crystal.
"Can I just look around, sir?" asked Harry, his eyes shining with anticipation.
Snape was heartened once again by the delight in the boy's eyes. It was very similar to the light he'd often seen in Lily's eyes as children when they would visit this very apothecary for supplies. Lily had always enjoyed Potions, but her genius lay in Charms. Snape secretly hoped that Harry would find the love for Potions that he himself had. He would know on Friday when Harry would finally get to attend his class.
"It is 'may I', Mr. Potter," Snape corrected the boy's grammar. "And yes, you may. Just keep your hands to yourself, and if you have any questions, please wait until I have concluded my business with Mr. Jiggers."
"Okay, sir!" Harry veered off towards the display case that held a variety of rare, preserved, ingredients. The sort of ghastly things that Snape kept purposefully in his office to intimidate the wayward student.
The gross things in the display cabinet were fascinating to Harry, but the odd and enticing scents of various dried ingredients captivated him next. He went over to a wide selection of baskets that held bushels of dried plants, dried livers, hearts, and other dried viscera of various magical and non-magical animals. He examined the hand calligraphed labels that gave the Latin names for everything. Finally, he was drawn to the glittering array of bottles and phials.
"Mr. Potter!" Snape called from the counter.
"Yes, sir?" Harry was just about to touch one rather dazzling crystal phial when he heard Snape's voice. Thinking that the wizard might know what he was about to do, he snatched his hand back and stuffed it into his pocket.
"You need a Potions kit. Go to the front of the shop and pick out one of the Hogwarts First Year Potions kits," direct Snape.
Harry, pleased that he hadn't been seen about to disobey Snape's order of 'keeping his hands to himself', made his way to the front of the shop where the Potions kits were. He found one, picked it up, and then took it to the front of the shop.
Snape, it seemed to Harry, didn't appear to be aware of him putting the kit on the counter. Harry was about to say something when Snape consulted a piece of parchment and spoke up, "Go and find a #2 iron cauldron and a Stirrers Kit."
"Yes, sir!" Harry stood frozen. He knew where the cauldrons were, but not where to find the stirrers.
Mr. Jiggers spoke up, "#2 cauldrons are on the fourth shelf and you can find the Stirrers Kits on the opposite side of my store, towards the front."
Harry didn't run, but he did move quickly to get the requested items. He found the cauldron quickly enough, but the Stirrer Kit took a few more minutes. When he found them, beautiful glass, crystal, iron, silver, copper, bronze, and five different types of wood all packed in a dragon hide leather case, he plucked one off the shelf and brought them over to his teacher.
"Sir, these are really expensive," warned Harry as he handed over the Stirrers Kit. "I didn't see the cheap one that I bought before."
Mr. Jiggers replied before Snape could. "Run out of those, we did. Pretty much all the students buy those for school. S'pose I could order one for you," he said to Snape in a tone that meant he really didn't want to order the cheaper kit if he could sell the more expensive one.
Snape didn't look up from the parchment he was studying. "A good kit of stirrers can last several years if you take care of them, Mr. Potter. I believe you have enough left for them?"
Harry took out his pouch of galleons and looked down into it. "I don't think I have enough, sir," said Harry looking up at Mr. Jiggers.
"I suppose a slight discount... might be in order?" asked Mr. Jiggers as he looked sideways at the Potions Master. "A fair price, I'll say," hedged the man.
Snape looked up from his parchment and sneered at Jiggers. "A fair price indeed, Mr. Jiggers," he threatened easily.
Mr. Jiggers paled considerably. The Hogwarts contract was a very lucrative one, not to mention the private business that the Potions Master himself brought to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. He stammered as he spoke, "F-f-fair price... erm... yes. Ah, 9 galleons*?" The owner gulped audibly. He'd just quoted a ridiculously low price for the expensive kit that was usually twelve galleons.
"That does seem reasonable," nodded Snape. He glanced down at Harry as he folded up his parchment list. "Have you enough, Mr. Potter?"
Harry spilled his remaining galleons, along with sickles and knuts onto the counter. There were only 3 galleons, 18 sickles, and 4 knuts left. He started to count under his breath, but Snape's quick fingers had everything counted. Reaching into his own pocket, he took the difference from his purse and added it to Harry's amount.
Harry saw what his teacher had done and objected, "But, sir..."
"For services to be rendered, Mr. Potter," Snape interrupted. "You may assist me this Sunday by preparing ingredients for some potions I'll be brewing."
"Oh." Harry blinked and smiled. "Okay, sir!" Harry hadn't even had the professor's class, yet, but his teacher was going to allow him to help.
7 Sept 1991 - Hogwarts, Evening
Draco wanted to see everything that Harry had gotten, but he had to content himself with only seeing Harry's new wand.
"Mr. Ollivander said I ought to learn about my wand," said Harry as he swished it and produced more purple sparks.
"I bet he's talking about Wand Lore & History by Imelda Sparks," informed Draco. He swished his own wand to produce silvery blue sparks. "It's in the library. It tells you all about the symbolism of the materials used in wand making."
Harry studied Draco's wand for a moment. "What's yours?"
"Hawthorn, ten inches, with unicorn hair. According to Sparks, my wand symbolises strength and purity of the heart. Ollivander said it's 'springy', whatever that means. Mother says that with this wand, my best magic will be Healing magic." One more flourish produced more of the silvery blue sparkles.
"What does your dad say?" asked Harry.
"Father told me that the hawthorn is a very magical tree. It enhances your magic so he said that whatever I chose to do with my magic, it would be powerful, but because of the unicorn hair, the power will be tempered with honor." Draco smiled proudly.
"That's wicked," Harry approved. "I'll see if I can find that book tonight after I put everything away. Want me to walk you to Snape's office?"
Draco scowled at the reminder of his detention. Still staring down at his feet, he asked, "How come you didn't hit me back, Harry?"
Harry shrugged as he folded one of his new shirts. "It ends quicker if I don't fight back," he replied softly.
Draco frowned at his friend. "What ends quicker?"
Harry could see flashes of the few times he had fought back, mostly against Dudley and his friends. They'd only hit him harder, and kicked. It made him sick just thinking of it.
"Harry?" Draco walked over to where his friend stood, frozen, staring at the opposite wall. Fortunately, Harry acknowledged Draco using his name by turning to face him. "Did you get beat up a lot?"
Harry nodded. "By my cousin. He's a lot bigger than me and I learned that if I didn't fight back, then he'd just leave me alone." Harry did not mention that it was different with his uncle. Uncle Vernon didn't ever seem to care whether or not Harry fought back. He just wanted to hurt Harry.
Draco put away his wand by slipping it up his sleeve. He picked up his book bag from beside his bed and slipped his Potions textbook inside. Harry was folding his shirts and putting them into a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe.
"Harry?" Draco asked softly, sadly.
"Yeah?" Harry's voice echoed his friend's tone.
"Do you hate me for getting mad and hitting you?" Draco's fingers were tight on the straps on the book bag.
Harry turned abruptly. "No! Gosh, no, Draco! You're my friend! I mean, I don't like that you hit me, but you 'pologised already and it's okay. Isn't it?"
Draco smiled shyly. "Yeah. It's okay, Harry." Draco darted through the door of their dorm and Harry let out a sigh of relief. He was glad he hadn't lost his very best and very first friend.
Snape's office wasn't very far from the Slytherin common room. Even so, by the time Draco had walked the short distance, his heart was beating heavily in his chest. He'd only heard about the professor's detentions from some of the older kids that day while Harry and Professor Snape were in Diagon Alley. It sounded terrible.
According to what Draco was told, the professor had a wall of chains where he hung the bad kids from their thumbs. Or, he'd try out his experimental potions on the bad kids so he could see what happened.
"Don't hang about in the corridor, Mr. Malfoy," came Snape's voice from within the office. "I do have other work I'd like to get to tonight."
Draco swallowed and stepped in. "Sorry, sir." He took a moment to look around at the bottles and jars that lined most of Snape's office. In front of him was a large desk upon which there were ink bottles, quills, a few books, and quizzes which were probably from some of his Head of House's classes. Just in front of the large desk was a much smaller student's desk and a bench.
"Sit down, Mr. Malfoy. You are going to be writing a letter." Snape was standing over the desk and it took every ounce of courage that Draco had to move over to the desk and sit down in it.
Draco looked up, up, up at his teacher and did not like the cold, disappointed expression on the man's face. "A l-l-letter, sir?" he asked warily.
"To your father," explained Snape sharply. "In your letter you will tell him of the fight this morning and precisely what precipitated it. You will then detail your punishment, including tonight's detention. Once you are finished, bring it to me." Snape swept to behind his desk and with a flourish of his robes, he seated himself and picked up a quill. "No spelling errors. No messy ink blots. Begin."
Draco stared with a sinking stomach at the blank piece of parchment. After his father had told him to cultivate a strong alliance... no, a friendship with Harry, he had to go and muck the whole thing up by getting mad and getting into a fight. His father was going to kill him. String him up by his toes and skin him...
"I am not hearing any writing, Mr. Malfoy," came Snape's laconic, yet very firm voice.
Draco hurriedly dipped his quill into the ink, and immediately splotched the page. He groaned as the black ink spread and then sank into the page. He really wanted to cry, but he wouldn't. He was a big boy, now. His mother had even said so.
He sniffled.
Snape lifted his head from the second year quiz he was decorating with red ink to glance at the small, pale haired boy in front of him. With a sigh, he spoke, "I do not expect perfection at once, Mr. Malfoy. Write your letter and then we shall go over it."
"Thank you, sir," Draco murmured softly. He wiped his nose with his sleeve, and began to write…
Dear Father,
Professor Snape is making me write this letter to you as part of my detention. I got into a shouting match, and then a fight with Harry. It was my fault, sir. Harry and I made a mess during a pillow fight last night and Prefect Billock wanted us to clean it up. The House rules say we can't have house elves do work for us, but since I always summon a house elf at home, I just summoned one. Harry tried to remind me of the rules, and I wouldn't listen. We were yelling, at first, and then I got so mad I started hitting him.
I've already apologised to Harry and he says we're still friends, but Professor Snape said I need to apologise to you, too. I know it's very important for our family name to be allied with Harry Potter, and I know you told me to make friends with him and I did. I almost jeopardised that because I got mad and wouldn't admit my fault in the whole thing. I'm sorry for embarrassing the Malfoy name, Father.
Professor Snape punished me by making me clean up our dorm and the bathroom without magic. I'm now in detention writing this letter to you. I don't know if anything else is going to be added.
Respectfully yours,
Draco
Draco gripped his hands tightly behind his back and tried not to fidget in place as the professor read his letter for the third time. Finally, Snape put the letter down and nodded in satisfaction.
"'Father' needs to be capitilised but this is a good letter, Mr. Malfoy. I shall send this by post owl tonight." Snape placed his quill upon a glass rest, capped his red ink bottle, and then stood. "Come with me, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco followed his professor into the Potions classroom and to a side area where there was a large sink. On one side of the sink were about a dozen cauldrons in various degrees of filth. Snape handed his Snake a pair of dragon-hide gloves.
"Clean them thoroughly, Mr. Malfoy, and then you are free to return to your common room."
"Yes, sir," Draco sighed heavily. More house elf work and no magic. It wasn't fair. He stepped up to the sink and glared as he turned the faucet for the hot water on. He snatched a cauldron causing three to tumble from the pile into the sink.
"Control. Your. Temper, Mr. Malfoy," Snape warned tightly. Draco looked to his right where Snape stood. "Your temper is precisely what landed you in this mess in the first place. It is a childish affectation and only shows you in a disagreeable, spoiled light. Now, get to work."
Snape left the classroom to return to his office. He left the door between the two rooms open so he could hear the boy working.
At just before 9:30pm, a very weary, rather dishevelled looking Slytherin emerged from the Potions classroom into Snape's office. His shoulders drooped as he stood in front of his Head of House's desk.
"May I go now, sir?" Draco asked with a sigh of exhaustion in his voice.
Snape put down his quill and rose from his chair and walked round his desk to where the weary boy stood. Putting a hand on Draco's shoulder, he turned him to face the door and then walked beside him through the office door and down the corridor the short distance to the Slytherin common room.
"Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said quietly.
"Goodnight, sir." Draco stepped through the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, leaving his professor behind.
Draco ached all over. And, he was so very tired. All he could think of was his bed, in his dorm, and just falling upon it.
That wasn't to be. Prefect Billock was standing in front of him. A part of Draco wanted to snap at the seventh year, but he was just too tired.
"You can go to bed, Mr. Malfoy, but after you make your apology," said the prefect.
Draco's jaw dropped as he looked upwards at Gordon's face. Another apology? "To whom?" he demanded far too sharply.
Billock glared and crossed his arms over his chest. "If you recall, Mr. Malfoy, I explained to you this morning that you would owe an apology to Orencia, my intended, for making her wait for me while I had to deal with you."
Draco's head dropped, and if possible, his shoulders drooped even further. Now he remembered. "All right. Where is she?" he asked in resignation.
Billock pointed to a blonde seventh year sitting on the divan in front of the fireplace. "Orencia, Mr. Malfoy is here to apologise." He nudged the boy towards his girlfriend.
"I'm sorry!" snapped Draco and turned away to head back to the dorms. He found himself spun back around so he was facing Orencia.
"This had better be sincere, Mr. Malfoy, or you'll wind up with a points loss, and I can guarantee that's not going to set well with any of your fellow Slytherins." Billock nudged Draco's shoulder none too gently.
Draco scowled at his feet. He was tired and he'd been apologising all evening. Harry was the only one who really deserved an…
"Malfoy!" snapped the prefect.
Draco drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry for messing up your date with Prefect Billock, Orencia." Inside, he smiled smugly at the charm he'd managed to dredge up through all his exhaustion. His father would be proud.
"Thank you, Draco," she said sweetly, and then gave Billock a withering look. Draco caught the expression and wondered what it meant. He had his answer as Orencia continued, "It really wasn't that big of a deal, Draco, so forget about it. Why don't you go on to bed?"
Draco blushed under Orencia's smile and then turned and swiftly made his way towards the dorms. As he vanished up the stairs, he smirked as he heard Orencia taking Billock down a peg for 'bullying a firstie'.
Draco had only partially learned his lesson for the day.
Galleons to Pounds & Dollars
* 9 galleons = £27.12 or $42.29
Updated May 2015
