29 Sept 1991, Sunday
Harry woke with a scream at four in the morning. As he looked around the dorm and at Draco, sleeping the sleep of innocents, Harry wondered once again if his screams had merely been in his awful nightmare. Draco hadn't awakened the last two nights this horrible nightmare had terrified him awake. He would have stayed put in his bed, but his stomach rebelled at the awful images and sensations of the nightmare. He ran into the bathroom, unaware of the tingly sensation of a spell ending as he left his bed.
A few minutes later Draco groggily lifted his head from where it was buried amongst his two pillows. He could hear retching coming from the bathroom and so he sat up.
"Harry?" Draco looked over at his friend's bed to find it empty. When he heard sobs Draco scooted out of bed and padded into the bathroom. He found Harry curled up in a corner between the shower and the toilet, his arms around his knees, and his head on his arms. Draco knelt down, ignored the flinching, and touched his friend's hands. "You want me to get Professor Snape?" he asked gently.
Harry didn't raise his head, but he nodded miserably. Draco patted his hand. "I'll be right back!"
Draco jumped to his feet and ran out of the dorm to Prefect Billock's room. His frantic knocking was answered rather quickly by the seventh year. Billock saw Draco and had no hesitation. He belted his dressing gown, Summoned his slippers, and sent Draco back to Harry.
Harry gripped his knees tighter as he pressed his head against them. As tight as he shut his eyes he could not stop the images in his head playing over and over again.
Power… but fear… angry fear… and the desire to KILL was so strong, so desirable, that it made his stomach knot up. There was blood, though. Not crimson but beautiful, hauntingly sacred silver… Harry drank the silver blood… euphoria that he could not put into words blossomed in his veins like ten thousand daggers piercing his soul…
Harry felt his stomach rebel. Unfolding himself in record time he was at the toilet soon emptying a stomach that was wretchedly empty.
Draco returned to the bathroom just as his best friend collapsed in messy tears at the base of the commode. Quickly he wet a small towel and since he didn't know any cleaning spells with any proficiency, yet, he began to cool Harry's face with the cloth and used another to clean him up. Harry was flinching, and mumbling apologies to Draco the entire time.
"S'okay, Harry. Professor Snape is coming and he'll make everything all right." Harry just nodded while Draco rose to re-wet the cloth and wring it out.
When Snape arrived ten minutes later, the man was still in his black silk pyjamas, black velvet dressing gown, and black slippers. He saw Draco kneeling in front of Harry giving what comfort he could by cooling the child's flushed face with the wet cloth.
Snape cast a Cushioning Charm and then knelt down. "Harry?"
Draco stepped lithely aside as Harry shot to his feet and nearly threw himself at his teacher. He was mumbling something, but since his face was against Snape's chest the older wizard couldn't understand the child. He rubbed the small boy's back and carded his fingers through Harry's hair. At some point he was sure that Harry mumbled the word, 'daddy'.
"Hush child," he spoke very softly into Harry's ear. "Daddy's here. Shhhh." A rather wide-eyed and surprised look from Draco told the Head of Slytherin House that he'd not spoken softly enough.
It was nearly a half-hour later before Harry was calmed down. He now sat on his bed beside Snape. Draco had been ordered to go and shower so the two could talk.
"Can you tell me about the nightmare, Harry?" asked Snape as he brushed the boy's lengthy fringe off his forehead. The boy was going to need a trim soon.
"It was the same one, Sir," he hiccuped and then sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Snape simply Scourgified the sleeve and conjured a handkerchief to give Harry. "I don't want these anymore!" He pushed his head against Snape's chest and Snape automatically drew him closer. "It's too scary!" he mumbled into Snape's chest.
"I will not allow this to continue, child," Snape spoke soothingly. "There is a discipline I have been meaning to teach Draco and I am sure it will help you as well. Although I had planned to begin next week, we shall start this evening." He cupped Harry's chin in his palm so he could see into the child's eyes. He gave him a small smile. "Now, would you like to try and go back to..." Harry shook his head vehemently. "All right, then. Get cleaned up…"
Draco slowly ventured into the dorm. He glanced worriedly at his friend. Snape spied the tow-headed boy and waved him over. "Why do you not both come to the Potions classroom. You two may assist me in getting a few ingredients ready for Monday. Harry, take your shower. Draco and I will wait here."
"All right, Sir," Harry sighed in relief as he slid off the edge of his bed. Snape stood and was about to turn away, when Harry caught him with a quick hug around his waist and a whispered, "Thank you for coming!" He then raced away into the bathroom to take his shower.
Draco, feeling somewhat in shock over this night, approached his Head of House tentatively. He then just stood awkwardly as though he were a bit lost himself. Snape rose from Harry's bed and nudged the young Malfoy over to his wardrobe where he opened it and retrieved clothing and robes which he gave to the child. Draco took the clothes, dropped them on his bed and glanced quickly at the adult who turned his back to give Draco a bit of privacy. As Draco slowly dressed, his teacher spoke to him.
"What are you thinking, Draco?" asked Snape carefully.
"I want my father," he whispered in slight embarrassment.
"Understandable. Harry's nightmares do not just affect him but also those he cares for. As I recall you suffered from a nightmare when you were even younger."
Draco nodded but as he realised his teacher had his back to him and could not see him, he replied. "When I was five. The… uhm…"
"The Death Eaters," Snape finished softly. Draco looked up, somewhat alarmed. Snape turned to the boy, and took over the buttoning up of his shirt. "Your father was experiencing his own nightmares which were exasperated by unwanted assemblages of the Death Eaters in your home. One night, waking to one of his own dreams, he heard you crying. Putting aside his nightmare he learned you had been having your own to contend with. The next day he came to me for something you and he might both take to ease such dreams since he was disinclined to use Dreamless Sleep upon you." He finished by pulling the boy's robes over his shoulders.
Draco smiled. "Dreamless Sleep is addictive. I remember, Uncle Severus. You made Dragon's Sweet Dreams. It tasted like those licorice drops you used to bring me." He then looked up at his teacher, his true godfather. "Did my father's taste like that, too?"
Snape smirked, "I believe that Lucius equated his to 'worn shoe leather' and he complained bitterly over how I favoured you by flavouring your potion, and not his."
Draco giggled.
Harry had finished his shower and he appeared just in time to hear his friend laugh. Smiling shyly from the towels he had over waist, chest, and head, he left the bathroom.
"You are in need of a bathrobe, Harry," remarked Snape.
"Yes, Sir," agreed Harry softly.
Snape sighed softly. The formality had returned. He nodded to both boys. "Mr. Potter, you dress yourself, and both of you make your beds. In ten minutes I will expect you down in the Potions classroom to assist me." With that he turned and left the dorm shutting the door behind him.
Harry stood where he was, and sniffled slightly. He wished 'Mr. Potter' would go away forever.
Draco, far too curious about what he'd heard his Head of House say to Harry decided to ask what that was all about. As Harry dressed himself, Draco made his bed by smoothing the blankets to reduce as many wrinkles as possible. He then watched as Harry did a much neater job on his bed; tucking in the sheets, making the blanket and coverlet both smooth after he fluffed them, and lastly he plumped up his pillows and placed them precisely next to each other against the headboard.
"He's not really your dad, you know," stated Draco as he leaned against one of his bedposts. Harry didn't say anything, nor did he turn to look at his friend. "Just because I said he's sort of like a dad doesn't make him yours," persisted Draco.
"I know that!" snapped Harry. He stomped toward the door, yanked it open, and headed down toward the common room. Draco scrambled to follow his friend.
"Harry! Harry!" Draco caught up with Harry halfway across the common room. He reached out to catch his friend's arm but dropped his hand as he remembered that Harry did not react well to touch. "Hey! Don't be mad." Draco let out a huff of breath as his friend stopped in his tracks. "I wasn't trying to be mean, Harry. I just... well, Snape called himself... that. You know? Why?"
Harry jerked his head for Draco to follow him and they both stepped through Salazar Slytherin's portrait. Harry didn't reply until they were halfway down the corridor. "I think he said that 'cause I was... scared. And," his voice dropped down to a near whisper, "I called him... that first."
Draco glanced at Harry in surprise. "Why did you do that, Harry?"
Harry could only shrug. He was too embarrassed to tell his friend how he'd pleaded with Professor Snape to keep someone... an evil voice... from... from killing him.
"What do you think Professor Snape is going to have us help him with?" Harry asked in an attempt to change the subject.
Draco saw the attempt for what it was and let it go. He'd fallen behind Harry, so he walked a little faster to catch up with him. "Maybe he's going to have us prepare something gross! Like newt eyes!"
"Ewww! Really?" Harry screwed up his face exaggeratedly.
Draco laughed. "Or, maybe Mung fish lungs! Or rotten Codswallow eggs!" Draco suddenly sprinted ahead of Harry and Harry dashed, now laughing, after his friend.
Snape was pleased with his two assistants. He'd had them preparing Armadillo Bile for Monday's class in which they would be brewing Wit-Sharpening Potion, again. Considered by some Potions Master as being a little too advanced for first year students, Snape thought that, as a brew, it tended to draw less upon the magical core and tended more towards requiring technique and attention.
Draco and Harry had giggled, for a bit, over handling the slimy bile as they filtered it through a silk filter, but then they had both calmed down. The quiet was pleasant, but perhaps it had been a bit much for Harry. He began to ask questions about the Armadillo Bile and the the other ingredients of ginger root and scarab beetles. When he saw that both boys paid attention to the answer of Harry's first question, Snape dropped into lecture-mode. The three were content until time came to clean up and head for breakfast.
The two friends expected to be sent to the Great Hall, but Snape held them back. "Would you two care to join me for breakfast?" he asked.
"Sure!" "Yeah!" they both agreed.
Snape escorted his two Snakes to his office where he Floo'd the kitchen and had breakfast delivered to them.
Snape had cleared a portion of his desk for an impromptu breakfast table. For a moment all was quiet as they ate hungrily. Then, Snape took up his mug of coffee, and began to drink it.
"Can either of you gentlemen tell me what Occlumency is?" he asked, savouring the rich bitterness of his preferred brew.
"No, sir," Harry replied.
"I think I know, sir," volunteered Draco. At Snape's nod, he continued, "It's a mental discipline where you know how to empty your mind of all thought."
"Very close, but not quite, Mr. Malfoy." At the boy's moue of disappointment, Snape gave a small smile; an upturn at the corner of his mouth. "You do not empty your mind of thought, but you hide them so that someone skilled in Legilimens cannot see them."
"Mind reading?" asked Harry incredulously.
"Legilimency is often mistaken for mind reading, but it is much more complicated, Mr. Potter. Reading a person's mind is not an easy matter. No one person's thoughts are organised quite like yours are." Both boys frowned.
Snape leaned forward and Summoned a piece of parchment. He drew a simple image of a hippogriff on it. He then tore the parchment apart and held out the torn pieces. "This is your thought of a hippogriff you met." He arranged the pieces so that the hippogriff now resembled a bad Picasso drawing. "This might be the way Mr. Malfoy's mind stores the image."
He then scooped the pieces back together and crushed them in his fist so that only a few edges showed. "This might be the way Mr. Potter's mind stores the image."
He then opened his hand so the pieces sat upon his palm. With his wand he carefully cast a Blue Flame. The pieces of parchment were quickly reduced to ash without injuring Snape's hand. "This is how a skilled Occlumens might hide his thoughts."
Draco's eyes lit up in appreciation. Harry gasped, "Wow! Who are you hiding your thoughts from, though, Sir?"
Snape vanished the ash and its smudged residue from his hand. He did not, quite, answer Draco's question. He replied, instead, "You are hiding your thoughts from a Legilimens. A Legilimens is able to step into your mind with their own and search through your memories, or recent thoughts. If they are skilled enough, they can also feel your emotions."
"That's creepy," shuddered Harry.
Draco nodded in agreement. "That's why my father always tells me to never look my enemy in the eye," added Draco.
"Why is that?" asked Harry, a slight frown on his face.
Draco turned to Harry, his tone somewhat lofty as he explained, "That's how a Legilimens gets into your mind. They look at you and go through your eyes."
Snape watched as Harry's frown deepened. The boy then looked up at his teacher. "Does it hurt?"
"Legilimens?" Snape asked, wondering where this was leading. Harry nodded. "It can. A Legilimens that is not skilled in penetrating the mind without the knowledge of the one whose mind he is looking into, can cause that person pain."
"A headache?" asked Harry. "Would it sound like bees in your head, too?"
Snape sat up straighter and put down his mug of coffee. "Harry, do you think someone tried to Legilimens you?"
He nodded slowly. "I think so. Do you know if the Headmaster is a Legilimancer?"
"Legilimens," Snape automatically corrected as a sliver of anger sliced through his chest. That bastard! "Is that what happened to you when the Headmaster spoke to you alone yesterday, Harry?"
"Yeah... I think it happened twice." Harry leaned back against his chair and frowned as he recalled yesterday. "Professor Dumbledore was looking at my eyes and it was kind of hard not to look away because I thought he might think that was rude. But, then I heard this buzzing in my head and then like seconds later my brain began to hurt. A lot."
Snape scowled. The Headmaster Legilimensed Harry and hurt him! And he does not trust Harry? Snape wondered what the Headmaster had been looking for. Had he found something, and that was why he did not trust the boy?
"Did I do something wrong, sir?" Harry asked worriedly as he saw the anger on his teacher's face.
Snape sighed, "No, Harry. You did nothing wrong. Bring your chair over here. I would like to test something."
Harry got up from his chair, picked it up, and carried it over so that it was on his teacher's side of the desk. Snape adjusted it so Harry would be facing him. He then bade the boy to sit back down.
"Now, Harry," Snape said as he tilted up the boy's head so he could see into those deep emerald eyes of Lily's. "I want to look into your mind but I shall not look at any memories you do not wish me to see."
"Oookay," Harry agreed hesitantly.
"I need you to think about how you were feeling yesterday..." Snape began but was interrupted.
"Is this gonna hurt, Professor?" Harry asked timidly.
"I will try not to hurt you, but if my theory is correct, you may get a headache. I will get you a potion for that, though. All right?" Harry nodded in relief. "Good boy. Relax. Remember how you felt yesterday. If it helps think of me as the Headmaster." He then whispered under his breath, "Legilimens!"
Snape was in darkness at first. But then he was able to orientate himself by an odd sort of light coming from his left : horizontal stripes of light. In the dark he felt cramped and the feeling was made worse by all the cardboard boxes that surrounded him. He took a step back and bumped into a box. Upon touching it he heard the sound of bees buzzing. Something felt wrong about the buzzing. It was slow as though pushing through molasses. He placed his hand against the box and something oozed from a lower corner.
"Aunt P'tuna? Auntie, I don't feel so good. Can I have some mecidine?"
It was the cupboard that Snape had rescued the boy from. He lay on his side huddled beneath a threadbare blanket, shivering. His face was crusted with tears and mucus from congestion. His arm was over his stomach and Snape was certain by the child's colour that he was running a fever.
"Please, Aunt P'tuna!" he cried.
The cupboard door snapped open and Petunia's horsey face peered in disgust at the small boy. "Here!" she snapped. "Keep quiet you freak! We're trying to have a nice evening!"
Harry ducked as a bottle of aspirin hit his head. The bottle of cough syrup fell on a portion of his miserable excuse for a bed.
Snape yanked his hand away from the box. He couldn't force Harry to relive anymore of that memory. He could sense that Harry was feeling distressed, but the boy did nothing to keep Snape from continuing in his search.
Another box fell in front of him and instinctively Snape reached down to pick it up. At once he was overwhelmed by a much more recent memory.
Dumbledore conjured his most grandfatherly of smiles and his blue eyes twinkled as he picked up the tin of sweets. "Do have a sherbet lemon, Harry."
Harry stared down at the tin that held little lemon shaped sweet. He had to admit they were mouth-watering, but he could not forget the slight, worried shakes of the heads from both Draco and his father. When the Headmaster brought the tin closer, Harry only hesitated for a second before taking one of the sweets and pretending to pop it into his mouth. Harry was sure the older man didn't see that he had palmed the lemon sweet. A minute later he hid it within a fold of his school robe because he couldn't get to his pocket. It had gotten sticky from his sweaty palm, so he knew it would stick to the fabric.
Clever boy, Harry, mused Snape. He had learnt, long ago when he was still a student, that the Headmaster always kept a tin of sherbet lemon drops that were laced with Veritaserum and Calming Potion.
Leaving the memory, Snape touched another box. This time the buzzing sound was accompanied by anger.
No. Not anger. Hatred. White hot hatred. It was coming from the box. He moved to another and the buzzing sound faded. As he touched another box he felt not anger or hatred this time, but soul deep sadness. He ripped his hand away.
These were not just Harry's memories in these boxes, but emotions as well.
Snape withdrew from the boy's mind just as Harry fell forward in an almost faint. Snape caught him and Harry steadied himself by anchoring his hands against his teacher's forearms.
"Do you have a headache, Harry?" Snape asked quietly. Harry nodded, so Snape Summoned a Migraine Potion. The ex-spy had had to recover from migraines too many times to count from the Dark Lord's Legilimens attacks. He had Harry drink a small portion of the potion and the boy was soon breathing a sigh of relief.
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry nearly mumbled.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry," admonished Snape gently. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah," Harry whispered drawing in a welcome breath of air.
"What was it like, Harry?" asked Draco with such enthusiasm that it dissipated Harry's embarrassment.
"Weird," he mumbled. He then cleared his throat. "Like a swarm of bees stuck in my head until it felt like they got out, and I saw yesterday just as clear as... as... uhm... yesterday." He felt no need to mention the first memory, but he felt an odd ache in his heart as the memory of that day, when he was only five, he had gotten so terribly sick. He knew the thing he wanted most, to be held until the achiness passed, would never happen. Shyly he glanced up at Snape.
Snape was caught off guard by the deep longing that was suddenly met by his own gaze. He knew that the memory of the boy having been sick, and alone, was uppermost in his mind. Warmth for the small, once so very alone and afraid little boy, filled his dark gaze, and Harry smiled.
"Sounds wicked!" nodded Draco.
Snape disapproved of Draco's outburst. He scowled at them both. "To have your mind unwillingly shared by another is not'wicked', Mr. Malfoy. To have someone within your mind, without your permission is tantamount to…. rape." Neither boy needed that explained as Harry's colour in his cheeks faded, and Draco gulped audibly.
The Potions Master realised he shouldn't have been so blunt with Harry in the room because the boy's skin had turned ashen as he reconsidered what the Headmaster had done to him.
"He... he..." Harry stuttered frantically.
Snape caught Harry's chin between his thumb and forefinger and held it, forcing the boy to look up at him. "Listen carefully to me. What I found in your mind was a bit disorganised, but we can fix that. However, the Headmaster is not a very good Legilimens and what you do have I am certain was enough to keep him out of your thoughts. He failed, Harry. Together," he glanced over at Draco to include him in that sentiment, "the three of us will make sure that the Headmaster can never do anything like that again without your knowledge. All right?"
Harry nodded, but he was still upset at the implication of what the Headmaster had tried to do to him. Snape sighed, and gathered the boy into a brief embrace. He was a little surprised when Draco, who had understood as well what the Headmaster of their school had done to Harry, came over and patted his friend firmly on the back.
Draco whispered solemnly, "Don't ever let him look through your eyes again, Harry. And, I'll always stick with you if that old wizard tries anything else, okay?"
Harry nodded against Snape's chest, but turned his head enough so he could smile gratefully at his friend.
Draco smiled warmly. "Maybe Hermione, and Nev, and the Twins could help, too. You'd have like an army!"
Harry's green eyes sparkled. "Wow. My own army."
Snape eased Harry back into his chair and then rose from his. "Come with me, you two. Harry, you need some chamomile tea. Draco, would you like a cup of mint tea?"
"Yes, Sir!" Draco agreed. "Can we have some tea cakes, sir?" asked Draco slyly.
"Two, please?" Harry pleaded with affected wide eyes.
The Head of Slytherin House regarded his wily Snakes for a moment, then nodded. "Just this once, you may each have two." That concession had them both grinning as they followed Snape through a hidden door and into his private quarters.
Snape had the boys help him with the tea preparation. He set out the tea things; the old China tea set that had once been his mother's as the water heated in the cherry red tea kettle on top of the iron stove. When it was Harry's turn to steep the tea, Draco went to the Floo and ordered some small cakes for each of them to go with the tea. Snape made a smaller serving of mint tea for Draco before he took the tea set out to his living room, had the boys seat themselves on the sofa in front of the Floo, and he poured the tea.
Harry wrapped his hands around his cup of chamomile tea, blew across the steaming surface, and breathed in the clarifying, summery scent. It made him smile and let out a breath of relief.
Snape sipped at his tea as he watched Harry surreptitiously. Without even knowing what he was doing, Harry had been locking away his worst memories where he couldn't relive them. A facet of Occlumency, but not a very organised, nor a healthy one. It was the latter that caused Snape the most concern. Harry had locked away pain, sadness, disappointments, and more. He had not truly dealt with those feelings. It explained why he was having flashback-like symptoms when he was confronted with a trigger; such as the one sided fist fight he'd had with Draco. It also explained his nightmares. Well, some of the nightmares. Nothing, yet, explained what had happened in Quirrell's class (and the man had stuttered so much as he tried to relate his side later that same day that Snape had been hopelessly lost), nor did it explain the most recent, and terribly realistic nightmares.
After tea, and extracting a promise from Harry that he wouldn't miss lunch, Snape released the boys to take care of any homework they had left for the weekend, or to watch Quidditch practice. As for Snape, he draped a cloak over his shoulders and put the warm hood up. He was going to visit Hagrid.
As Snape expected, it was a cool and breezy day out. Warm though his cloak was, he needed to cast a Warming Charm and slip on a pair of gloves.
The Potions Master then strode down the hill toward a narrow path that had been worn into the ground by countless students that had visited Hagrid in the past.
Smoke curled up from the chimney of the hut and Snape could oversee the large pumpkin patch. Although only half the size, the pumpkins Hagrid was growing for Halloween were nearly half his height. They sprawled within an enclosure created by stacks of hay bales. Crows and chickens occupied the hay bales picking out feed that Hagrid had thrown there earlier.
The half-giant himself was seated on his narrow porch, with a long, elven pipe in his mouth. Green smoke puffed up from the pipe as Hagrid drew in the fragrant, elf grown tobacco. He nodded to the Potions Master.
"Winter's a'comin, Perfessor!" Hagrid greeted. Fang, who'd been sitting next to his master. Tumbled down from the stoop and greeted the human with an affectionate head butt to the front of his thighs. Fang, who identified humans by their various scents, could always smell the spicy, mossy flora of the forest upon the man's robes. Thus, to Fang, he was 'Flowers'. It was probably a good thing Snape wasn't aware of this. Knowing his nickname was 'Flowers' would do little for his reputation.
Fang leaned against Flowers, snuffling the many pockets in the human's cloak. One pocket, he knew, always held a treat just for him.
As the great boarhound sniffed Snape's cloak, the wizard's hand reached into an inner pocket and drew out a hard biscuit for Fang. They were Muggle-made dog biscuits of a variety of flavors. Snape bought them just for the big dog who always seemed much happier after getting one to chew on. At the very least, Snape figured they were more nutritious than the rock cakes Hagrid always tried to serve everyone that Fang wound up with because they were too tough on ordinary teeth.
"Hello, Hagrid," Snape greeted as he moved closer to the large man. He then turned slightly to face the Forbidden Forest. "Has all been well in the forest, Hagrid? I am looking forward to harvesting fresh snowdrops after the first snow."
Hagrid's brow furrowed. "Couldn't advise it, Perfessor," and Hagrid clucked his tongue as he scratched his shaggy beard.
"Is something the matter?" asked the Potions Master and ex-spy.
"Unicorns." The big man let out a huge sigh of sadness and frustration. Snape felt his spine stiffen in warning.
"What is wrong with the unicorns?" He did not have to feign worry since he was truly worried and could tell that the half-giant was as well.
"Found a third one dead t'is mornin'." Hagrid shook his head. "Ah spoke with Bane, 'ead of the Centaurs? Can't give me much clue, but it's no' good, Professor. Th' forest is dangerous, but not evil, ya know? Bane as much as said as it's evil what's in there."
"The death of a unicorn never bodes well, Hagrid," Snape agreed softly. "Do you think the rest of the unicorns will leave?"
Hagrid shrugged. "Can't say, Perfessor. Whatever's in there 'as got everythin' all touchy like. Thestrals is off their feed, too. Lost a little 'un, too. Poor babe." The big man took out a large, checkered handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes as he sniffled. He then blew his nose.
"What does the Headmaster say to all this, Hagrid?" Snape questioned shrewdly.
"Jus' asked me to keep an eye on what I could an' t' be careful, like," Hagrid let out a worried sigh. "Good man, that Dumbledore," he said wistfully. Then, Hagrid turned away from the sight of the Forbidden Forest and looked down at Snape. "D'ye think as Fluffy's in any sort of danger, Professor?"
Snape bit back the snort he almost let go. Hagrid, who seemed to have no true sense of a magical beast's danger, was genuinely worried for the great Cerberus. "I've no doubt that... Fluffy..." Snape couldn't stop the sneer, though. "That beast will be able to take care of itself, Hagrid." Snape drew his cloak a bit tighter about his body and turned back toward the castle. "Hagrid, would you mind letting me know, as well, if there is more trouble with the forest?"
Hagrid nodded. "Will do, Perfessor."
Snape withdrew another biscuit for Fang before beginning the long walk back up the twisted, narrow path. He paused at the crest to look over his shoulder out over the forest.
Something was killing the unicorns and Harry was dreaming of it. With a shiver, Snape renewed his Warming Charm and spun back to the path ahead of him.
That evening, Snape left his quarters to take his two Snakes, Harry and Draco, through their first Occlumency exercise. As he entered the common room he was pleased to see that most of his Snakes had their noses in books or were working on last minute homework. There were smaller groups playing chess or Exploding Snap or discussing Quidditch.
The first years that were still in the common room were cleaning up their messes and were heading to their dorms in order to comply with their bedtime curfew.
"Professor Snape?" Snape turned to center his attention on a little, red-headed girl with blue eyes. She was a third year by the name of Alison Baddell.
"Miss Baddell?" he asked, lacing his fingers loosely behind his back. "Is there something you need assistance with?"
"Yes, sir. In Transfiguration we're exploring the theory behind organic versus inorganic Transfiguration and, I think I almost have it, but..." she handed him her essay so far. "Would you look it over, sir? Please?"
Snape took the parchment and he quickly skimmed the essay. He then went over to the shelf of books and took one down. He handed both the essay and the book back to Alison. "I believe that what you're looking for can be found in this text, Miss Baddell."
She eyed the title of the book and then smiled. "Thank you, professor!" Alison settled back into her chair and began reading the book.
Snape headed up the spiral staircase to the dorm that Harry and Draco shared. He knocked twice upon the closed door. From within he heard a shuffling noise and a muffled, 'Wait!'
A minute later the door was opened by Draco wearing his satin green pyjamas, slippers, and matching green velvet dressing gown.
"Hi, professor!" he greeted. "Harry's brushing his teeth." Draco motioned his teacher into the dorm and Snape closed the door, casting a quick Silencing Charm.
"Is all of your weekend homework finished, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Snape as he settled himself in one of two chairs by the fireplace.
"Yes, sir. Harry and I just got our Charms essays finished. We have an exam on Tuesday that we have to study for tomorrow." Draco sat on the edge of his bed. "Professor," Draco paused and his feet began to kick the bed frame. "If Hermione got sorted in Slytherin, would she be all right? I mean... with her not being..."
"Pureblood?" Snape's voice was cautious.
"Yes, sir. You see, Harry and I would like for her to be in Slytherin cause she's dead smart, you know?"
Snape smirked and drawled, "I believe I have noticed that."
Draco smiled, "Yeah, you have. But, well, what do you think, sir?" Draco asked.
Snape steepled his fingertips over his abdomen. "Miss Granger might feel some resistance to her heritage, but if she were Sorted into our House, I would emphasize to everyone that she would be part of our family."
Draco nodded. "We Snakes stick together."
"That we do."
"Hello, Professor Snape," said Harry as he walked out of the bathroom. Halfway to his bed he stopped and held his arms akimbo. He was wearing a long, black, fluffy bathrobe that just brushed the top of his feet. "I found it on my bed, Professor. I hope it's okay I wore it?"
Snape nodded. "The robe is yours, Mr. Potter. I simply took one of mine, re-sized it, and then had a house elf deliver it." He surprised himself by asking, "Do you like the bathrobe?"
Harry nodded. "It's warm and soft, Sir. Thank you!"
"You are welcome, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy tells me that all your homework is finished?" Harry smiled. "Very good." He straightened. "All right, gentlemen, into bed and get comfortable on your backs."
The two friends scrambled to obey and soon they were both nestled warmly under their covers and were lying on their backs. Snape took out his wand and extinguished the torches that lit the room. The only light came from the flames in the fireplace.
With his voice at its deepest and most compelling, Snape began the lesson, "Occlumency is the ability to hide your thoughts, your emotions, from someone else; especially a Legilimens. It will help you in having a more precise control over your outward emotions and your body language. Patience is required in this discipline and so we will begin with the building of your shields; the clearing of your mind."
"How do we do that?" asked Harry from the shadows.
"Hush, Harry. Just allow me to speak. If you have questions, save them for our next lesson. Draco, no falling asleep, yet," reminded Snape.
"I'm awake, Professor."
"Good boy. Now, both of you close your eyes. The clearing of your mind is not a complete erasure of your thoughts. You clear your mind by imagining a place that is pleasant and calming. You must concentrate upon it in order to make it as real as the stone of the castle that surrounds you." Snape paused, listening to the breathing of his two students. He could hear in their breathing, how it was now a bit staccato, that they were concentrating on their task. He lowered the timbre of his voice and continued, "Allow your place to drift around you. Do not force it. It takes time and patience to build it so do not worry if the edges might be blurry or if some aspect is missing..."
Snape did not stop speaking in a gentle, hypnotic voice until he heard the breathing of Draco and Harry deepen into sleep. He rose, perfectly silently, checked each child, and then left in the same, silent manner.
30 Sept 1991, Monday
Monday morning brought September to a close and restlessness to all the classes. Snape felt like Potions were the worst this Monday, and having to face first years was only encouraging the migraine that threatened.
He had taken points from several Gryffindor girls that were whispering nasty comments under their breaths about Hermione Granger; their teacher had exceptional hearing! It had also been in the middle of his lecture, and that was intolerable.
As soon as all his students were settled upon their benches and brewing the simple Wit-Sharpening Potion Snape began to pace up and down the aisle of students. His pace appeared relaxed but he hand shot out like a cobra and caught Ronald Weasley by his wrist. In his hand was a sprig of mint.
"Ow!" complained the Gryffindor with a scowl as he tried to release his wrist from his teacher's iron grip.
"Mr. Weasley," intoned Snape in that dark voice of his that bode ill for whomever it was aimed at. "Can you tell me what the result would be in the folly of you putting that sprig of mint into Mr. Malfoy's potion at this point in the brewing?"
Ronald's eyes flitted angrily toward Draco as if him being caught was was the Slytherin boy's fault and he expected him to answer. Draco had listened to the lecture so he just sneered at the youngest Weasley.
"Obviously you do not know the answer," Snape's voice cut sharply, "or you would not have attempted such a suicidal stunt." Snape dropped the boy's wrist and snatched the mint sprig from his fingers. "Thirty points from Gryffindor and a week's worth of detention, Mr. Weasley." He then turned on the boy and gave him an evil smirk, "With Filch."
"Bloody...!" Ronald's imprecation was cut off as Dean Thomas slapped a hand over his mouth.
Before Dean could say anything Snape walked toward the front of the class and smoothly intoned, "And another ten points for language, Mr. Weasley."
"Good going, you prat!" hissed Lavender Brown, who was usually one of the redhead's admirers.
Snape whirled sharply at his desk and pinned a stony gaze upon Miss Brown, who gulped audibly. "Would anyone like to tell me the answer to my question?" When no one raised a hand, Snape moved his gaze to Hermione. He gave her a thin smile that some children called his 'sour stomach smile'. There was encouragement in his eyes, though, that smoothed Snape's expression. "Miss Granger? Would you enlighten us, perhaps?"
Hermione smiled nervously, then replied with confidence, "The mint sprig would react with the Armadillo Bile causing poisonous fumes."
"Five points, Miss Granger." He gave the girl a nod of approval and she grinned happily at Draco and Harry. Meanwhile, Snape returned his dead-eye gaze back to Ronald Weasley. "Congratulations, Mr. Weasley. You nearly killed all of your classmates. A pity you would not have survived for a stint in Azkaban."
Snape was pleased to see that the boy paled suitably.
Snape pointed at Messrs. Thomas and Finnegan directing them to empty desks away from their cohort. He then stared down at the youngest Weasley. "Tell me this, Mr. Weasley, what are the ingredients in the Wit-Sharpening Potion?"
Ron grimaced, gave a quick look to the disarray of ingredients on his table, and refused to answer. Snape's lips thinned at the flash of insolence and hatred in the child's eyes. Ronald Weasley was a child Snape believed he could truly despise. The boy was loose-lipped, rude, and rarely reigned in his temper when he ought. His association with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan had brought out the bully in him. The three Gryffindors had taken to teasing and bullying Hermione and then Neville Longbottom simply because the round-cheeked boy had chosen to sit with the bushy-haired girl.
Through Staff Meetings and the gossip at meals Snape learned that of the three boys Ronald Weasley was gaining the reputation of being "lazy and mouthy". The other two managed to keep their tongues to themselves around their teachers.
"One. Last. Chance, Mr. Weasley. Clean up that mess and gather the appropriate ingredients." Although he did not raise his voice, Snape words carried his threat very clearly to the boy. Snape moved away to look upon his other Gryffindor he had lately taken an interest in.
Neville Longbottom was slowly beginning to improve through regular study sessions with the Twins and Hermione. A standard complaint amongst all of the teachers was that Longbottom never read his textbooks. It was Harry who brought to Snape's attention that he thought Neville couldn't see the words in his books. It was rather worse than needing glasses; Neville could not read. Actually, he could read, but his level was barely above that of a seven year old boy!
Hermione had volunteered to teach Neville but Professor McGonagall felt the girl's own education might suffer. During her free period Minerva began to teach Neville his alphabet and how to write. Either the Twins or Hermione would read the next's day's class lessons to Neville so he did not get too behind in his magical work.
"I understand from Professor McGonagall that your memory faculty has much improved, Mr. Longbottom," said Snape coolly. The small boy, who so strongly resembled the Cherubs of Muggle mythology, managed a small, if slightly nervous, up to his teacher.
Neville's reading of his textbooks had gotten much better over just a few days, and with it his comprehension, his memory, had improved by leaps and bounds. He did not always understand, immediately, what his friends read to him, but he was listening more, and once his brain had a chance to cogitate the details, his understanding improved.
As if an accidental brush of his teacher's fingers touched Neville's shoulder, the man again spoke, "Prove to me what Professor McGonagall says, Mr. Longbottom. Brew a perfect potion, and I shall allow you to take it to your next reading class.
"Thank you, Sir," Neville replied softly. Harry, who was nearby and heard the exchange, sent a gentle smile to his teacher, his 'Dark Man'.
Snape moved once more amongst the first years. He monitored the technique (shaky, unsure, some over-confidant), and concentration (uneasy, too tight) to one's work. Even at eleven there was potential to be seen in a child. Snape was always looking for that rare student who cared enough about his work to do well.
"I wish I had a ruler," groused Harry to himself as he studied his poorly cubed ginger root; they were all different sizes.
Snape Summoned a new ginger root. "There is no precise measurement in terms of a ruler, Mr. Potter." He placed the Ginger root before the boy and held up the tip of his pinkie finger. "There is magic within ones hands, Mr. Potter," he instructed in a voice that only the boy could hear.
Harry could feel the importance of his teacher's guidance and so he lined up the ginger root to his own pinkie tip. He felt the tiny jolt of his own magic as he called upon it as he once more began to dice the ginger root. Using his pinkie as a ruler his cubes were much more uniform, and even though he did not have a Muggle ruler to rely upon, he knew he was cubing his root the right way.
The Potions Master silently swished away as Harry grinned at his triumph.
Moments later the slow, deadly voice of the teacher cut across the classroom halting all the work going on. "A zero, Mr. Weasley. Clean up that abominable mess," he glared down at the butchered ingredients.
"Those are the right ingredients!" protested Ron.
"That is a confusing disarray of a variety of ingredients, Mr. Weasley. No thought or care was taken and you have done nothing more than to destroy your ingredients. They are useless. Now," he sneered with a sharpness that had the boy thinking he might get killed with the anger in his teacher's eyes. "Clean it, and… Get. Out."
The Potions Master was not at all pleased that the Weasley boy kept shooting dark glares towards Miss Granger as he cleaned his table. It was more than he just blamed her for his execrable performance, in his eyes was a promise of damning retribution. It would not go well with the boy if he tried to exact a reprisal, Snape decided. He would make sure that Filch understood to make the boy's detention as unpleasant as possible. The smile Snape smiled, was a deadly grimace, that fortunately no one, not even Ronald Weasley, saw.
Potions class finally ended and the students brought their samples of Wit-Sharpening Potion to Snape's desk. He had selected the potions of three students to be bottled for the Infirmary.
Unsurprisingly to Snape, those three had been Hermione, Harry, and Draco, his best students.
As for Longbottom, his potion was nearly perfect. It was a touch cloudy but its efficacy would not be terribly affected. He handed it back to the small Gryffindor who did his best to temper the pleasure at doing well from his smile. He failed, of course, but he was a Gryffindor and all of them invariably wore their emotions on their sleeves.
"Look, Hermione," gushed Neville. "I did good!"
"That's wonderful, Nev! I'll walk to our next class with you." Neville, like a gentleman, quickly pocketed his potion, and then slipped his arm over Hermione's. She giggled and they walked out.
As the students were shoving books and parchment, quills and ink bottles into bookbags Snape stopped Harry. "Mr. Potter? A moment, if you would?" He saw Draco hovering uncertainly near his friend. "To your next class, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter will be along when I have finished speaking to him."
Draco finished putting his stuff into his bookbag, and gave Harry a nod before making his way out of the Potions classroom.
Harry put down his bookbag and sat back down at his desk as Snape straightened the samples for today. Snape picked up one phial, swirled its contents, and scowled as the liquid within turned from grey to pearly blue. He then held it out towards Harry. "Mr. Potter, can you tell me what is wrong with this sample?"
Harry tilted his head sideways at the phial and then frowned at it as he tried to recall all of the lectures he'd heard so far. "Too much of... something, sir, but I'm not sure which ingredient."
Snape smirked. "A slight trick question, Mr. Potter. All the ingredients are correct, but the potion was kept boiling too long."
Harry smiled in admiration. "Did you learn that in Potions class here, Professor?"
Snape put down the sample with the others and moved from his desk to one beside his Snake. He had to enlarge the desk so it would accommodate his adult size before he seated himself on the narrow and uncomfortable bench.
"My mother taught me most of the finer aspects of Potions and when to gather fresh ingredients," Snape said, doing his best to keep the tightness from his throat. Any mention of his mother was often painful.
Harry's eyes lit up. "Could I help you sometime, Professor?"
"Gather ingredients?" Snape was a bit taken aback by the enthusiasm in the child's eyes.
"It sounds really interesting, sir!" Harry didn't say that such an excursion would give him a chance to spend more time with Dark Man... er... the professor.
"I find the gathering of ingredients to be..." Snape paused a moment, but then continued since he felt an odd compulsion to impress the boy. "To be... one of my favourite things about potions brewing."
Harry smiled, mostly to himself. He knew what this small bit of knowledge about his teacher was; it was gold. He then looked up. "So, uhm, could I go sometime, sir?"
"After the first snow I shall be harvesting snowdrops. It takes a delicate hand to pluck the blossoms so as not to bruise them. Do you think you could do this, Mr. Potter?" Snape crossed his arms over his chest to regard the young boy who would not lower his eyes. Or, take a breath.
Finally, Harry puffed out, "Yes, sir! I could do that." He gave his professor his most hopeful look; a widening of his eyes and a very slight shadow of a smile upon his lips.
Snape nodded in acceptance. "Very well then, Mr. Potter. You may help me."
"Yes!" Harry slapped his palm over his mouth. "Oops. Thank you, sir," he amended a little more quietly.
Although Snape did not smile, he was pleased by Harry's obvious joy and found himself genuinely looking forward to the first snow. "Now then, Harry," the child's expression sobered instantly at the use of his first name. "We did not get a chance to go over your time with the Headmaster other than for me to learn that he attempted to Legilimens you."
"Professor Dumbledore shouldn't be allowed to do that," mumbled Harry sullenly.
"No, he should not." Snape shifted slightly. He felt uncomfortable having to warn a student, to warn Harry, about the older man. True, in the last few days he'd learned more about the Headmaster that gave him less of a reason to trust the older man, but he'd been so used to obeying the older wizard that it was difficult. It made him feel ill knowing that the Headmaster might actually be a threat to Harry. And, in Snape's eyes, using Legilimens on a student without his or her knowledge, was a threat.
"Harry, would you tell me what you and the Headmaster talked about?" Snape asked, delaying the warning he had planned about Dumbledore.
"He told me a story about Nicholas Flamel. It sounded too fantastic, at first, but then... then he..."
"It's not real, sir, is it?" Harry asked the Headmaster.
Dumbledore smiled, "The Philosopher's Stone is quite real, my boy! I've brought it to Hogwarts to better protect it."
Harry stared at the aged man. "It's here? But, how? I mean, are you sure no one can get it?" Harry understood that the Stone could extend one's life, and that must be powerful magic. It seemed to him that something that powerful shouldn't be at a school but in some kind of really secure environment like a vault. It also bothered Harry that the Headmaster spoke so easily about the Stone. As if it wasn't important, yet the story seemed to make it important. He found Professor Dumbledore to be a confusing and worrisome man.
Harry shifted on his chair and glanced anxiously towards the closed office door. When he looked back, he was alarmed at how close the Headmaster's face was to his. He edged back when he saw that the harmless twinkle had now a hard, threatening edge to it.
"Oooh I'm a very clever wizard, Harry, and I had other clever folk help me as well. No one can get the Stone. Trust me."
Trust me? That exhortation made Harry wary. He never gave trust automatically to anyone. He'd been hurt enough to know that trust had to be earned.
Suddenly, something clicked in Harry's mind as he recalled the frightening meeting Draco and he had with the monster on the third floor corridor. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "The Philosopher's Stone? That's what the three-headed monster is protecting!"
The Headmaster was unable to reply to Harry for at that moment the office door swung silently open and there stood the Dark Man. Harry's heart soared at the sight, but only for a moment. The Headmaster touched him, and Harry couldn't stop the strong flinch that made his head connect solidly with the back of the chair.
Snape reached over and wiped the single tear that slid down Harry's cheek at the bothersome memory. "I am so sorry I did not get there sooner, Harry. This will not happen again, I promise you." Snape then leaned a bit closer, his dark gaze capturing Harry's green-eyed, still slightly glistening eyes. "Listen carefully to me, Harry. Do not ever go anywhere alone with the Headmaster. Keep Draco, Hermione, the Twins or even young Mr. Longbottom close, so if you cannot avoid him, one of them can come and get me."
Harry reached into his bag for a handkerchief and blew his nose. Snape smiled inwardly at the child's forethought.
"Professor?" Harry worried the handkerchief so strongly between his hands, he had almost tied it in a knot. "Isn't the Headmaster is supposed to be a good man?"
"Albus Dumbledore is a man, Harry. And, as any man, he does his best, but sometimes his best is not enough." Harry frowned, not quite understanding. Snape sighed. This was not an easy question to answer with a yes or a no. He believed that Dumbledore had the good of the Wizarding world at heart, but was he good to individuals? Snape wasn't certain he could even answer that for himself. Not while he still felt betrayed by the man. Not while Dumbledore intended to send Harry back to abusive relatives. Not while that venerable, secretive, manipulative, powerful wizard claimed to have no trust for Harry Potter!
Before Snape could blurt out something that reflected the sudden anger of his thoughts, Harry answered his own question. "He scares me."
Snape leaned his elbow upon the surface of the short desk. Inwardly, he whispered, he scares me, too.
Tea. It was the universal balm. Snape escorted Harry through his office and into his private quarters where they both quietly fell into the routine of fixing tea in the kitchen. In his cupboard were a few chocolate chip biscuits, an indulgence of Snape's when he sometimes felt overwhelmed by the essays he had to grade. Harry arranged them on a small platter that he then placed on the tea tray. As Snape steeped the tea, he allowed himself a small smile. The ease with which the two of them worked in the kitchen felt good to him. It reminded him of easier times.
"Your grandmother taught me how to cook," Snape said. Wonder at himself for imparting this personal tidbit was masked as he picked up the tea tray and carried it to the living room. Harry, momentarily stunned, had to walk fast to catch up before seating himself on the sofa.
"You knew my grandmother, sir?" asked Harry in disbelief.
"Well, I knew your mother, so by default, I knew your grandparents as well." Snape poured the tea and handed Harry a cup. He then seated himself with his.
"How did you meet my mum?" asked Harry, blowing his breath gently across the surface of the hot tea. It was chamomile they were both imbibing.
"We were both eight years old when we met," Snape began, leaning his head against the back of his chair. He ignored the tightening, wincing pain in his heart as he drifted back to those days. "A park separated our two neighborhoods, but it was overgrown and not really used anymore. The swings were good, though. I liked the swings. If I got high enough I always thought I might touch the sky." Harry smiled as he took a sip of his tea. He understood the feeling. Snape saw the smile. "You know the feeling?"
Harry nodded. "There was a small park down our street. A couple of times, Mrs. Figg, when she was sitting me, would take me there. She liked the walk. But, I always liked the swings. It felt like... like flying." Harry smiled, but blushed as he recalled how he and Draco had to stand with their noses against the castle when Snape had taken over flying class.
Snape agreed, "It does, does it not?" He marveled at how at ease he was feeling this moment. Never did he care to think of the past, but somehow he felt a pleasant relief at sharing these personal memories with Harry. It was... disconcerting for he wasn't the type to dwell upon the past and his memories were so very private. However, he felt deep down inside that in sharing these memories, but only with Harry, the boy would understand how precious they were.
"I would go whenever I could get away from chores and play in the park," Snape was interrupted by an amused snort that wasn't covered up well. He gave Harry a mock scowl softened by a slight smile at the corner of one side of his mouth. "Yes, Mr. Potter. Strange though it may sound, I was a child once, and I did play."
Harry was immediately sorry and apologised. "I'm sorry, sir. It's just kind of hard to imagine that any adult I know was ever a kid." He frowned as an image of Uncle Vernon as a miniature version of Dudley, but with a mustache, popped into his mind. He shook it away.
Snape sighed sadly. "Many of us adults forget that we were once children." He sipped at his tea and resumed his story. He told Harry of the pretty, red-haired girl with the green eyes who floated when she jumped from the swings. In that very second, Snape had known the girl was a witch.
-1968-
"You're a witch!" Eight year old Severus enthused as he ran from his hiding place and over to the swings. The pretty girl, her cheeks flushed pink and her green eyes shining, grinned at him.
"Get away, you raggedy freak!" This insult came from a thin, plain looking girl with dishwater blonde hair. She stepped in front of the other girl and menaced Severus by looking down upon him. He backed away a step.
The other girl looked around the thin one at him. Her smile was inviting, playful. "Oh, Tuney! Stop it. He means no harm."
"Just look at him, Lily!" snapped the one called Tuney. "He looks like one of those homeless beggars in town." She glared at Severus. "Are you a beggar? Have you come to us for money? For food? Well, you'll get nothing, you worthless piece of..."
Lily pushed the older girl aside who yelped indignantly as she fell back to the ground. "Don't be mean, Tuney!"
"Fine! I'm telling mother!" Tuney jumped up then ran from the old playground while Lily walked over towards Severus.
"I'm Lily Evans. Just ignore Petunia. She's a prat." Lily stuck her hand out.
"Severus Snape," he said with a smile as he took her hand. "You're a witch."
"So how come my grandmother taught you to cook, Sir?" asked Harry as he smiled at the thought of his mother calling Aunt Petunia a prat.
"My mother was talented at many things, but, unfortunately, she could not cook," sighed the Potions Master. He glanced in woe at his thin frame. "Your grandmother, though, was a true witch in the kitchen." He smiled in fond memory of savoury meat pies, an unbelievable, three-layered cake for one of his birthdays, and chocolate chip biscuits. Oh, those had always been his favourite. He leaned forward and picked up one of the biscuits and bit into it. "Not quite as good as your grandmother's but I believe rather close. What do you think, Harry?"
Snape watched as Harry experimentally bit into the biscuit. He thought it was wonderful and said so. "Did you make these, Sir?"
Snape turned to his bookcase and summoned a book. It was cloth covered with hearts that had been cut out and pasted all over the front. It was worn and stained, but Harry could tell that the simple book with ragged looking pages, was a treasure beyond compare. Snape ran his slim fingers down the front of it, smiling softly.
Harry, so used to his teacher's more dour and stern expressions, rather liked the man's smile. He hope to see more of them. To his surprise, Snape handed the book over and Harry took it, carefully.
On the front were embroidered letters that read, Severus Snape's Cookbook. Embedded just below that, part of the book's cover, was an old black and white photograph of a much younger and smaller Snape, grinning, as he held a platter heaped with what only could be chocolate chip biscuits.
"Your grandmother made it for me. She had made similar ones for Lily and your aunt," Snape said by way of explanation.
"I never saw anything like this in Aunt Petunia's kitchen," sighed Harry. He couldn't imagine his fastidious aunt even allowing something so plain in her perfect house. "What happened to the one my mum had?" Harry looked up at Snape.
Snape shook his head. "I do not know." Unfortunately, he had too good of a suspicion as to what had happened to it. Lily's cookbook, like everything else she owned, was gone. Turned into galleons for the war effort. Her jewelry, keepsakes, her collection of silly romance novels all disposed of by the Headmaster. Had Dumbledore kept any of it? Not, according to the goblins at Gringotts. All that Dumbledore had saved was a ridiculous invisible cloak Potter had once owned. Snape's eyes narrowed darkly. Couldn't that bastard have at least saved the photographs of Lily?
Harry opened the book to the first page and saw what he assumed to be his grandmother's handwriting. He smiled as she had written, "To my dearest Severus on his ninth birthday. With these recipes may your tummy always be happy. Love, Mama Lea."
"Hagrid gave me a photograph album for my birthday when he came to take me to Diagon Alley for the first time," Harry shared. "There was a photo in there of my grandparents at my parents wedding. Grandpa was real tall and thin and my grandma was short and sorta soft like. I thought she always looked like she might have hugged a lot." Harry sighed, suddenly unhappy as he uttered, "Uncle Vernon burned that, too."
Photographs? Where had Hagrid gotten those? Snape wondered. "Lea Evans was a very affectionate woman," Snape agreed with Harry's remembrance of the photograph. "Your grandmother was a very kind and warm person. Just as Lily was." Of course that beast Dursley burned the photo album! He'd destroy anything that had the potential of making Harry happy. Snape was looking forward to a visit with those Muggles.
For a moment, both were silent, their thoughts both upon Lily.
Harry had a tiny spark of jealousy at learning that the Professor had known his mother. He sighed away the jealousy, though. It meant little when he knew he had his teacher, his Dark Man. Professor Snape could probably tell him many stories about his mother.
Snape's heart was in pain as his memories flowed around his mind, almost drowning him. He knew it was good of him to tell the boy about his mother. Everyone else had known her when she was at Hogwarts, or when she was wife to Potter. No one, but he, had known her as a child. A sweet and pretty girl who laughed at silly things, screeched at bugs, couldn't get enough of key lime pie, and loved to fly on the swing.
Where Petunia was dull, abrasive, and a bully, Lily was bright, brave and a champion.
And Snape was learning that Harry reminded him more of Lily than of the arrogant, braggadocio that the young James Potter of Gryffindor had been.
The rest of the tea was pleasant and was spent over Harry telling Snape how he was doing in his other classes and in Slytherin. By the end of tea, Harry was laughing over some prank that the first years had pulled on the obnoxious Marcus Flint and Snape was amused (though he'd be certain, as Head of Slytherin House, to never admit it).
-Dinner that Evening-
The Headmaster waved a small note over his staff towards Professor Snape. The wizard snatched the fluttering note from the air without leaving his gaze upon his roast beef. Tapping it with his fork the letter opened and he quickly read it. Breaking the Headmaster's bid for some bit of privacy between himself and his Potions teacher, Snape chose to reply aloud.
"I cancelled my classes for today due to… some rather important business, Headmaster."
Albus' forehead creased in irritation for a moment but then he inquired, "I noticed that Mr. Potter missed the rest of his classes, Severus. Did your 'business' have anything to do with him?"
The Headmaster expected at least an explanation from Snape. All he received, though, was… "Yes, Headmaster."
Albus' lips thinned once he realised he was getting no further. Snape simply smirked, and then took a bite of his dinner.
2 Oct 1991, Wednesday - Malfoy Manor
Dobby popped into his master's study holding a large scroll in his long fingers. Lucius, going over the estate books took the mail from the house elf and waved him off without looking at him. He dropped the mail on a corner of his desk and went back to the books.
An hour later, Lucius was finally finished with the books, one of the most dull jobs a patriarch must pay attention to and he was glad to have it done. Once he got through the mail, then he and Narcissa would have a free afternoon in which he planned to cook for his wife.
He smirked, as he picked up the mail. He didn't cook often. It gave the kitchen elfs apoplexy for a week when he did so. However, he enjoyed doing such small things for his beloved wife. Especially when she was so appreciative of his efforts later.
Sealed around the scroll was a neatly written letter in black ink. It was from his sponsored daughter, Hermione Granger. He began to read the letter.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,
Thank you so much for the lovely weekend and for sponsoring me. I am looking forward to my re-Sorting and am in the hopes it can be accomplished soon. Draco and Harry have been telling me how great Slytherin is and I suspect that is where they'd like me to be. I confess, I'd like to be there, too. What do you think?
I am also looking forward to your Winter Ball. Draco hasn't said much about it, but I have heard a lot of the Slytherin girls talking about it. I've never been to a ball. Mrs. Malfoy, if you have some time, could you help me in picking out something appropriate for the ball. I don't want to embarrass you and Mr. Malfoy.
Mr. Malfoy I have enclosed all the Quidditch Little League information for you. I think Harry and Draco are hoping this can be done. Maybe before the first official Hogwarts game?
I made a copy of all the information, so if you have any questions I can help with, do let me know.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
Lucius put down Hermione's letter and turned his attention to the thicker scroll that was all of the information Hermione had sent to him. Leaning back in his leather desk chair he began to read.
Hogwarts - Breakfast
Over breakfast Harry's mind was once again on the Philosopher's Stone. He knew he should probably just forget about it and the three headed dog, but it worried him. He could care less about the Stone. His concern was more for someone getting to it. How could he be certain that the monster was enough. He stabbed his fork at his scrambled eggs. What if the Headmaster wants me to get the Stone? And, I get eaten by… Fluffy?!
Stupid, his thoughts laughed at him. I think a monster like that huge, ugly dog would be enough to scare anyone away, wouldn't it?
"Are you going to tell us what's been bothering you, yet?" asked Draco peevishly. Ever since saturday his friend had been moody, speaking very little, and his patience with Harry was wearing thin. It was very annoying that Harry was stabbing his food with his silverware and not eating anything.
Hermione snatched the abused fork from Harry and he glared at her. For extra measure, he gave Draco a glare, too. "What?" he snapped at them both.
Hermione scowled. "What's going on, Harry? You're worrying us to death."
In answer, Harry just got up from the table and walked out of the Great Hall. Draco and Hermione looked at each other before abandoning their meals, and running after their friend.
Up at the staff table, Snape caught the Silver Trio, as Minerva had recently dubbed them, leaving the Great Hall. Dabbing his lips with his napkin, Snape smoothly left the staff table, going through the narrow door that was just behind his chair. Using a few of the castles secret passageways he quickly caught up with the three friends and followed them silently.
Draco and Hermione jogged to catch up with Harry who was heading down the Armory Corridor, the corridor lined with display stands of medieval armor. At the end of the corridor was a large tapestry that covered an open arch that led to a balcony that overlooked the Quidditch pitch. Hermione, the clever witch, cast a Warming Spell that kept them from the chill breeze as they all three sat down on the balcony.
Harry, doing his best to delay the inevitable, asked, "Hermione, how come you know these spells? I just got my Wingardium Leviosa to work."
"You should read more, Harry," she replied seriously. "They're all in our textbooks."
Draco's mouth dropped. "No way! You did not learn a Boil Jinx from a textbook!"
"The Warming Spell I did. That's next year, but it's an easy spell and I've seen a lot of the Gryffindors casting it. The Boil Jinx I saw some seventh year Ravenclaw girls practicing it," she shrugged, suddenly conscious of perhaps she was showing off. "I just, well, remembered it."
Harry chuckled, "You're wicked, Hermione."
Draco shoved his shoulder affectionately against hers, "I'm glad we're not enemies, Hermione. I'd wind up with my ears on my arse."
Hermione smiled and giggled. Teasingly she shot back, "I know a spell for that!"
"No! No!" both boys laughed and squashed her between them. Draco then leaned forward. "C'mon, Harry. Give. What's been going on? You've been, like spooked, ever since the Headmaster kept you in his office."
"Did he hurt you, Harry?" Hermione asked softly with compassion.
Harry knew just what she was implying and he paled, "God, no, Hermione! Nothing like that. He just, well, he told me a story." Draco frowned, his mouth pursed tightly as his arms crossed over his chest. "It was weird. Not the story, but him. Like he was being all sort of nice and grandfatherly, but he scared me. And, don't ever take lemon drops from him."
Draco shook his head. "Father said Dumbledore laces them with Veritaserum."
"What's that?" asked Harry.
Hermione was the one to reply, "It's like truth serum, Harry."
"Is that legal?" Harry was once more appalled.
"According to Hogwarts: A History a Headmaster is allowed to use a diluted form of Veritaserum on the students, but only within the confines of his office. The Veritaserum must be taken voluntarily." Hermione sounded like she was quoting from the book.
Harry glowered. "Offering it in a lemon drop is sneaky."
"Kind of Slytherin," mused Draco with a touch of admiration.
"How does your father know about this, Draco," asked Hermione.
The boy just shrugged. "So, what was the story?"
So Harry related to them the story of the Philosopher's Stone. "You remember that three headed dog?"
Hermione frowned. "What three headed dog?"
Draco explained, "Well, you remember that day when Professor Snape made you cry?" she nodded. "Well, we went to go find you, but sort of got lost and we wound up on the third floor corridor."
"The one the Headmaster warned us against at the Feast?" she asked.
Draco nodded, "Yeah. Anyway, there's a real old door up there and we thought it might lead back to where we came, but it's some kind of room and there's a huge dog behind it with three heads."
"Really huge," whispered Harry. Just thinking of that dog made his heart jump.
"Is it a Cerberus?" Hermione asked.
"A what?" both boys exclaimed.
Hermione dug around in her bag and brought out a book covered in red leather. The title was 'Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them' by Newt Scamander. There were several strips of parchment bookmarking places between the pages. Hermione opened the book to one. She pointed to an animated drawing of a three-headed dog that took up one page.
"Ew, it's drooling," remarked Harry.
"Is this what you saw?" Hermione asked as the Cerberus crouched down and began to growl silently.
Draco nodded worriedly and then shut the book. "That's the monster."
Hermione frowned as her fingers tapped the closed book. "Why would Professor Dumbledore bring something as valuable as the Philosopher's Stone into Hogwarts?"
"He's obviously hiding it," said Draco.
"But why?" asked Harry. "And from who?" Harry shivered. "I think it's dangerous."
Hermione agreed, "If someone who shouldn't got hold of it and they could brew the potion, they'd be immortal."
"A wizard that's powerful enough isn't going to be afraid of a big old three headed dog," scoffed Draco.
"Harry, why did Professor Dumbledore tell you about the Philosopher's Stone?" asked Hermione.
He shrugged. "I don't know. But," Harry frowned remembering the Headmaster as he looked at him. Those twinkling eyes with that hard edge. "I don't... do you think he thinks I want it?" he looked confused and stricken.
Hermione's expression was shocked. "Don't you dare go after it, Harry!"
He glared. "I don't want it! Why do you think I'd go after it?"
"You just had that look," she said vaguely. Draco leaned forward and peered at Harry's face. Harry looked away from them both until Hermione touched his shoulder. "Be honest, Harry. Haven't you thought about getting it?"
Before Harry could answer, Snape stepped forth from the shadows and onto the balcony. Hermione let out a startled yelp as they all three looked up at the imposing Potions Master who glared darkly down at them.
"I had better not catch any of you gallivanting off after that Stone," he warned.
Harry scowled at his teacher, "If you were eavesdropping, sir, then you know I don't want it!" Harry turned a darker, disappointed look upon Hermione. "I never thought of going after the stupid rock 'cause I never wanted it."
Snape glared at Harry'. "I am not saying that you would steal it, Mr. Potter. I am implying that you might play the hero and go after the stone before someone who should not does." Snape watched the boy's reaction closely.
Harry's shoulders drooped as he looked down at his hands. "Professor Dumbledore says my parents were heroes." Harry's fingers curled into the cloth of his robe before looking upward and into his teacher's eyes. His voice was hard and filled with betrayal as he declared, "They died."
Snape motioned the Trio to stand up. As they did so he asked Harry, "Why do you think the Headmaster believes your parents were heroes?"
Harry replied uncertainly, "They fought against You-Know-Who?"
Snape slowly shook his head. "No, Mr. Potter. Your parents fought and died to protect you. Because they loved you. That is what makes them heroes."
"Oh." He said, feeling a bit stupid. He also wasn't comfortable being chastised in front of his friends for something he didn't even want to do.
Snape's fingers touched the boy's cheek. "Harry, your parents were heroes for you… not for anyone else. You mattered."
Harry drew his arms across his chest. His breath hitched. He felt confused but he knew he wasn't. A part of him was pleased that his parents had loved him so much but the fact is, they still died. His breath hitched again. It made him mad that his parents were dead. It made him mad that Dumbledore had brought something dangerous to Hogwarts.
"Why are you still worrying about that Stone, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked.
"Well, it's dangerous, isn't it? What if someone gets it and hurts my friends?" asked Harry hotly.
"Laudable though it is to have your friends best interests at heart, Mr. Potter, it is not up to you to worry about something that we adults are taking care of." Snape's tone held a warning.
Harry, angry at being misunderstood, shouted, "What if you get hurt?"
Snape stiffened. He hadn't expected that, but he should have known to. After all, the boy clearly saw him as his protector... daddy, his mind whispered a reminder. Drawing his robes around him, he stood tall and replied a bit cooler than he meant to, "You need not worry, Mr. Potter. I will be well." He stepped out of the way of the balcony entrance and addressed the Trio. "Your first class of the day will be starting soon. Go."
Hermione stepped ahead of both boys to be followed by Draco.
Harry, still stinging from the rebuke and warning brushed past his teacher. A gentle hand to his shoulder stopped him.
"Thank you, Harry," Snape said only soft enough for the boy to hear.
Harry's hand went to the one on his shoulder. His fingertips brushed the back of his teacher's hand. Without looking back, he trotted to go and catch up with his friends.
-The Afternoon-
"...buttons into knuts, knuts into buttons," griped Draco as he, Harry, and Hermione left the Entrance Hall towards the Great Hall. They had just completed Transfiguration class. "Can't we do anything more interesting?"
"Transfiguration is difficult, Draco," said Hermione. "It's like breathing..." she was interrupted by a dark scowl from the boy.
"I don't want to breathe buttons and knuts!" he declared sarcastically.
Hermione huffed, "I didn't mean it like that! You have to know what you're changing something into."
"I think I know... Ow! Harry!" Harry had just lightly punched Draco's shoulder.
"What's your dad doing here?" asked Harry as he indicated the figure of Lucius Malfoy sitting at the staff table.
Draco stared up at his father in puzzlement. The elder Malfoy gave his son a polite nod and an acknowledging smile. Still confused, Draco just gave his father a quick smile before sitting down for lunch at the Slytherin table.
More students filed into the Great Hall and amidst a low buzz of speculation from all the students, Dumbledore quieted the noise by clanging his spoon against the side of his goblet. He rose from his chair and smiled down at the students.
"Before we indulge in our afternoon feast, I have an announcement to make. Hogwarts has just instituted the very first Quidditch Little League." Conversation broke out amongst the students and Dumbledore had to clang his spoon a bit harder against his goblet. He grinned. "Our little league is just for the first years. Since you will not be playing for the House cup..." that elicited a few boos and the Headmaster gave them all a soft, admonishing glare. "You will be playing for a very nice prize." Dozens of faces lit up with interest.
"What's the prize?" shouted someone from the Gryffindor table.
Dumbledore continued, "The winning team will get a day at Hogsmeade." The Great Hall erupted in cheers since the first years weren't allowed to go to Hogsmeade until their third year. Dumbledore's smile widened and his eyes twinkled brightly. "Allow me to introduce your new Quidditch Little League coach and referee, Lucius Malfoy!"
Draco's jaw dropped in utter shock as he stared up at his father rising from his seat to the sound of cheers; loudest from the first years.
When the commotion had died down enough that Lucius did not have to shout, he looked out over the students, his eyes alighting briefly upon his son. He smirked, pleased at having given his son such a shock.
"Tryouts will be this afternoon. That means, for today only, that afternoon classes are cancelled." There were more cheers, except for one lone Gryffindor at the Slytherin table. Hermione let out a huff of indignation. "There will be four House teams and so I will be looking for a captain from the fourth to seventh years for each team. I look forward to seeing all of you after lunch."
Lucius seated himself to the noise of students eating and chattering about the new little league team. Lucius caught Hermione's eye and winked at the girl. Draco elbowed her good naturedly.
"Harry, we get to play Quidditch now!" enthused Draco. "I want to be Seeker! What do you want to be?"
Harry's eyes were bright with anticipation, but the truth was, he'd never played the game. He'd heard of it and he'd seen one of the practices, but he had no idea if he'd be any good. It didn't matter, he was caught up with the other first year Slytherins as they all discussed the game.
Hermione ate her salad and stuck her nose in a textbook. Inwardly, she smiled for her friends.
Updated 5/2015
