16 Oct 1991, Wednesday
Minerva McGonagall was fidgeting, something she rarely did. She had reason to, though. A hand lightly touched her elbow and she started as she found herself looking up at her colleague, Severus Snape.
"Are you well, Minerva?" he asked sotto voce.
A glare flared briefly upon her face before it faded to be replaced by tired resignation. "I am fine, Severus," she whispered just as the Headmaster arrived in the Staff Room.
"Good morning, everyone!" he greeted cheerily.
Dumbledore was greeted with varying degrees of cheerfulness, depending on how much sleep one had the night before. Snape, who never greeted anyone, went over to the sideboard where fresh coffee and tea waited. He poured himself a cup of the black brew and then a second cup of tea. He slipped something into the tea and then handed it to Minerva.
Minerva sipped the tea and was pleased to be greeted with the burn of her favorite Scotch laced within the tea. She smiled thankfully to Snape who nodded curtly.
Snape barely registered what the Headmaster was blathering on so cheerfully about. Usually it had to do with how the children were doing in classes, where the points were – Ravenclaw was currently ahead trailed by Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Gryffindor was still reeling from the points losses that had occurred from the attack on Miss Granger. The rest of the meeting dealt with the annoying, upcoming Halloween party for the lower years and the Halloween ball for the upper years. Chaperones for the ball were volunteered and Snape quietly smirked as the Notice-Me-Not Charm that he'd recently discovered worked wonders in the staff meeting. He was free from chaperone duties for the ball. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to volunteer as a monitor for the lower years party since there were hardly any teachers left to be volunteered. That duty he wouldn't mind so much as it would allow him to keep an eye on his son.
There was more, of course, but Snape only gave the Headmaster's discourse the attention it deserved, which was practically none. He'd rather be back in bed.
His night had not been a good one as he'd turned over the conversation with the Headmaster repeatedly in his mind until almost three in the morning. Unfortunately, just as he'd fallen back to sleep, the monitor spell that he'd put on Harry a few days ago woke him; the nightmares were back.
He had transfigured his pyjamas into a simple shirt and trousers and threw on the spare set of teaching robes he kept draped on the end of his bed for such eventualities.
In the dorm he'd found Draco cowering in his bed and he could immediately see why. Harry had not thrown up a Silencing Charm, but neither was he screaming out loud. His mouth was apart in a fearsome, pained, very angered looking rictus and his arms and legs were so stiff and taut that Snape feared they might break.
He had stretched out a hand to touch his son and was startled when the boy's eyes snapped open and he was greeted not with the familiar, gentle viridian, but angry maroon eyes and an unrecognisable voice that hissed, "Traitor!" Snape was then hit by a burst of magic that threw him against Draco's bed.
In that burst of magic the hold the nightmare had on Harry was broken and the distraught boy had burst into tears and curled up into himself. Draco had clambered out of his bed to see if his Head of House was all right. Snape was a bit winded, but he recovered quickly at the sound of his son's anguished sobs. Upon his feet, he strode over to the boy.
Snape had drawn his son into his lap while Draco sat uneasily on the foot of the bed, his concern wrinkling his brow. It was almost a half hour before the boy could talk and what he said was enough to give the Potions Master nightmares.
"I killed a Centaur!"
It took nearly an hour to put his son back to sleep after that confession and to also assure Draco that all would be well and that he would look into what was going on.
The thing was that Snape really had no idea where to begin. Since he had been unable to go to sleep he had sat at his desk with a pot of coffee, parchment, quill, and ink, and tried to work it all out.
Why was Harry having these horrific visions? And they were visions. He had no doubt that if he spoke to Hagrid today he would hear of a Centaur having been killed. What an utter cock-up!
Snape had been teaching the boys a simplified version of Occlumency to deal with what was all ready in their minds. Harry's visions were coming from 'outside his mind' and Snape had not been teaching him how to deal with such an attack.
If the Headmaster had been correct about Harry's scar being a curse scar, then Snape would understand a connection between the small boy and the Dark Wizard. Yet, it was now obvious the scar was what Lucius had said it was; a very powerful rune of protection. He remembered when during the adoption, Lily had touched her child's scar, and then him. He felt more than just the euphoria of the potion, the ritual, and the magic. He'd felt infinitely connected to his son. It was as though some of Lily's protection for Harry had washed over him.
Snape's right hand drifted over his left forearm. Only just now did he realise that, for once, the Dark Mark failed to exude the phantom malevolence he'd felt from it when it awakened during the summer.
Snape then glanced over at the purple-turbaned professor who was doing a poor imitation of trying to listen, to smile politely, and to look at ease during the meeting.
Can anyone be that painfully awkward? He wondered to himself. He was almost caught off guard by a sudden, very brief glance of absolute hatred from Quirrell. Snape barely caught the gasp that threatened as pain tore through his left arm. This was not the angry fire of summoning that he remembered when he was a Death Eater. This was pain that caused alarm deep within his bones, giving him the awful imperative to run! When Snape blinked, the pain vanished, almost as though it had never been, and upon Quirrell's face was one of those uneasy smiles. Not a single thing about the man's posture hinted at a hatred for anything. In fact, he seemed rather loosely interested in Madame Hooch.
Urgh. That would not bear thought, at all, he harrumphed to himself and crossed his arms over his chest.Is this meeting not over, yet?
Leaving those thoughts aside, Snape mentally prepared for today's classes, and then drifted over to the more enticing prospect of the arrival of the first snow and the bloom of Snowbells in the Forbidden Forest.
Snape usually found Snowbells not too far into the forest, and although he'd check with Hagrid first, he hoped it would be all right to gather them. He wanted to bring Harry with him, and Draco and Hermione had also expressed interest in the Snowbells. To see a magical flower blooming with the fall of the snow was a beautiful...
"...resigning. Effective this Friday," Minerva said in her staunch, crisp Brogue.
Snape sat up sharply. What did he miss? As he listened to his colleagues consoling the Deputy Headmistress, he quickly learned that she had resigned from her post as Deputy Headmistress. After several minutes of conciliatory gestures from Pomona, Rolanda Hooch, Sinistra Vector, and even dotty Trelawney, who for once didn't have any dire predictions at hand, Minerva sat down, her hands in her lap, and her head bowed.
The meeting ended, then. Everyone filed out quickly, and Snape was unaware of Dumbledore beating a rather inelegant, hasty retreat. Snape glanced to his right seeing that Minerva had not moved.
"I suppose you're happy about this, Severus," she said for lack of anything else to say, but to break the awkward silence between them.
"Should you not be as well, Minerva?" he asked coldly, feeling insulted at her unwarranted comment. "After all, as I recall you have wanted to leave the position of Deputy Headmistress for nearly five years."
The rebuke did sting, so Minerva chose to ignore it. "You're still going to testify against me, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am," he replied without hesitation. He then leaned towards her slightly, and spoke softly, his tone lacking the cold that had been there before, "I am, however, not against you."
Minerva found the will to stand, then, and she did so. Her hand lightly brushed his shoulder. With a slight smile she said, "Thank you, Severus." And then she left.
Snape remained. The quiet in the Staff Room now seemed to welcome him. It also reminded him of last night's strange events, and that his son was being attacked… nay, possessed. That creature of hate that held his son last night had been Voldemort, and through Harry it had attacked him. This also told Snape that whatever form Voldemort had taken he knew that Snape was not just a lapsed Death Eater, but a traitor, and father to the Boy-Who-Lived.
Snape bowed his head and held it in his hands as a great weariness laid upon his back. How were Voldemort and Harry connected? Was it the scar? The Cruor mea cruor adoption ritual had proved that Harry's scar was no curse. The ritual would have failed had it been a curse.
Lifting his head, standing, and smoothing out the wrinkles in his frock coat. Snape drew his teaching robes about his body for a moment, then furled them outward. He had no choice. He needed into his son's mind to stop Voldemort. Snape had to save his son!
Breakfast in the Great Hall seemed to be uneventful. Snape, in no mood for food, had a very strong cup of coffee that could probably strip lead from steel. Every once in awhile his eyes, scanning across all the students, settled upon his son.
Harry was chatting quietly with Draco, but both of them appeared subdued. After last night's strange event it was no wonder. Snape vowed, for the umpteenth time, that he would get to the bottom of those visions that Harry was having. He understood if the scar was for protection, but it was, it seemed, opening Harry up to something that it shouldn't. Perhaps Lucius might have a clue. He could speak to the wizard before delving into Harry's mind.
At that moment the mail owls swooped in to deliver the day's mail. A Daily Prophet dropped next to his coffee cup, but Snape ignored it as his mind drifted once more over last night. After several minutes a rise in the childish hub-bub and a gasp from Minerva wrested him from his ruminations.
Snape glanced over to see his colleague's stricken face as she stared at an article in the Daily Prophet. The Potions Master snatched up his copy and saw at once the headlines that had everyone's attention. He quickly read:
HOUSE GRYFFINDOR ATTACKS THEIR OWN!
Muggleborn student in infirmary after almost being killed by three of her own Housemates!
In a recent development a source, who wishes to remain anonymous, has drawn our attention to the devastating goings-on at Hogwarts.
According to our source, muggle-born student, Hermione Granger, one of the most promising of the first years, of House Gryffindor, was almost killed by her own Housemates!
Yes, dear readers, you read right.
The harassment Miss Granger had to endure at the hands of all her housemates – even seventh years! – since day one finally escalated into an all-out, brutal, attempted homicide.
After further investigation, other sources tell us this was not the first time, and that, in fact, the poor girl had already become almost a permanent resident in the Infirmary. Repeated pleas by Miss Granger for either an intervention or a re-sorting have not been received well by Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of House Gryffindor.
According to her fellow students, Miss Granger's treatment by her House is the direct result of her friendship with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, both Slytherins.
Apparently it was declared that any friend of the Boy-Who-Lived was to be regarded as an enemy of House Gryffindor.
As you know, dear readers, the enmity between Gryffindor and Slytherin has always been legendary. The ancient halls of Hogwarts have seen many a fight between the two Houses over the centuries.
Yet it all seems to have reached scandalous dimensions. While we do not know the exact extent of her injuries, as a visit to Miss Granger has been limited and strictly controlled, the lack of information should speak for itself.
Inquiries at the Ministry have revealed a shocking lack of Auror investigation in this case, for indeed, no one had formally been alerted.
What is going on here? Are Gryffindors standing with the Death Eaters then?
Who are these would-be murderers? Who is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief of the Wizengamot, trying to protect?
And what exactly does this mean for the safety of our children?
Inquiring minds demand to know!
Snape suppressed a snort of amusement. He didn't care that Minerva was so publicly hoist by her own petard; he had expected it at some point, but her shame served well to cast a heavy shadow of irresponsibility onto the Headmaster. His desk was going to be swamped with Howlers from parents by the afternoon. Snape thought it fitting revenge for that hideous meeting early this morning.
The Potions Master glanced to the side not to see Minerva but to see the Headmaster's reaction to the article. He caught no glimpse of the twinkle and the old man's lips were pale thin as they pressed together. The old wizard was not happy. And Snape was in the most pleasant mood he'd been in since he'd gained a son.
Snape finished his coffee and then left the staff table. Instead of vanishing through the narrow door that led to the staff room and beyond, he stepped down from the dais and walked over to his Slytherins. Knowing that everyone would lose their speculation and gossip over the article, Snape purposefully touched his son's shoulder and gave him a smile; not a big one, for those were infinitely rare, and not for public consumption. There was, however, a touch of a smile, and a bit of warmth to his eyes that he knew Harry would understand.
Harry did understand the gesture and smiled up at his father. In that brief moment of recognition between father and son, neither saw the questioning glances of many of the Slytherins (nor the smug smile of Draco), and neither did either of them pay attention to the outright gawkish, jaw-dropped stares of the other students (most being Gryffindors). Unfortunately, what neither saw also, was a venomous look upon Professor Quirrell's face accompanied by a brief flash of red. It was quickly gone, though, replaced by his usual awkward smile and slightly puzzled expression.
Snape wrote, and sent, the following letter to Lucius after a business-like owl deposited a set of papers on his desk after his first class.
Lucius,
I see you spoke to Rita Skeeter. An adequate and concise conversation despite Miss Skeeter's attempts to embellish beyond normal convention. The Headmaster appeared most displeased, I observed.
At lunch I received official notification from the WCS that they have confirmed that I am, indeed, the biological father of one Harry Potter. All paperwork has been dealt with and the familial rights the Dursleys could have contested before no longer apply. I expect a Ministry announcement in The Daily Prophet, soon.
Your investigator may do what he wishes for Harry's cousin, but not until after I have dealt, personally, with those Muggles.
I also received a letter from the goblin in charge of the Potter vault – that which is all that is left for their son. Griphook wishes to meet with me on Saturday about it and congratulated me on my 'superb, Slytherin machinations'.
The first years are awaiting your presence for more practise.
Sincerely,
S. Snape
Lucius wrote a reply to Snape before working on his books for the Malfoy estate and dealing with the business of the day. At one point, while working on his correspondence, Narcissa interrupted with a small cup of a tea, and a kiss to his cheek. He thought about cooking dinner that night and was entirely unaware of the wicked gleam in his eye and the anticipatory smile upon his lips.
Severus,
I had hoped you'd enjoy Miss Skeeter's revelatory article. The Headmaster was disturbed, was he? Oh dear!
I shall be there for a practise of the Little League on Saturday. I have been working up a schedule of practises and games which will be posted in the Great Hall.
Miss Granger will not be moving back into Gryffindor. Madame Pomfrey has set up a small corner in the Infirmary for her. Professor McGonagall did, finally, approve the Petition for re-Sorting and it is now being reviewed by the Board of Governors. I believe we shall have the young lady re-Sorted before Halloween.
I have found a very small portion of the Potter estate. Since I have purchased the items, I should like to present them as a gift to your son at Christmas. If that is agreeable to you, then I would like to invite you and your son to Malfoy Manor for the holidays. Miss Granger will be staying with us, and her parents will visit the Manor on Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day. I am just awaiting confirmation from the girl's parents.
I believe that Draco will be beside himself to have his two best friends here.
Narcissa wishes to remind you that you have yet to accept our invitation to the Winter Ball. Certainly I may tell her that you'll be pleased to attend?
Cordially,
L. Malfoy
Snape returned from tea and a discussion with the Keeper of the Grounds that afternoon, skipping lunch, of course, to find Lucius' reply. As he had a few minutes before class began, he sat down at his desk to write, deciding he would ask his old friend about Harry's scar.
Lucius,
I mentioned very briefly to you about Harry's nightmares. He is also having another type of night terror that I am convinced are visions. It all seems to be connected to his scar.
I am very concerned after his latest vision. He dreamt of killing a Centaur. However, before he exhaustively blurted that out, he was very clearly possessed by the Dark Lord. His eyes changed from green to blood red and then he called me a 'traitor' and blasted me across the room. Harry recalls the vision but has no memory of what was said, nor of what he did.
Why would his scar be doing this?
I visited Hagrid today...
During what would have been lunch, Snape dressed in his warm, heavy woolen cloak, gloves, and pulled the cowl of his cloak over his head.
Outside the castle the wind was chilly today telling Snape that the first snowfall would be here very soon. As the ground was beginning to harden, Snape moved swiftly, but carefully so as not to slip and fall as he made his way to Hagrid's hut.
Hagrid the half-giant was harvesting his huge pumpkins in preparation for the Halloween Feast; another Muggle holiday that the Headmaster honoured. Fang, who'd been curled up against the door, sniffed the air, scenting something familiar, and lifted his large head. Flowers! One of his favourite humans had come to visit. Fang stood, shook the sleep from his body, and took a few puppy-like bounces to reach Flowers.
The Potions Master took several moments to greet the great boarhound and then stuck his hand into one of his pockets where he withdrew a few hard biscuits just for the large dog. Fang bounced again as he snatched all three biscuits at once, and then trotted back over to the small porch.
"Hello, Perfessor!" greeted Hagrid. "Bit chilly ta be out visitin'."
"Greetings, Hagrid," Snape nodded congenially.
The large machete that Hagrid was using to sever his pumpkins from their thick vines he stabbed into a hay bale. He then clapped his hands, and then wiped them on his vest.
"Kin I make ye some tea, Perfessor?" asked Hagrid as he motioned the wizard towards his hut.
"Yes, please," nodded Snape following the half-giant.
Hagrid truly knew how to brew an English tea and the Potions Master resolved to just simply visit the half-giant Keeper of the Grounds more often. The man's rock cakes were another matter, though, and as Snape slyly secreted his to Fang, he wondered how the boarhound's teeth were faring. He made a mental note to himself to brew and send a Dog Tooth Strengthening Potion to Hagrid. For now, he needed to ask the question he'd come about.
"The Headmaster tells me that the Centaurs are still patrolling the Forest," he said conversationally.
"Aye, they are, Perfessor," Hagrid shook his shaggy head mournfully. "I bin talkin' to Firenze? He's the most genial of the lot. I'm thinkin' he has no mindin' of wizard-folk like most of the Centaurs do. Bane, he's the one most vocal about wizards and he's a'blamin' us for the evil that's in the Forest now."
Hagrid always kept a pot of water near the fire so he removed the hot, iron pot and poured the steaming water into a more genteel teapot that matched the large man's size. Snape settled on one of the oversize chairs. Instead of leaving his feet to dangle he easily folded them so he sat in a lotus position.
"Charlie Weasley done sent me a new batch o'dragon 'oney. Ah knows ye always takes yer tea black but mebbe ye'd like to try a bit?" tempted Hagrid.
Snape nodded, "Dragon Honey is quite rare, Hagrid. I do think I would enjoy a spot in my tea."
Hagrid, who was not as careful with the tea of others, carefully poured a measure of tea into a large cup to suit the wizard that sat in his hut, and added just a drizzle of the fiery-looking honey to the tea. He then handed the tea to Snape.
Snape required both hands to hold the teacup, and despite how some might view him as ridiculous looking he thought nothing of it and sipped the tea. "Quite good, Hagrid. Send my compliment to Mr. Weasley."
"Mah ears have 'eard some news, Perfessor," Hagrid smiled through his beard after taking a good slurp of his hot tea.
"Indeed, Hagrid?"
"'eadmaster done tol' me ye's a papa! Congratulations, sir!"
"Thank you, Hagrid," he nodded once. "Dumbledore told you?" Snape was distracted from the purpose of his visit, for the moment. He was curious to whether or not the Groundskeeper had any sort of impression about what the Old Man thought.
"Aye, Perfessor. Musta been right after the staff meetin'. Seemed a might winded to me." Hagrid took another slurp of his tea.
"I do hope the Headmaster was pleased with events," Hagrid gave him a puzzled glance. "The discovery that I am a father, Hagrid."
"Ah! Yeah… well, can't say as he were too 'appy about it. Ah mean, 'eadmaster seemed a bit sad. Thinkin' he was thinkin' 'bout Lily. Yeh know he thought she were an angel amongst all Gryffindors…"
Snape smoothly interrupted, "And I the scum of Slytherin despoiled his lovely angel by getting Harry Potter upon her." He took a large, fortifying drink of the still hot tea and he welcomed the burn going down his throat.
Hagrid smiled awkwardly, then shook his shaggy head angrily, "Nay! Don't ye be sayin' that, Perfessor. Lily, she were a good girl, and no matter what anyone else says yer a good man. Ye both made a mistake but what's done be done. There's Harry, an' he's good, too. So, he's got a papa now. I don't see that as bein' a bad thing." Hagrid smiled. "Yeh do know that 'arry thinks the world o'ye, right."
Snape had to admit, as the warmth that was not the tea, warmed his veins. "Hagrid," he gently pushed aside the topic of Harry, "What's been going on in the Forest?" asked Snape. "You told me of the unicorns departure."
"Aye, an' the Thestrals. I think's the Blood Fae'er dead, though." Snape was shocked by this.
The Blood Fae, as pretty as the Muggle depiction of faeries, were really vicious creatures that bit and could, if bothered, attack en masse and cause a witch or wizard a great deal of damage.
"Why do you think they're dead, Hagrid?" Snape held out his empty cup for more tea. The large man poured from the teapot, and then dropped another rock cake onto Snape's mismatched plate. Snape slipped the cake to Fang when the half-giant was not looking. "Nest's gone, she is. Burnt to a crisp. Ain't seen any since I found th' nest all burned up." Hagrid sighed heavily. "But that's not the worst, Perfessor. The Centaurs is bein' attacked now."
Snape felt the trickle of ice down his spine. He knew his son's dream had been a vision, but to have it confirmed so easily by the half-giant made it too real. "How many?" he asked, willing his hands not to tremble. "What happened to them?"
"Jus' two, but I s'pose one's even too much. One was a Wise One, Pinchon, by name. Last night was, Ardella. Seem's Ardella's eldest, Colchis, saw the attack and tried to kill the hunched beast that had her, but his arrow bounced away. Like it were a Shield Charm roun' the beast. When the hunched beast ran off, the clan went to Ardella, but she were a'dyin'. Couldn't even say nothing because 'er throat were gone. Nearly all 'er blood, too." Hagrid put aside the remainder of his tea, unable to drink anymore.
Centaur blood was almost as sacred as unicorn blood, but whereas the unicorn did not blame all of wizarding kind when one of them was hurt or killed, the truce between Centaur and wizard-kind was an uneasy one. Snape knew without a doubt that these killings were trouble.
It would be a conflict that would be nothing like the war with Voldemort. This would be a battle that would be short, vicious, and more than likely would end with the decimation of the Centaurs.
The last clan of Centaurs lived in the Forbidden Forest, having been given sanctuary there from the time of the Founders. For all that time they had lived in contentment, away from wizards, able to raise their families without interference from the Ministry. Snape had no wish to see an end to such magical beings.
"Has Firenze said anything about what the Centaurs will do?" asked Snape worriedly.
Hagrid shrugged. "I tol' Firenze he ought to take his lot, follow the unicorn, but Bane's insistin' that the Forbidden Forest is theirs. They mean to stay put an' pertect it."
Snape sighed, "I suppose it would be too dangerous to gather Snowbells at the first snow, then." He really had hoped to take Harry with him on that little sojourn.
Hagrid smiled, "Nah! Don' you worry none about that, Perfessor. Me an' Fang still go into the Forest so's we'll be escortin' ye."
For extra reassurance, Fang, who'd been under the table all that time, slipped his heavy head onto Flowers' thigh. Flowers gave the dog a small smile and stroked the broad head.
...after my meeting with Hagrid I spoke briefly to the Headmaster about my worry for the Centaurs. Wisely, the old man is just as concerned and is worried that should they turn on wizard-kind, they would most assuredly attack Hogwarts. The Centaurs would have no compunction in harming our children – this was voiced by Dumbledore. He suggested, and I agreed, that the wards around Hogwarts need to be reinforced. All the staff are to help and I added that you should help as well, since you are the coach of Hogwarts Quidditch Little League teams.
The warding would best be done on Halloween. Despite the party and the ball for the older years, we should have no problems in beginning at midnight.
As to your invitation for Harry and I, it would be good to get away from the castle. We shall arrive on the afternoon of Saturday, December 15.
Sincerely,
S. Snape
17 Oct 1991, Thursday
Hermione was at the little desk beside her bed in the corner of the Infirmary. It had been a pleasant day returning to her classes and all of her teachers, including the acidic Professor Snape, had welcomed her back. She was writing a letter to her sponsors – she wondered if there was a better name for the Malfoys – telling them a bit of her day.
Dear Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius,
Madame Pomfrey formally released me from the Infirmary today but I'm still going to be sleeping here until I get re-Sorted. I have a cosy little corner not far from the madame's office. There is a bed, which is comfortable, and I have a small desk where I can do my homework – best of all, though, is that Professor Snape has allowed Harry and Draco to spend their study time with me in the evening. They've been ever so nice in walking on either side of me wherever we go in the castle.
The prefects of Slytherin are being kind, too. There are some kids who aren't too happy about me continuing a friendship with Harry and Draco, but I think that's because you and your husband are my sponsors and so they aren't doing anything more than giving me odd looks and scowls.
Millicent Bulstrode visited after class today. She told me that since she doesn't have a dorm mate that she's asked Professor Snape if I could share her dorm if I get re-Sorted into Slytherin.
I'd really like to be in Slytherin. I don't know if I really have any Slytherin qualities, but the friends I do have are there and I would really like to be with them. Is it true that you can ask the Hat to put you in a certain House?
Something funny, but kind of nice happened between classes today...
Hermione was very happy to be back in her classes. She had all her notes from the boys and the homework she'd been given while she was in the Infirmary, was all finished and being handed in to each teacher.
Since there was about twenty minutes between classes, she, Draco, and Harry had decided to go to the main courtyard and rest. It was cold, but the wind was blowing today, so Hermione was able to practice her Warming Spell a bit more as she cast it upon herself and her friends.
"I bet Hagrid's harvesting the pumpkins today," noted Draco as he kept a weather eye upon the small groups of students gathered here and there throughout the courtyard.
"What are the pumpkins for?" asked Harry.
"Samhain!" declared Draco. "That's like the best holiday next to the Yule Season."
Hermione smiled and shook her head, "It's Halloween, Draco. We're going to have the Halloween Feast and I bet those pumpkins are for decor.
"Halloween is a Muggle holiday, Hermione," corrected Draco. "Wizards have Samhain." He shrugged. "Dumbledore's been calling it Halloween so the Muggle-born are happier. We don't dress up in costumes, though."
"That's silly," nodded Hermione. "When I was four I dressed up as a princess but mum and da didn't like all the candy I brought home. Dentists don't like candy."
"I like candy," said Draco. "Dressing up would be dumb. The Halloween Feast has lots of wonderful food and the desserts are like nothing we ever have until Yule."
"But, why the pumpkins?" asked Harry.
"They're a symbol, Harry," clarified Draco. "To represent a great harvest." He leaned in. "It's also the time when the Veil is very thin, and we can talk to our ancestors."
"That's kind of lovely, nostalgic," sighed Hermione.
"I all ready saw my real parents," said Harry, "and now Professor Snape is my real dad."
They had all smiled. Hermione then noted, "So you don't dress up, but you eat, and Hagrid harvests pumpkins. It sounds like Professor Dumbledore tried to mesh the two holidays together. What do wizards do for Samhain, Draco?"
Draco began, "Well Samhain is to welcome the beginning of Winter dressed in the mantle of the White Goddess, or Cerridwen." Draco grinned at Harry. "Cerridwen is also the goddess of the cauldron, Harry. Just like the White Goddess the cauldron is a place of change. You should ask your dad about it."
"I like that," said Hermione. "The Halloween Feast is just an excuse to eat and get fat."
Draco frowned at Hermione. "Halloween is a whole lot more. The kids always get a big party," he said, unwittingly imitating the stance of his Head of House, "and the elves do some of their best cooking. There's lot of sweets, and pasties, and biscuits and the adults just let us eat ourselves silly. The older kids get a Ball so they can dance with girls." Draco grimaced appropriately, as did Harry. Hermione sneered at them both and then huffed. Boys!
"Why's it an important holiday?" asked Harry.
"That's when the Veil is thin, right?" said Draco, as though the two Muggle-borns ought to know about the Veil. Two matched puzzled looks told him his assumption was in error and so he explained. "The Veil. That's what separates our world from the world of the Dead."
"But there are ghosts at Hogwarts," began Hermione. "wouldn't that mean that there is no Veil?"
Draco sighed in frustration. "Ghosts are different! Those are spirits that didn't go through the Veil because they either just didn't want to, or still had stuff to do from when they were living."
"Or, because they're being punished," added Harry. "Like the Bloody Baron."
Draco stared at him in astonishment. Hermione asked, "How do you know that, Harry?"
Harry shrugged. "I talked to him once or twice. He looks scary, but he's not real bad."
"He talked to you?" Draco whispered in awe. Harry nodded. "That's wicked! He doesn't talk much to anyone."
A twin chorus of greetings interrupted their discussion. Harry and Draco both turned menacing looks of warning upon the two third year Gryffindors, Fred and George Weasley.
"We wanted to apologise," Fred said without preamble as he and his brother gave Hermione their most solemn and serious expressions.
"We wanted you to know that not all Gryffindors are bad," explained George.
Fred added softly, "Or, all Weasleys."
Hermione's expression was tight, but she listened. Draco and Harry were each on one of her sides and both had their wands ready to draw, just in case.
"First of all," said Fred, "our little brother isn't a bad sort..."
"He just doesn't think," finished George.
"He can be a bit dim, sometimes," amended Fred.
"Ronnikins is a moron, basically," George said a bit more strongly. For a second the twins glared at each other, then Fred shrugged his shoulders.
"All right, he can be a right git because he just doesn't think," agreed Fred.
"Mum's asked us if she could send you a letter, Hermione," asked George.
Hermione started to shake her head no, but Fred interjected, " Mum's really nice and she didn't raise us to be anything but good kids."
"Well, except for Percy," said George, with a smirk. "But he's a ponce."
"A ponce isn't bad, just annoying," agreed Fred.
The twins were pleased that Hermione smiled, just a bit. "Anyway," continued Fred, "Mum probably wants to apologise for Ronnikins, and maybe send you some biscuits."
George grinned, "Mum's biscuits are really great!"
Hermione spoke softly, "She's not going to make me speak to your brother, is she?"
The twins shook their heads in unison. Fred then spoke up, "Mum's just real embarrassed, Hermione."
"Yeah," agreed George, with a slight smirk, "usually its us that embarrasses her, but we've never hurt anyone."
Fred moved a step closer to Hermione and was glad that her guards, Harry and Draco, didn't move against him. "Ron embarrassed our whole family, Hermione, and you can bet that mum's straightening him out and he'll never do it again."
"Okay," Hermione agreed with a slightly bigger smile. "Your mum can write to me."
"Great!" the twins both said. "Now," Fred clapped his hands together once. "We know you're going to get re-Sorted, Hermione, but wherever you go,"
"we just want you to know," continued George, "that we'll watch out for you, too."
Fred smiled. "No one from Gryffindor is ever going to hurt you." He then looked to Harry and Draco. "None of you."
"We want to be friends again, including Neville," said George.
"Nev wanted to visit you, Hermione," began Fred.
"As did we," George added softly.
"But McGonagall wouldn't let any of us 'bother you'," quoted Fred with an imperius sneer.
Later, that afternoon at lunch, Fred and George went up to the staff table to speak to Professor Snape. He glanced to the Silver Trio and when Hermione gave him the barest hint of a nod, he then nodded to the twins who then went over to the Slytherin table and seated themselves across from Harry, Draco, and Hermione. After a few minutes Harry collected Neville from the Gryffindor table.
I've missed Fred, George, and Neville. I'm glad to be friends with them again.
Goodnight.
Sincerely,
Hermione
18 Oct 1991, Friday
The morning of the last day of the school week was always a good one; students looked forward to a weekend of play, or snogging, or slacking off on homework until the last minute. For the teachers, Friday was the day that would herald the grading of essays, exams, and quizzes, a lot of tea (possibly laced with various spirits) and time away from noisy children.
The mail owls swooped into the Great Hall dropping envelopes, scrolls, and small packages to the recipients below.
The Daily Prophet plopped into Draco's scrambled eggs and he quickly wiped off the paper and then sat it between himself and Harry so they could both check the professional Quidditch scores. Hermione received an elegant cream envelope that smelled very lightly of lilac. She opened the letter from Narcissa Malfoy and began to read it.
Dear Hermione,
We are very pleased to hear that you are recovering well and have done a fine job in keeping up with your studies. Do write to us and let us know how your practicals are going.
You will be pleased to know that we received notification from the Board that you will be re-Sorted this Friday, October 18th at six o'clock. Lucius and I will be there as witnesses. Professors McGonagall and Snape will also be there. Harry and Draco are invited, if you wish. You ought to receive a memo about the re-Sorting some time today from the Headmaster to meet in his office.
I have sent your gown request to Madame Elianne and you need not be concerned about a colour. When I have you at the Manor for your fitting, then we will settle upon a colour that complements your skin tone and hair.
Affectionately,
Aunt Cissy
The Malfoy's great eagle owl, which had just dropped off a letter to Hermione, swooped up to the staff table and landed right beside Snape's plate where it held out its leg.
Snape, giving the bird a scowl, untied the scroll that was there, and then gave the large bird a piece of his bacon. The owl ate the bacon and with a great flutter of its wings, which disturbed Snape's black hair, the bird took off. The Potions instructor ran his hand quickly through his hair and then opened the short note to read it.
Severus,
We'll speak after the re-Sorting.
Lucius
18 Oct 1991 - Nearly 6pm
Albus Dumbledore was not entirely happy even though he had agreed to Miss Granger's re-Sorting. It had been his deputy, with his wishes, that had held up the Petition. One boy expelled, his future possibly ruined. The other two suspended. Perhaps their futures would not be ruined, but the suspensions and the assault were part of their permanent record and it was not magic the Headmaster could alter. Future, prospective employers would see the assault and would base their opinions of Mr. Weasley and Mr. Finnegan upon it. It saddened him and angered him that two boys, with such potential, would have that stain to follow them the rest of their lives. No matter if neither made another mistake again, they were branded.
And, Miss Granger? Dumbledore shook his head. She would be happy. Her grades would be impeccable, her future secure. No one would ever know of this time. The girl would be re-Sorted instead of facing her troubles in Gryffindor House and dealing with them. Perhaps, he thought a touch acidly, Miss Granger wasn't a Gryffindor, at all. The Headmaster almost spoke aloud, but the grim expression on his Head of Slytherin House's face had him checking his tongue.
Slytherins, Dumbledore's mind whispered, they always run away.
Snape was beginning to hate the old man. The damned Gryffindor couldn't keep his thoughts to himself and in front of a skilled Legilimens, it was akin to shouting what he was thinking. Of course, Albus Dumbledore never did anything without purpose and the elder man's pointed look towards the younger wizard showed very clearly his disapproval of the re-Sorting.
The younger man was just about to bite out a scathing remark, when of all people, it was Minerva who told the old man just where to put his vituperative thoughts.
"Get that look off your face, Albus," she firmly remonstrated. Dumbledore gave the older woman a sad look and she just scowled. "I will not see Miss Granger in the Infirmary again for my out of date beliefs so don't look at Severus as though he is to blame!"
"You mistake me, my dear," the Headmaster said gently.
This time Snape was able to detect the very slight change in the man's modulation that signaled the start of his Voice Magic. He interrupted sharply, "It is obvious you do not approve of the re-Sorting, Headmaster. As the Petition has been approved by the Board, there is nothing more to be done." Snape crossed his arms over his chest and tightened his grimace into stone.
Dumbledore sighed and shrugged and welcomed the knock that came at his office door. With a wave of his wand, the door swung open to admit the Malfoys along with their son, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger.
"Narcissa, Lucius," welcomed the Headmaster. Other than a brief glance, neither adult Malfoy even nodded a polite acknowledgment. Dumbledore ignored the slight as he addressed the two students. "Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, if you would take seats by your teachers?" The two boys moved to the chairs that were in front of their two professors.
When Harry slumped relaxingly into his chair, Snape (instinctively doing what parents had done for centuries) lightly touched the boy's spine to make him sit up straighter. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the same time he sat up, a question in his eyes. Snape merely nodded and shifted to straighten his own spine in example. His expression did not change, but there was a touch of warmth in the dark eyes and Harry sighed in satisfaction as he moved his gaze back to the center of the room.
Lucius ushered his wife to a chair and then lightly laid his hands upon Hermione's shoulders as he stood behind the girl. "We'd prefer getting this over with as quickly as possible, Dumbledore," said the eldest Malfoy, purposefully not using the Headmaster's title.
The Headmaster said nothing as he Summoned the Sorting Hat from its shelf high above his desk. When the Hat was in his hands, he turned and faced Hermione. Dumbledore conjured a stool and then bade the young girl to sit upon it.
Hermione didn't hesitate as she clambered up onto the stool. She smiled at Draco and Harry, and then looked at the Headmaster. "I'm ready, sir."
Dumbledore dropped the Hat upon Hermione's head and she found herself in musty darkness.
"Well, well," drawled the Hat. "Is Gryffindor not to your taste?"
"No," Hermione replied a bit sharply.
"You have courage, though," the Hat mused a bit too smugly at its original Sorting. "Look at all you've been through, girl... oho! Is that what you think of me!" it laughed suddenly as it leapt back from Hermione's thoughts. "So! You'd burn me, if you could. My magic is much stronger than yours, child, and I can't be burnt."
"Someone's tried that before, then?" she asked, a touch of acid in her voice.
"Hmmm... I see... so you don't want me to do my job?" The Hat avoided Hermione's spoken question and listened, instead, to her thoughts.
"I think you might stick me in another House that wouldn't suit me," she countered, firmly.
"And you think I wouldn't Sort you into Slytherin?" the Hat asked again.
"I don't trust you," Hermione said stubbornly.
"Ohho! You do sound like a Slytherin, now, missy!" The Hat chuckled and Hermione glowered in the darkness. "Well, let us see what we have here..." the Hat mused as it hummed for a few seconds, clucked a non-existent tongue, and 'lalaled' an odd jingle. "Ambition, but ohhhh, wasn't that quite a bit muddled with your need to show everyone up... tamed that, I see. Still a hand-waver, but in a few years... Survival. Not so willing to go it alone, now, are you?" The Hat's condescending, overly knowledgeable tone was getting on Hermione's nerves. "Flexibility... yes, very good and here it is! Cleverness, adept and adaptive... perfect... cunning... oh yes... very much so. Well, there is no other choice than, is there?"
Hermione held her breath and felt her heart thumping a bit too painfully in her chest. C'mon! She demanded in her thoughts. Which House?
The Hat chuckled, rather meanly, thought Hermione. "SLYTHERIN!" The Hat shouted, startling everyone in the office.
Hermione swept the stupid Hat from her head and ignored it as it fell to the floor while she slipped off the stool. She ran over to her friends and hugged them both. She then ran over and hugged Narcissa who smiled pleasantly and patted her back. Lucius was startled when the small girl rushed over and hugged him as well.
"Thank you, sir!" she exclaimed.
Lucius smiled and awkwardly patted her back. "You're welcome, child... uhm..." Draco, who knew his father wasn't good with public displays of affection (although he was trying to change that) jumped up and pulled Hermione back over to himself and Harry's places in front of Snape.
Minerva moved at that moment and glanced grimly down into the small girl's smile. "Good luck, Miss Granger." With that sentiment, she swept out of the office, ignoring the Headmaster as he called after her. Snape frowned, not entirely certain whether there had been a lash of sarcasm in the witch's sentiment, or not.
Dumbledore picked up the ratty, old Sorting Hat, and brushed, somewhat ineffectually, at its felted exterior. He then sent it up to its high shelf with a wave of his wand. When he turned, he smiled at the jubilant young girl, a smile that lacked any true joy to it because there was no accompanying twinkle to his gaze.
"Well, that is that, then." His smile dimmed as though he were feeling his years. "Make a home in Slytherin, Miss Granger." Dumbledore then waved his hand to dismiss them all as he turned away.
Snape glared darkly at the old wizard before settling his attention on his newest Snake. "Come with me, Miss Granger, and I shall show you the way to the common room, and your dorm."
Lucius motioned to the two boys as his wife had moved to stand beside him. "Go along, gentlemen. We shall wait in the Entrance Hall for all of you."
"Are we going someplace, Father?" asked Draco, just barely containing his hopeful exuberance.
Lucius smiled easily and touched his heir's head. "I think a congratulatory dinner is in order, don't you think?"
"Yes! Thank you, Father!" Draco grasped Harry by the sleeve and they started to run out of the office.
"Be civilised!" snapped Snape to the two, sudden, hooligans. He smirked as he saw their footsteps slow until they were both out of sight down the spiral staircase. He then heard their footsteps clattering rapidly upon the stone floor, until they faded.
"Severus!" called Narcissa. "Will you join us?"
Snape glanced over his shoulder, "I would be honored, Narcissa."
18 Oct 1991 - Dinner Celebration
Dinner had been a pleasant affair at a posh, Muggle restaurant in the heart of Muggle London. Hermione, who traveled often with her parents, was used to the busy cacophony that was Muggle London, but neither of the boys were. Draco had not been taken to a big Muggle city, having been sheltered mostly at Malfoy Manor, or his mother's villa in Spain. Harry had never been beyond Privet Drive, so he, like Draco, was dazzled by the lights and the noise.
Snape had Transfigured Harry's clothing into a neat pair of dark grey trousers, a white cotton shirt, and his robes became a matching jacket. He wasn't fond of the tie, but he really liked the knee length coat that his outer cloak had become. It was just like his father's coat.
Lucius wearing a fine, Edwardian suit of dark grey, needed only to transfigure his cloak into a beautiful coat of the softest, dark plum wool with a black fur collar and cuffs. He Transfigured his son's clothing similarly, though the tie he Transfigured for his son was a smart, black bowtie of silk. Harry's tie was of green silk, but was a long tie. Narcissa's clothing was, like her husband's, also Muggle; a simple black gown of flowing charmeuse and a coat, also of deep plum that cinched in at her waist.
The Malfoy Matriarch had taken on the task of Transfiguring Hermione's school uniform so she was wearing a dress of green silk, with a lighter green ribbon around the waist, tied in the back and delicate embroidery of flowers and bees around the collar. The dress dropped to her knees and her sensible school shoes were now black patent leather flats. Her outer cloak was of soft, dove grey with a white fur collar, and a white muff of fur to keep her hands warm.
The three adults and three children were the perfect picture of Winter, upper class charm, and they were treated as such in the restaurant.
Draco tried to interest Harry in shrimp cocktail, but Harry grimaced at the little pale things that looked like fish tails in tomato sauce. Snape smirked and suggested that Harry might like the buttered artichoke hearts. He gave his father a dubious look, as those sounded weird, but once he tasted them, he loved them.
Draco and his father had lobster for dinner, but Narcissa had snow crab legs for her main course. Hermione had lemon chicken with Caesar salad that she thought was the most wonderful chicken she'd ever had.
Harry, again, was feeling a bit put out by all the fancy dishes on the menu and so he gave in when his father ordered a filet mignon for him, which he enjoyed immensely.
Snape, not fond at all of fish, chose for himself a simple steak that was small portioned with lots of mixed vegetables on the side. Harry, remembering at the last minute how his father was about vegetables, ate some that were on his plate, just in case not doing so might deny him dessert.
The dessert was, of course, the most anticipated course by the children. Even Hermione, who usually stayed away from sugary things at Hogwarts, indulged in a pretty meringue of blue that looked like sea foam over a light sponge cake. Harry went straight for the chocolate and indulged in a large piece of cake called Chocolate Heaven. Draco decided on his favorite, which was tiramisu. The adults, wisely, kept to coffee or liqueur.
During dessert Harry blithely asked, "Hermione, how come your parents didn't join us to celebrate?"
Hermione paused in eating her dessert. Snape glanced up, and saw the girl's cheeks redden. Without looking up, and trailing her spoon through her meringue, she replied, "They've gone to France again. Mama told me that we'll go this Summer to see some live theatre."
She smiled brightly but Snape could see sadness in her eyes that confused him. Minerva had often told him stories of how well-travelled Hermione was and how the investigation on the Muggle parents showed that, although they owned a thriving dental practise, they often travelled in very wealthy social circles.
It was bragging that Snape found distasteful. He would be interviewing the girl soon, about her goals, what she wanted to do after leaving Hogwarts, and also about her homelife.
He had found it odd that Hermione's parents had not come to the celebration dinner when Lucius had made the effort to take them all to a Muggle restaurant.
Once back at Hogwarts, the children went to the Slytherin common room where Draco, Harry, and Hermione, joined Millicent Bulstrode, Teddy Nott, Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini for their study group. The Malfoys went to the visitor quarters where Narcissa sat down with a novel while her husband went to speak with the Potions Master.
In the Slytherin common room, the table by one of the tall windows that looked out over the Mer City under the Black Lake, was seeing very little studying. Pansy was glaring at Hermione over her Transfiguration textbook. Although Pansy's father had been a financial supporter of You-Know-Who, she did not hold onto the Pureblood prejudices against Muggles and Muggle-borns. She just simply saw Hermione as another rival for Draco's affections. She'd been able to ignore the girl in the Great Hall at meals, to a certain degree, but now Hermione was a Snake and Pansy wasn't too happy about that.
Millicent Bulstrode ignored Pansy; pretty much like she did all the time. She'd taken the seat next to her dorm mate and she was doing what the others were doing which was to 'reveal the secrets' of Slytherin House.
"Even if someone doesn't like you, Professor Snape says they're not allowed to show it outside of the common room," said Millicent.
Hermione grinned. For once, she'd lost count of all the guidelines and rules. Harry had promised to help her with them later since he'd written most of them down.
"Just don't forget the rules that are posted by the door, Hermione," said Harry pointing to the framed list of elegantly scripted rules."
"Those are The Laws," interjected Teddy. "Slytherin House is our family and we learn that not all families are perfect."
"Like Marcus Flint!" spat Draco. Everyone nodded their agreement, including Pansy.
Marcus Flint had a foul mouth that just wouldn't quit. He also couldn't keep it shut outside of the common room and every time he was caught saying something against any of his fellows, he lost points. Once, so far, he got detention. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, who saw the captain of the Quidditch team as a hero, were at least smart enough to keep their insults for the common room.
Snape made sure Narcissa had settled comfortably in a chair she had conjured by his living room Enchanted Window. It had been Charmed to overlook the sparkling town of Hogsmeade at night. The last thing he did was to Summon a favourite Evening Primrose Tea that the witch adored.
Narcissa settled into her book, and tuned out the two wizards.
Lucius had poured brandy for each of them from the sideboard where Snape kept his Fire whiskey and brandy.
"I am not heartened by your behavior," Snape spoke with misgiving. He watched as Lucius sat down in one of the two wingback chairs by the fireplace before taking his own, well-worn and favoured chair.
Lucius regarded his brandy before taking a swallow of it. He then held the tumbler in one hand, and swirled the amber contents almost hypnotically.
"I had to do a bit of research... well, more research. Lily was exceedingly talented in Charms, was she not?" asked the older wizard.
"Very," agreed Snape. "She had the creativity to experiment with Charms and did rather well in creating some of her own spells." He sighed a bit heavily. "I think Lily would have gone into Charms Research if it had not been for the war."
For a moment both men were silent and then Lucius spoke up, "I had an investigator go to Godric's Hollow." He shook his head in slight disgust. "It is a terrible monument to the memory of the Potters. A point in Time that is unnaturally frozen. Nothing is out of place there."
Snape nodded, inwardly tamping down the bile that rose up from his stomach as he recalled the time that he'd been taken to the half-destroyed home that James and Lily had lived in, should have been safe in. It was a haunted place, but not by ghosts, by memories of bittersweet happiness and tragic death. Snape had no desire to ever return, and had even pleaded with Dumbledore to burn the place to the ground. Instead, without explanation as usual, the old fool had turned it into a grim museum. A hideous monument that preserved every piece of splintered wood, broken brick, and burn mark from spells gone awry.
Lucius finished his explanation, "My investigator found nearly a dozen books that Lily had scribbled notes in." From an inner pocket he pulled a shrunken book that he returned to normal size. He then floated it over to Snape.
The book was large and required two hands for Snape to hold onto. He didn't open it right away, even though the title intrigued him: The Arcane Protective Magic of Motherhood. He was a little uneasy at seeing the precise printing that Lily had habitually used in place of cursive writing.
"That's the key," said Lucius. "Lily's annotations are heavy, throughout, but what you'll want to see is about midway through the book. She used turquoise ink in that area only."
Bracing himself, Snape opened the book. Lucius had been right. Her handwritten notes were in the margins, tightly scribbled between lines, or when her note taking had been too much, she attached a piece of parchment and wrote on that.
He recalled how, once they'd both gotten to Hogwarts, he had stared in dismay at her terrible habit of marking up her textbooks with endless notes. Within just a few weeks her textbooks looked like they'd been tossed down the Moving Staircases. In a fit of pique, Snape had taken all of her books and showed her a spell that transferred all of the unorganised notes into a journal. Lily's note taking continued, but at least she emptied her books of the messiness at the end of the day.
Snape smirked softly, seeing that Lily's habit had been stubborn and stayed, but he did wonder why she had not copied out the notes. The book was in good shape, it just looked the worse for wear with all the extra pieces of parchment sticking out here and there, pages with bent corners, and of course, notes in nearly every colour of ink possible.
He soon found the section inked in turquoise and allowed his eyes to scan the notes briefly. The text itself dealt with the legend of a Mother's Magic protecting her young from evil. Every witch and wizard knew that a witch's power increased once she gave birth. Her magic would be erratic during pregnancy, but would even out as the pregnancy gestated. Once the witch gave birth to her child, her magic could be measurably increased and a bond from cellular to magical core was set in the blood. This text elaborated upon what had long since been accepted as legend that a Mother could extend her power to her child in times of crisis to protect the child.
Lily's notes examined what spells could be used to actually make this transfer happen, in the form of a kind of shield that would reverse spells aimed at the child. Her notes also mentioned Occlumency and Legilimens. Drawn in by these Mental Arts, he studied her notes further.
While Snape continued to read, Lucius refreshed their drinks. The younger man seemed unaware of his empty tumbler being refilled, nor did he notice that Lucius had stood at one point, then returned to his chair.
"Spirit Magic?" Snape gasped.
Lucius smiled thinly. "You found the key."
"Lily bound herself to Harry?" he asked incredulously. "The scar – is it a Veil?"
"Not quite," amended Lucius. "At least, not from what I found. Lily created a conduit between herself and her son so that if he needed her, he could call upon her. I think it is more... hm... fluid than a Veil."
"In his dreams," mused Snape in understanding.
"For a child that would be the easiest way," agreed Lucius. "That may have been why Lily and James appeared for the adoption. Do you know if Harry ever... called upon his mother?"
Closing the book, Snape Summoned something from his bedroom. Lucius watched as a parchment envelope sailed into the living room. Snape then opened it and took out the fragile drawings that he'd taken from Harry's cupboard when he rescued the boy. He handed them over to his friend.
"He drew these from dreams he's had since he was a toddler," Snape explained.
Lucius' eyes swept over the nearly perfect depictions of Hogwarts, Hagrid's Hut, the Forbidden Forest, children flying on brooms, and the curious figure of the Headmaster dancing an odd, little jig. The last drawing was the one in which Harry had drawn himself, the Dark Man of his dreams, and the frightening visage of Voldemort.
"Harry dreamt of you?" Lucius marveled.
Snape nodded. "He called me the 'Dark Man'." Lucius gave a snort at that and his friend glowered. "When I found him, he asked me why I had not come sooner," Snape's voice was taut, hard, and tinged sharply with regret. "I shall not ever fail him again which is why I must understand what is going on with his scar."
Lucius Summoned Lily's book and tapped its cover. "Knowing what she did explains Harry's visions. We may never know exactly what happened when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse upon young Harry, nor just how he was saved from it. What I believe did happen was that Lily cast her spell the moment that the Dark Lord cast his. Inadvertently, the spell may have opened the conduit to them both." Lucius held out the drawing of Snape destroying Voldemort. "Harry must have had dreams of him," he touched the figure of the Dark Lord, "as well as the others."
"And, now that Voldemort is within this castle, Harry is picking up visions from him as he grows stronger," muttered Snape.
Lucius glowered softly and stared for a moment into the depths of his firewhiskey. "Why is that old wizard doing nothing to discover where Voldemort is hiding?"
"He has done," Snape spat. "In his secretive, manipulative way he brought the damned Philosopher's Stone into the school and had us dunderheaded adults build an obstacle course of puzzles to hide it."
"That's it?" Lucius asked querulously.
Snape's fingers drummed angrily upon the arm of his chair. "I suspect that he intends for Harry to go after Voldemort," he paused a moment as he scowled at the flames in the fireplace. With cobra-like viciousness that surprised Lucius, he threw the tumbler and its remains of firewhiskey into the flames. The flames roared, eating at the alcohol upon the glittering shards of crystal. "Unless, of course, Harry IS the Dark Lord."
Narcissa did not lift her head at the explosion of glass but she did raise her wand to cast a Silencing Charm.
Lucius waved his wand to regather the pieces of broken glass and to repair them. When the tumbler was repaired, he summoned it and examined it. He then sent it to the sideboard, deciding for his friend that he'd had enough liquor.
"Harry most certainly is not the Dark Lord, or else the Cruor mea cruor would have failed. Dangerously, no doubt." Snape swallowed bile at that thought, giving his friend a dark and sour glance. "There is something to worry about, though," Lucius spoke carefully. He was very aware of his friend's anger, and did not wish to tip it into a place where he couldn't control it. Snape, though, had much more control than the elder Malfoy expected, and he calmed himself as he listened to Lucius. "The nightmares. Especially that last one. I am concerned that it may be entirely possible for Voldemort to possess Harry."
Snape grimaced in understanding. "He must already possess someone, but his strength must be uncertain. Hence, the deaths of the unicorns and the two Centaurs."
"Have you any suspicion who he might be using?" asked Lucius.
"Quirrell," Snape put forth without hesitation. Lucius gave him a questioning glance. "As he is new and not part of the rest of the staff, that alone would make me suspect him. However, Harry, from what I am told by Hermione and Draco, gets migraines in his class and he had a terrible fit in class that triggered one of the visions. This was the first class he attended for Defence Against the Dark Arts."
Snape turned away from the flames. "I have been watching him." The Potions Master then revealed that he had suspected the DADA professor for several weeks of a duplicitous nature. "I am by no means certain, but he could very well be a host."
Lucius frowned pensively. "If Quirrell is playing host to the spirit of Voldemort, then he's dying."
Snape nodded. "And we know of no way to destroy a spirit."
"We shall discover a way, Severus," assured Lucius strongly.
"And I will keep my son safe from the Headmaster." His voice was grim and his promise implacable.
19 Oct 1991, Saturday
A cold wind blew outside this morning and Snape, as he walked to the Slytherin common room, allowed his thoughts to faintly hope for snow. Until then, though, today promised to keep most of the students inside, except for that afternoon when Lucius, his captains, and the players of the Hogwarts little league would be practicing. This cold morning belonged to Snape and Harry for they had business in Diagon Alley.
Snape walked into the common room and found it warm and populated with about a quarter of the Slytherin students. Some were studying or doing homework, but others were playing various games, or watching the Mer folk in the Black Lake playing Dodge with the Giant Squid.
"I'm ready, sir!" Harry was one of those watching the game under the lake. Draco was nowhere to be seen as he was probably visiting with his parents. Hermione had her nose in a book and was oblivious to her new Head of House's arrival.
"Where is your scarf, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked as he made sure the boy had dressed warmly for the chilling wind outside.
Harry glanced down at his mittens, his boots, and coat, and then quickly felt his head for his hat. It was there, but the scarf was missing. "I'll be right back!" Harry sprinted back up to his dorm.
In that space of time, Snape walked over to his newest Snake and waited for her to realise that he was standing before her. With a slight blush, she looked up from her book.
"What are you reading, Miss Granger?" he asked nonchalantly.
"The Illustrious History of Slytherin House," she smiled.
Snape smirked gently and nodded. "A very good book, Miss Granger. I would like to see you at today's little league practice." She curled her arms around the book, worried that he might take it away as he done to her book when she had been sitting on the steps to the Entrance Hall some weeks back. He gave the girl a quirk of a smile. "Read now, Miss Granger. Later, fresh air, and a bit of a walk with your friends would be efficacious."
"Yes, sir," she agreed.
"I'm ready! For sure this time, sir!" Harry had run swiftly, but also nearly silently down the stairs and so he startled his father with his sudden arrival. Ever the spy, Snape did not show this, and ushered his son from the common room. "Bye, Hermione!" He waved at his friend over his shoulder. She grinned and waved back.
Griphook met Severus Snape and his heir in the foyer of Gringotts. With a grunt he led them back to his office. With a slight motion of his long fingers, he bade father and son to sit while he moved to the other side of his desk and Summoned a set of papers.
Bluntly, he began, "Master Snape, we are aware of the Cruor mea cruor and understand the reasons for its confidentiality. So, for your convenience we have sealed the Potter vault and require the key until such time as you deem it safe to reveal the adoption."
Snape removed the key to the Potter vault from his inner pocket. He held the small, gold key, not immediately releasing it as the goblin banker gripped it. "Will the contents be kept in trust for Mr. Potter?"
Griphook sneered and glanced sharply at the young boy. "Mr. Snape will have no need to worry." With a curt nod, Snape released the key and the goblin vanished it. He rubbed his hands together and grinned, a still not pleasant sight. "Very good, then. Now to business in regards to your heir, Master Snape."
For the next hour there were papers signed and a vault for Harry James Snape was set up, which Snape explained would be for his allowance, and then later for any earnings he made after his majority. Harry wasn't too concerned, yet, about the future. He was excited about getting an allowance.
"How much will I get?" he asked, interrupting something Griphook had just said about his new vault.
Snape frowned in disapproval at the interruption and Harry sighed in silent apology.
Griphook finally produced a key for Harry's new vault. He then escorted his clients from his office and to the foyer. Before turning away, the short goblin peered piercingly up into Snape's eyes. "Master Snape, it would be wise for all concerned to address your son properly from now on." The goblin then stared rather pointedly at Harry.
For a moment, Snape wondered at that piece of advice, but as he turned to look down upon his son, he noticed that Harry had changed. Not monumentally, but subtly. His cheekbones were not as soft, but more defined, and the boy's hair, which he hadn't seen before beneath the hat, wasn't messy. There was a touch of curl to the ends, but it was almost smooth, and inky black.
The changes were enough that if Harry were sitting just with friends, others might get the odd feeling of familiarity about the boy's looks but not really be able to define the sensation. However, if he were standing next to the Potions Master, it might take a few seconds, but those that knew them both would have no problem identifying Snape within the boy.
Snape, who had never even dared to imagine himself with a son, found himself a bit breathless at seeing a part of himself in his son. He recalled something that Lucius had once said to him, not long after his own son was born.
"Immortality is a fool's quest for our Dark Lord, Severus. He will never know true immortality as long as he remains ignorant as to what a treasure it is to see your own immortality in your child."
"Harry James Snape," the elder Snape tested. "What do you think, Harry?"
Harry had been signing that very signature for the last hour, but hearing it gave him that warm, fuzzy feeling he was really starting to like. He grinned, "Is that me, now, sir?"
"It is. After all, you are my son, are you not?" Snape gave the boy a conciliatory smirk.
In reply, Harry slipped his small hand into that of his father's much larger, calloused, and potion-stained hand. Noticing his own warm, fuzzy feeling deep in his heart, Snape escorted his son from Gringotts.
Outside the bank, Snape cast a Tempus Charm and noted the time. "We have a few hours before we need to head back to Hogwarts. Is there anyplace you wish to visit, Harry?"
"The Quidditch store?" asked Harry hopefully.
With a nod, Snape led his son up the street to Quality Quidditch Supplies. The store was teeming with youngsters and parents who were already tired out from having to deal with their progeny. Harry didn't break away from Snape, but only held his father's hand tighter. The boy did not care for crowds and although he was used to the noise and bustle of Hogwarts, at least there, most of the students were familiar, even if it were by their faces alone and not their names. Here, in the Quidditch store, everyone was a stranger, and Snape knew that meant to Harry that they were all potential threats.
Despite Harry's caution and timidity, his delight in the store itself and its dizzying array of brooms, polishing kits, equipment, toys, games, and even Quidditch themed sweets, was noticeable. Snape liked seeing the little boy's happiness and could almost ignore the noise and crush of unruly children and adults. He could feel Harry's hand in his relax as the delight of the shop took over. Finally, Harry's hand fell from his as something caught his eye.
Harry darted like a bumble bee from one display to the next, his eyes wide, his mouth open in a frozen 'O' of awe. For awhile he stood with several other boys as they ogled the newest model of Quidditch broom, the Nimbus 2000. Just like the other boys he stretched out his hand to touch the mahogany wood of the handle, but a modified Shield Spell protected the display broom from questing hands.
The spell almost didn't deter Harry, as the other boys continued to ooh and aah and extoll the virtues of the new broom, and those brooms that had been. A slight, musical chirp, almost unheard by most in the store, was caught by Harry. Keen hearing was natural to Harry; it was another skill he'd had to develop in the Dursley household. He could, sometimes, avoid the worst of his family's ire by listening in on their conversations and arguments. So often his aunt and uncle thought their whispers and hisses were beneath his hearing, but Harry had heard, and once in awhile, it was to his benefit.
Harry stepped away from the Nimbus 2000 display and sought out the little chirping noise. It was like the soft chime of a tiny bell and it rather charmed him. Finally, near the back of the store where the counter stood, there was a cage of green patina, filigreed copper. Within the cage flitted the tiniest bird Harry had ever seen.
It was round of body with tiny feathers of soft gold and yellow; the edges gleamed like warm gold in the meagre light of the shop. The bird's beak was pale cream as were its almost unseen feet and legs, which were dusted by very light yellow feathers.
The tiny bird saw Harry, whose nose was against the edge of the counter, and his fingers upon it, and flitted happily closer. The little boy could now see that its eyes were a beautiful, bejeweled green. It chirped, chimed really, a sweet little song that Harry felt was making not just his lips smile, but everywhere inside him.
"Like 'im, do ya?" asked a gruff voice that startled Harry and he stepped hastily away from the counter. He backed into something solid and his heart beat rapidly for a few seconds until familiar, large hands with slim fingers, rested on his shoulders.
"He's tiny," Harry whispered as he looked up at the beefy man with impossibly curly, black hair, and dark cocoa coloured skin. "Wh-what kind of bird is it?"
Snape noted that although the very large shopkeeper unnerved Harry, he found a reserve of courage, with his father standing behind him, that allowed him to safely address the man. The Potions Master gave the boy's shoulder a gentle squeeze and he felt his son's body leaned back against him a little more securely.
"This..." said the large man as he put his hand through a narrow door into the cage. "Is a Snidget." The bird hopped trustingly onto his palm and he brought the bird out and down to Harry's level where he could see it.
"Snidgets are a protected species, are they not?" Snape asked the shopkeeper with a touch of curiosity.
"They are," he said without looking up, his brown eyes watching Harry watch the bird. "Me brother owns a preserve in Africa. Little Timle here was a runt and got kicked out of his nest. Aldo gave me Timle, said if'n I could keep 'im alive, I could keep 'im."
Harry let out a startled giggle as Timle the Snidget hopped from his master's hand onto his head. Its little feet grasped his hair and peered upside-down into his face, chirping as though laughing.
The tall shopkeeper rose to his full height, then stuck out his hand to Snape, "Reyes Michaels. Fine boy you have there, sir," he nodded at Harry who now held the small Snidget on his hand. "Timle don't take to ever'one."
Snape took the man's hand into his and shook. "Severus Snape. My son, Harry."
Harry glanced up when he heard his name. "Hi." He giggled again as the little bird nipped his thumb and chirped laughingly again.
A wash of pride drifted through Snape's bones and he realised his hand had stroked gently down his son's hair. Behind him were boys and girls all yammering, making noise at each other, or begging their parents for brooms, or Bludgers, or Quaffles, or even the sweets. In front of him was a gentle little boy, who played contently with a tiny Snidget. No begging, no whinging, not at all an annoyance.
A few minutes later, Snape and Harry left the Quidditch supply store. Harry was chattering on delightedly about the Snidget and how it laughed at him and made him all 'smiley'.
"How come they're pertected, sir?" Harry interrupted his chatter to ask.
"Protected," Snape corrected. "When Quidditch was first played, the Golden Snidget wasn't a pretty, winged ball. They used live birds in the games."
"Did they live?" Harry asked worriedly.
Snape shook his head. "I am afraid they didn't." Harry let out a sad sigh. "Quidditch was very hard for the poor birds and they were nearly hunted to extinction. The Snidget is now one of several magical creatures that are protected."
"I'm glad," Harry nodded. "Timle's happy and he made me feel happy. Something like that needs to be kept safe," the child concluded.
Snape chuckled softly, and smiled down at the boy that walked beside him. My son, his mind whispered. "I quite agree, Harry."
23 Oct 1991, Wednesday
Snape was at breakfast in the Great Hall eating a small meal of toast, with marmalade, pieces of fruit, and coffee. He was thinking of the weekend recently left behind and the week that had passed so far.
The Quidditch Little League had held a practise that had gone well until a fight had broken out that involved the Chasers of both teams versus the Keepers, Neville Longbottom and Mandy Brockelhurst. Both Keepers tended to dodge the quaffle when it came through their goal post. Had it been only Mandy or only Neville that did this only one team would ever gain points. However, their dodging allowed both teams to gain points although in a somewhat backwards way.
Megan Jones of the Silver Dragons yelled at Neville as he dodged another quaffle, "Do your job, Longbottom, and stop that quaffle!"
"Yeah," shouted Kevin Entwhistle in agreement, "You're useless if you keep dodging the quaffle!"
Teddy Nott of the Growling Pixies then yelled, "Keep doing what you're doing, Longbottom! We keep scoring!"
"Brockelhurst is doing the same thing!" shouted Morag McDonald so we're just always even!"
"I think it's funny," laughed Mortimer Howe.
"Longbottom you're a chicken!" yelled Kevin Entwhistle at his teammate. "Start acting like a Gryffindor!"
"I'm not a chicken!" Neville finally yelled in his defence.
"Shut up!" Mandy Brockelhurst yelled in defence of Neville. "The quaffle's scary!"
At that point every player was yelling. Mandy was crying, and Neville had flown to the ground, and was walking away. Fred cast a silencing charm which instead of calming the hot-headed players down sent them all to the ground where they started to fight. (Lucius had taken everyone's wands to prevent the possibility of anyone casting hexes at each other.)
Lucius was not a man of infinite patience and so he cast a widespread spell that separated all the players and stuck them in place upon the grass. He did not remove the silencing spell Fred had cast.
Lucius launched into an impassioned lecture that revealed his disappointment, and declared to his players that he had put not only money but time into providing Quidditch for them. Time had also been given by the assistant coaches and assistance from the Slytherin prefects.
"How disappointing," Lucius had his wand to his throat to amplify his voice so he need not shout. "Do any of you realise the time, money, and effort that has gone into providing you with Quidditch of your own? You have brooms. You get to fly. You get to play. And, there is a fine prize waiting for the winning team. Would you jeopardise all of this through needless fighting?" He paused until one by one each of the players shook their heads, and showed a modicum of remorse upon their faces. "None of you stopped to think that Mr. Longbottom and Miss Brockelhurst's positions were settled upon because both have an understandable fear of the quaffle. Our quaffle is smaller, and is not at all as dangerous as a professional one but a mind that has been taught to expect the quaffle to be just like a professional one will protect itself."
Lucius paced for a moment, and appeared deep in thought. After a minute he stopped and looked upon his players. "You are eleven and twelve years of age, ladies and gentlemen. You are not five years old, and indulging in ridiculous temper tantrums for attention." He frowned. "Or, am I wrong? Perhaps we ought to just chalk this up as a huge mistake, cut our losses, and forget about Quidditch until next year because we are simply too immature." That received silent protests and violent shakes of heads. "No?" More head shaking. "I, for one, would have no problem in taking my leisure at my home before a warm fire." Lucius then spied a few of his players sniffling as they shook their heads in sorrow. He lifted the silencing charm and all of the players were begging him to stay, and promising that they would not behave like little children.
"Well, then," smiled Lucius as he removed the sticking charm to release the players. "I suggest that all of you adapt to your Keepers until they each start facing the quaffle defensively rather than offensively."
A chorus of, "Yes, Sir," and "Sorry!" reached Lucius. He called, "All right, Fred and George! Back in the air with everyone and let's begin again!"
Lucius had related the afternoon in the evening whilst their sons sat upon Snape's living room floor doing their homework.
The rest of the week went well enough. Quirrell, it seemed, was under the weather on Sunday. He had refused, through his door, the help of Madame Pomfrey, and it was the Headmaster who told everyone to leave the poor man alone.
Snape was suspicious of the stuttering wizard's illness but he knew not approach Dumbledore with his misgivings since the old goat generally waved them off. He had written to Lucius who merely sent him a list of reading material, most of which was illegal. However, Snape had a feeling that to destroy a possessing spirit would require magic not used in centuries, and that was possibly Dark.
Quirrell, looking rather subdued, and possibly ashamed, had appeared that Wednesday morning at breakfast. He'd apologised, publicly no less, profusely and nauseatingly. Snape was quite glad when the stuttering man shut up and sat himself down to breakfast. That he was on the far opposite end of the table to Snape meant that he was able to completely forget about the man.
Taking a sip of his coffee, Snape glanced toward the Slytherin table to where Hermione sat with her two best friends, and her newest friend, and dorm mate, Millicent Bulstrode.
Hermione had settled in well to Slytherin and although there were a few who opposed having a Muggle-born in their House, a private lecture from their Head of House either set their mind at ease, or reminded them that Miss Granger had some very powerful friends.
He noticed the two Gryffindor twins, Fred and George Weasley along with first year Neville Longbottom, leaving their table and moving to sit at the Slytherin table. Like clockwork for the last several mornings, it was almost a small, coordinated ballet that began with them. Once the three Gryffindors had moved to their new places at breakfast, three Ravenclaw students rose from their table and moved, one to Hufflepuff, and the other two to Gryffindor. Almost to the second when they were seated, a Slytherin moved to Ravenclaw, exchanging his place with another Hufflepuff that went to Slytherin. The last shifting was a Gryffindor seventh year who had begun dating a Ravenclaw boy in seventh year, and she went to sit beside him.
This quaint dance only happened at breakfast since the Headmaster had made an announcement yesterday that the students had to remain at their House tables for lunch and dinner. Minerva had snorted at the ruling, as had Snape. Neither saw the sense in it, and both thought it better to allow the students to mingle. They certainly weren't hurting anyone and it had been quite civil.
But when did the Headmaster ever explain what he did, Snape asked himself silently. Never.
Turning to Minerva just on his left side, she seemed a bit healthier looking. Hogwarts was currently without a Deputy as Minerva's resignation had taken effect last Friday. Snape rather meanly hoped that the Headmaster was currently drowning in paperwork from her old job. Just as he thought that, a weary looking Albus Dumbledore left breakfast early, as he had the last two days, and disappeared through the narrow door behind the staff table that led to the staff room. Snape suspected that the upcoming hearing before the Hogwarts Board of Governors was much on his mind.
Owl mail arrived and the Great Hall became noticeably quiet, but for whispers, and finger pointing and looks that jumped between Harry and the Potions professor. Snape did not look up as he was reading a small notation in The Daily Prophet. It was on the third page beneath a small heading that read:Wizarding Childrens Services. Just a few short lines down was the following: Snape, Severus T., confirmed via Familia Testimonium and Cruor Argumentum, biological father of Potter, Harry James, now Snape, Harry James. Young Mr. Snape is now the legal heir to the Snape and Prince estates.
"Wow!" Draco enthused to his friend. "I didn't know you took Professor Snape's last name!"
Harry grinned up towards the staff table at his father.
Snape saw his son's look and lifted his coffee mug in salute to his child, and gave him a small smile that lifted one corner of his mouth. He then silently thanked Lucius for putting a muzzle on Rita Skeeter, who would have blown the little announcement into a full blown... expose'.
23 Oct 1991, Wednesday - After Curfew
It was that time of the evening for Hogwarts that all the students were in bed, fast asleep, and the teachers that were awake were either grading, or reading, or enjoying, as Snape was, this quiet and solitary time of the day. His rounds had been made, points taken from the hormonal teenagers, and those out after curfew, and now he was home.
In his hand was a brandy snifter that held a small measure of brandy. In his other hand was the current Potions Weekly periodical. Not one of the best Potions periodicals, but it did have the weekly article by the respected Potions Master, Johannes Bitumen of Germany. This week's article had to do with newly discovered uses of Dittany and Master Bitumen's opinion on those uses.
So immersed was Snape in the silence, and the calm of reading, that when the house elf popped in, Snape's hand almost, but not quite, had snapped the bowl of his brandy snifter. Before he had a chance to rebuke the little flibbertigibbet, it clapped and exuberantly cried out, "It's snowing, Master Snape! Master Hagrid is telling Pips he is to be waiting for Master Snape, sir!"
Snape put his snifter down hastily, put on his teaching robes, and Summoned his gloves and outer cloak. "Tell Hagrid to give me about twenty minutes and I'll be there!"
The house elf, Pips, popped out of the Potions Master's living room, and Snape strode briskly from his quarters to the Slytherin common room.
Harry was having a nice dream. He and his father were walking along the beach. Although Snape had his robes on, he was barefoot, and holding Harry's hand as they walked. Fang was bouncing ahead of them as Harry threw a stick for the large boarhound to chase.
But then, the waves rose up, and Harry felt the entire earth rocking gently beneath his feet.
Blearily, Harry blinked his eyes as he left behind the silly dream world of the beach to peer up into the dark, dark, deeply dark black eyes of his father. It was Snape who was gently shaking Harry awake.
"It's snowing, Harry," Snape said softly, his smirk gentled into a kind of expectant smile.
Harry sat up. "Snow?" He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Do we get to see the Snowbells now?"
"Yes, we do. Prefect Anglaise is waking Miss Granger to join us, so get yourself dressed while I awaken Mr. Malfoy," directed Snape.
Harry scrambled from his bed and went to his wardrobe where he picked out socks, trousers, a shirt, a jumper, and began getting dressed. By the time he was pulling his head through his knit jumper, Draco was up and dressing himself as well. Harry's father seemed to have vanished.
"Profeffor Snaf's down..." Draco stopped speaking as he struggled more with his jumper. He spun around twice as he yanked on the hem and suddenly his head popped through the neckhole. "Common room," he finished as he ran his fingers through his straight and tousled hair. Draco then plopped himself on the edge of his bed and pulled on his boots.
"Ready?" asked Harry.
"Yeah," said Draco as he grabbed his outer cloak and threw it on.
Draco and Harry were quiet, mostly, as they made their way down the stairs to the common room where they found Hermione, trying to suppress a yawn, and Professor Snape.
"Let us hurry," Snape spoke quietly as he ushered the three first years out through Salazar's portrait and through the dim corridors of the dungeons.
"'Ere, Perfessor Snape!" Hagrid gave a call and Fang barked once.
The children ran over to the half-giant. Fang circled them and licked the nearest child, that was Soapy (Draco), who gagged appropriately, but then hugged the large dog's head. Fang then bound over to Hermione, whom he had yet to meet. She smelled a lot like Flowers, but she didn't squeal at him like most girls did. She actually scratched him behind the ears and he had to drop on his backside as one leg reacted to the scratching. He liked this girl and immediately dubbed her as 'Scratchy'. Fang butted Hermione happily in the abdomen and she laughed at the attention. Fang then bounded over to Harry whom he knew as 'Flowers Boy'.
"Proper light's what we'll need," said the Keeper of the Grounds as he gave Harry and Draco each a lantern to carry. Another lantern was given to Hermione. Hagrid carried the last one and led them into the Forbidden Forest. Snape had used Lumos to light the tip of his wand.
As the small party walked, the snowflakes fell like thick pieces of slightly wet cotton onto the ground. The ground was being covered quickly and soon the party of 'snowbell' hunters found themselves walking upon a soft, cold carpet of snow.
Snape and Hagrid were very aware of their surroundings and that danger could be close by. The two adults flanked the children and their sharp eyes looked beyond the glow of light and into the shadows. Fang patrolled a few feet ahead of the group for several yards, bounded back, behind the group, and then circuited back to the front. After about fifteen minutes of walking, they reached a clearing in which the cold, pale moon shone down brightly upon them. Snape knelt in the snow, his black cloak billowing out behind him. The Silver Trio nudged each other at the sight their professor made in the snow and Hermione smiled, her eyes twinkling in delight. Draco snickered and Harry gave his friend a second nudge in the ribs.
"Pay attention," Snape was aware of their little antics and had them come and kneel beside him. He shook his head when he heard Hermione cast a Warming Charm on all of them. He removed the Warming Charm. "No magic, Miss Granger. It will interfere with the blooming of the snowbells."
"Sorry, sir," she whispered.
Snape very carefully cleared a small portion of the snow. Beneath it were several very green, fragile looking, stalks that curled inward as spirals. Each stalk ended in a drop that was as white as the snow. "Watch," he whispered.
The children watched as the snow continued to fall, but the green stalks unfurled, as if they were yawning and waking up. The drops, as they were struck by the moonlight, spun on the end of the stalks lazily and then began to blossom. The soft white petals, four of them, unwrapped themselves, opened, and soon a tiny bell hung on the end of a gently curved, green stalk.
Snape then drew from an inner pocket four baskets that he Engorged to full size. Within each basket was a small set of solid gold scissors. He handed each of the children a basket and then took the small scissors from his basket.
"What you are looking for is just behind the blossom," he pointed at a nodule that connected blossom to stalk. "You need to cut directly across this nodule. If you cut the blossom, or the stalk itself, the blossom will wilt and die. Cutting across the nodule keeps the blossom full." Snape demonstrated, and with agility, he snipped the scissors right across the nodule. As he did so, seeds were released along with a mist that glimmered like a sparkling blue sapphire in the moonlight that delivered a scent of lavender and vanilla. The children sighed, ooohhing over the luscious aroma.
Inwardly Snape smiled deeply. He would not have thought of sharing this experience before, with anyone. Many ingredients for potions that one harvested had such magical properties and the snowbells, in his mind, were one of the most beautiful. He felt more than just satisfaction at sharing this experience with his son, he felt pleasure in it. It was a secret, shared with Harry's friends, but something they would each, possibly, pass onto their children and thus preserving what, for him, made brewing potions truly magical.
Snape looked forward to many more years of being able to share such experiences with his son.
The Potions professor could teach the basics of Potions in class, but he was never able to pass on what drew him to Potions in the first place. There was the absolute wonder of the ingredients and how they were activated, or preserved, or prepared. There was the beauty of gathering many ingredients that his students took for granted. Of course, not all of brewing was a thing of beauty. There was Bubotuber Pus, frog's livers, Nettle Sap, chicken lungs – none of that was pleasant to harvest, or to prepare, but he had learned that even in the most unpleasant of things, there was a magic, a beauty to be found that even he, the most skilled Potions Master of this century, could not pass onto his students. He, unfortunately, did not have the time for such subtlety, and to be painfully honest, Potions was the least appreciated course taught at Hogwarts.
This magic, this wonder, was something Snape desired to pass onto Harry. With Harry, he would have the one-on-one ability to show and to share the more obscure aspects of Potions making that he generally didn't have time to show in the class.
"You may go and look for snowbells, now, but stay within this clearing," Snape spoke sternly, warning that to wander beyond would earn stiff consequences. Fang, he noted, was pacing a circle around all of them, and Hagrid was beside him keeping a lookout.
Snape watched Harry, Draco, and Hermione for a moment as they each found spots and began to clear the snow and work.
'There's evil in the forest,' came Hagrid's voice from when Snape last spoke to the Keeper. It was a sharp reminder that for all the beauty there was this night, it was not a truly peaceful night. For a moment, Snape ignored the snowbells that he'd uncovered that were beginning to wilt, since they did not bloom for long. His eyes darted warily to the shadows between the trees that surrounded him and then he checked each of the children; his gaze lingering upon Harry. All of them were within the clearing, within the light.
Later, Snape would regret that he had not thought to ward the harvesting area.
Harvesting the snowbells was as fun as Harry had hoped it would be. It was neat uncovering the little, thin, green stalks with the closed teardrop on the end. You had to brush aside the snow, almost like an archaeologist who dug up bones. Harry was pretending that his snowbells were very valuable jewels that he would present to the famed court wizard that worked for the king.
His imagination, very well developed, had been his only toy, his only companion when he lived at #4 Privet Drive. It was also his imagination that offered him peace when he felt so lonely that he thought his heart would break into pieces. It was the many worlds that he created in his mind, that sometimes wound up as parts of his dreams and where, when he was most scared, he would see his mother.
For the longest time, he thought the big castle of Hogwarts was something he had made up and he had devised all sorts of stories of dragons, and knights, and kings, and wizards to go along with the castle. Dark Man often dominated those stories as the knight all in black with the endless cloak who would always fight to protect him. His mother, was a beautiful angel who watched over him, and always let him know that no matter how it might seem, he was loved.
One of his favourite stories from his dreams and imagination was that the Dark Man was a powerful wizard-knight respected by all in the kingdom. He was intimidating, but it was because he was so intense about everyone doing the right thing. The Dark Man was the great wizard to a silly king, with a long, white beard, who would send the powerful wizard-knight on secret and dangerous missions. Sometimes the Dark Man would be looking for werewolves, or a perfect jewel that allowed one to live forever, or sometimes, the Dark Man would travel to the mysterious continent to look for rare plants.
This was the story that Harry was in. The Forbidden Forest that surrounded him was a world all its own. It was safe wherever the lantern light glowed, but the shadows held mysterious and spooky things. The Dark Man had set his assistants a task which was to recover these sacred blossoms which would be used to make a magical potion that would make someone invincible.
The silly king, which Harry knew now was Dumbledore, and he really wasn't all that silly; more odd, weird, and maybe a bit scary than funny, had a hidden agenda that the Dark Man didn't know about. The king wanted the invincible potion so that he could be king over not just his castle, but everyone in the world.
As the story blossomed in Harry's imagination, the Dark Man made the potion for the king, who drank it, and became invincible. The king began ordering everyone around, and he could read minds, suddenly, too. When the Dark Man saw how terrible the king had become, he made another potion that he tricked the king into drinking and it finally turned him into a frog.
Harry giggled to himself as he imagined the Headmaster as a frog with a white beard and half-moon spectacles.
The giggling and the boy's mirth ended abruptly as his scar flared in pain. It was so overwhelming that he felt sick.
"Stupid. Little. Boy." the hateful sounding voice curled lazily through the cold air until it wrapped itself unwelcomingly around Harry.
Harry's stomach heaved dangerously as he looked up into a hunched looking, grey robed figure whose face was hidden by the deep cowl. He looked around frantically and suddenly realised he was no longer in the clearing. How had that happened? Had he been so lost in his imagination that he'd wandered where he shouldn't have gone?
"Look at you! Mewling little creature," the hateful voice, the one of nightmares, the one he'd heard in Defence Against the Dark Arts class mocked him and then laughed. It was a hideous laughter, somehow hissing, yet rotting. "I can't wait to kill you... to strip the flesh from your bones... to rip your beating heart from your still. Warm. Body." In that instant an odour of vile dirt, putrid death, and grotesquely overwhelming garlic assailed Harry. He could not help himself as he doubled over and vomited what little there was left of his dinner onto the snow.
"Oh dear!" laughed that horrible voice and then the hood was drawn back showing him a hideous face with barely a nose, two red eyes, and an angry, mocking mouth. The hunched creature walked oddly, as if broken, towards Harry. "Let me help you, Harry! Harry… SNAPE!" The hard voice mocked dangerously and Harry, for a moment, was frozen as a very thin, almost emaciated arm emerged from the many folds of grey cloth towards him.
The bony hand touched his fingers and Harry flinched backwards in a crab-scrabble until he smacked his head and back against a thick oak tree and could go no further.
He hurt and he was terrified and panicked and he tried so very hard to cry out for his daddy, but his throat trapped his voice so tightly that all he could do was open his mouth and yell silently.
A grimacing smile graced the horrid face as he leaned closer to the boy who was now failing at pushing himself through the tree he'd backed up against. The monster's eyes had become a deep, menacing blood red and Harry tried, he tried again so very hard to scream but nothing came forth, and the tears ran helplessly down his face.
Relishing the boy's fear, almost bathing in it, the hideous voice whispered, "I am getting sssstronger, Mr. Snape," he crooned to the terror stricken child. "Sssstronger."
Something whistled over Harry's head and the grey cloth billowed into an explosion of mist that swirled rapidly through the trees. Two Centaurs, huge in size to Harry, leapt over him and thundered after the disappearing wizard. A third Centaur knelt cautiously down beside Harry.
"Harry Potter," the Centaur spoke gently.
Harry lifted his face, streaked with tears, and felt even more terrified. He was barely able to squeak out, "I wah m' da'd'y!" before he curled up as tightly as possible, hiding his face against his knees.
It had only been a few minutes that he'd looked away. Snape was sure the children were safe in the glow of the lanterns and the moonlight. When he looked up, though, Harry was nowhere to be seen.
"Harry!" Snape shouted, anger in his voice at the boy having foolishly wandered off. Anger at Hagrid for not having seen the boy wandering.
Draco and Hermione looked up from their blossom gathering. "Where'd he go?" asked Draco.
Hermione moved quickly next to Draco as she heard an ominous sound that seemed to come from the ground itself. "What's that thundering noise?"
"Centaurs!" answered Hagrid, his voice filled with worry and concern.
Snape quickly ushered his two Snakes over to the half-giant. "Take them back to the castle, Hagrid. Fang might be able to help me."
"Aye!" agreed Hagrid as he pulled Hermione to his side and took Draco by the hand. "Fang's got a good nose, even in snow, Perfessor. Come on, you two."
Snape patted Fang's back. "Find Harry, Fang. Come on, help me!"
Fang let out a low woof and bound across the clearing and into the shadows of the trees. Snape ran behind the boarhound.
It really wasn't that many paces for Snape and Fang. Harry had just gone through the close trees and into the almost darkness. Fortunately, for his beating heart, Snape soon saw his son.
Harry was curled up tightly, and kneeling on his forelegs next to him was a large Centaur, watching over him.
"Firenze?" asked Snape. He'd had encounters with this Centaur before. He was more friendly to wizards than others of the Centaurs were.
Firenze rose to his four feet, as he glanced down at the still terrified boy. "The evil in this forest tried to take him away."
Snape ran over to his son just as his heart leapt dangerously higher in his throat. "Harry!" he gasped, feeling as though he could barely breathe. He drew the small bundle of boy into his lap as he knelt upon the snowy ground. The boy was trembling, terribly. Snape ran his fingers gently through his son's hair. "Child, I'm here. Daddy's with you." He drew his cloak around Harry, hoping that would stir him, make him aware that he was now safe. "Harry? Please... look at me?" He kissed his son's head and began to rock him. "Harry?"
Suddenly, like one of the snowbells, Harry unfolded in his father's lap and looked up into those dark eyes. Snape almost reeled at the terror in the boy's emerald gaze. It hurt and before he knew it, he was drawn forcibly within Harry's thoughts.
Snape shuddered as the voice, the old, sibilant, seductive voice of the Dark Lord, slithered out of the darkness to entrap him. Every bone was chilled as memories of nights spent before Voldemort coursed through him as that voice told him/Harry that he was growing stronger and that he would kill Harry.
He felt Harry's utter terror, his horrible confusion over why someone hated him so viciously, and he felt the child's soul crying out desperately for his daddy, for Snape, to rescue him.
Then Snape saw the face. White as a corpse, but alive and the angry, bloody eyes bore down into his soul twisting his Dark Mark until the Potions Master shouted in pain and the world came crashing down upon them both.
Update 5/2015
