Severus stared up at the ceiling for quite a while. Normally it was not his habit to remain in bed so long after waking, but with Lily at his side, her warm, soft body molded against him, it was hard to summon the necessary will to disentangle himself from the bedclothes.
So he reveled for a while in the sweetness of the quiet predawn, and the deep, steady rhythm of Lily's breathing as he contemplated how the day might unfold.
He would have a few hours, at least, before Potter woke up.
The boy. If only he could have somehow convinced Lily to have him stay at Hogwarts. But no, she had taken to this ridiculous notion that he needed more bonding time with the brat. And so a perfectly good weekend would be ruined by the boy's nasty displays and tantrums, like the one he'd witnessed the night before. Hiding in his room like a spiteful little boy—as if he wasn't thirteen and well past such atrocious behavior. And then the nerve of him, daring to insinuate that Severus had somehow violated his privacy! He'd cracked the door open, nothing more, and only because Lily had been worried that Harry was upset or ill.
Though Potter had, yet again, chosen not to tattle on him. Dinner was a trivial matter, and he knew it was unlikely that Lily would believe that Severus, who was always perfectly organized and self-aware, had failed to pass on her message to Potter. No, far more likely would be the case of Potter, so wrapped up in his own little world, forgetting about his mother's plans, and then trying to churlishly blame everything on his hated… stepfather. Oh, how he loathed that title with every fiber of his being.
But you never told the boy, that infuriating little voice reminded him. And he still took the blame. Lily was disappointed in him and he never bothered to correct her.
Well. He would not trouble himself with trying to parse out Potter's absurd thought process.
As much as he tried to deny it, though, Severus could feel the undeniable stirrings of guilt deep within him as he gazed down at Lily. Her face was so smooth, so peaceful, so content in sleep…. Would she willingly lie beside him again if she learned how callously he treated her son? Would she find rest this easily? Or would her forehead crease with guilt as she tormented herself with thoughts of how much the man she'd married hated her own flesh and blood?
Severus knew that he had to be better. That he had to stop expecting the boy to be perfect. He couldn't be; he was an adolescent, a teenager, for Merlin's sake. He couldn't keep using Potter's attitude as an excuse for his own. If not, he would lose the one thing he cherished in this life above all others.
He couldn't bear to continue to stare down at Lily with those morbid thoughts plaguing him. So, swiftly and carefully, he extricated himself from the cocoon of blankets that ensconced him and his new wife. As he drew away from Lily's side, she stirred slightly, then turned to face him with sleepy, slitted eyes.
"Where's the fire?" she slurred, her mouth barely moving.
Severus grinned in spite of himself. "I take it you won't be joining me yet?" His voice was husky, a rarity. He was certain that Lily was the only one ever to hear it so rough.
She groaned and buried her face back in her pillow.
"So no, then." He chuckled softly to himself as he moved over to the dresser to search for a t-shirt and long flannel bottoms. It was only quarter 'til six, and he had no doubt that Potter wouldn't be plaguing him with his presence anytime soon, but he was still far too self-conscious to leave the bedroom with just a pair of boxers beneath his dressing gown.
Appropriately attired—though mostly everything was hidden beneath his heavy midnight blue dressing gown—Severus slipped from the bedroom, closing the door very lightly behind him.
The flat was lovely in the morning. He was glad that he had officially "moved in" a few months before the wedding. It had made it so much easier to slip over late in the evening and simply spend the night when he and Lily lost track of time.
That, and it was infinitely comforting to be in a place that was so… Lily. Each time he entered into the kitchen, he could not help but admire how welcoming it was. Lily had done it in light, airy colors—mellowed tones of blue and yellow on the walls, with cherry wood countertops and white cupboards. The appliances were modern enough, well-made but not overly expensive (appropriate, since as far as Severus knew, Lily only rarely engaged in Muggle cooking, vastly preferring magical methods). The curtains were simple, cheery prints purchased on a trip to Provence, and perfectly matched the relaxed atmosphere.
Normally designs like this did not suit Severus' tastes; he preferred simpler, darker schemes. But this… it felt as if Lily's smile and laughter had been infused into the very walls.
He ran a loving hand over the countertop as he made his way over to the cupboard where the coffee and French press were stored. A wave of his wand and the beans, water, and press started on their way, the first part of this cherished morning ritual. There were few pleasures in Severus' mind that compared to that first cup of strong black coffee, accompanied by a book, in the pale light of the crack of dawn.
Severus' thoughts drifted back to the image of Lily curled at his side and he smiled involuntarily to himself. Well, he thought, few pleasures that had nothing to do with his lovely wife.
As the coffee brewed to his preferred strength, Severus took the time to meander into the sitting room where Lily's vast collection of books overflowed from her study. He'd originally debated dredging up his half-perused Potions journal, but decided against it. The tedious articles on minute advancements in the field did not seem appropriate for the mood of this morning.
So he took his time browsing along the shelves, running a gentle hand over the curved spines. Occasionally the inherent magic of a particular tome would catch his interest, and he would slide it out and seek out the title before leafing through a few pages. This, too, he decided, was one of the finer—well, wholly non-erotic—pleasures that life had to offer, something that settled perfectly beside the joy of his first cup of coffee. In particular was the pleasure of exploring an unfamiliar collection; his own shelves in his quarters, and even in the seldom-used home at Spinner's End, were familiar, filled with old friends and companions from decades of solitude and scholarly pursuit.
Severus at last settled on a handsome volume—small, not overly wide, and bound in what appeared to be Welsh Green dragonhide—entitled The Potioneer's Guide to Useful Charms. The well-thumbed pages spoke of Lily's frequent attentions to this particular tome, something that hardly surprised Severus, given the subject.
Severus returned to the kitchen to retrieve his mug of coffee, and then contemplated where he might settle to live out his last hours of peace and quiet for the day, before Potter ruined the atmosphere with his glaring and moodiness.
Well, Severus thought, perhaps not, if the Potter brat could be persuaded to retire early as he had the night before. That had been an unexpected treat, an evening with Lily all to himself. The boy hadn't made a peep from his room. Severus didn't know if it was because the brat was sulking, plotting, wary of making a nuisance of himself, or—least likely of all—truly exhausted. He didn't particularly care.
Maybe he could strike some kind of bargain with the boy, or better yet, threaten him with a miserable week at Hogwarts if he didn't make himself scarce. Merlin knew the boy could simply plead that he had too much work to do.
With a concerted effort, Severus managed to expel all thoughts of Potter from his mind. No use in spoiling the perfection of this quiet morning by fretting over what was to come.
Book in one hand and coffee in the other, Severus used a bit of magical will to open the door leading out to the terrace, where, in the chilled air, he settled into one of the patio chairs. He cast a Warming Charm over himself before crossing his legs and diving into the book.
An hour and two cups of coffee later, Severus heard rattling in the kitchen. Thinking that Lily had decided to defy his expectations by dragging herself out of bed, Severus abandoned his reading to go and greet her properly.
To his dismay, it wasn't Lily that he found in the kitchen, but Potter.
The boy had dragged out two skillets, a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread, and a container of breakfast meats and, through bleary eyes, seemed to be starting on preparations for a substantial breakfast.
The boy's gaze lifted wearily to Severus, and something tightened in those green eyes as his posture stiffened. Severus prepared for an insult or something equally childish.
Instead, the boy asked in an only slightly resentful tone, "Did you want a cup of tea?"
Severus arched a skeptical brow at Potter. "Playing house-elf, Potter?"
The boy had the audacity to roll his eyes. "It's a yes or no question," he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Severus to hear. "Fine. I'm putting the water on. Do you eat eggs and bacon and the like?"
Severus continued to eye the scene before him, trying to put it all together. What on earth had compelled the boy to rise so early and start cooking, of all things?
"Trying to crawl back into your mother's good graces?" Severus tried, willing the question to be cool and free of the snide edge he would normally employ.
Of course the boy wouldn't even notice that, though. He whirled around, his green eyes bright with anger again, his nostrils flaring at the perceived insult. "For your information," he hissed, his voice low and remarkably controlled, "I make breakfast every Saturday I'm home. I have since Mum started trusting me in the kitchen on my own, because she always did all the meals during the week and I always wanted her to have a break on the weekends. Sir."
Severus willed his temper to calm. He had to try with the boy, he reminded himself. For Lily. "That explains why you retired so early last night," he remarked mildly.
The boy's fists clenched at his sides.
What the hell had he said? Was the boy offended by a simple attempt at polite conversation?
"I retired early," he ground out, "to spare you from having to endure my company. Before you decided to lie or plot or scheme to get me in trouble and out of the way yourself. Or did you think I was just pouting all night?"
Potter's words knocked Severus off kilter. What was the brat going on about? He thought that Severus would engineer some way to get him sent to bed early? The thought had not crossed his mind.
It might have, a part of him argued, if Potter had lingered after dinner like Lily wanted.
That thought had him feeling defensive, so Severus replied coldly, "That assertion is patently absurd. I have better things to do than plot to put you at odds with your mother; you seem to manage that quite well on your own."
Liar, the voice told him. The boy's not so stupid as to not see what you've done, what you've continually tried to do. He knows how petty you've been. No use in denying it.
"As for your pouting," Severus continued rather haughtily, brushing aside those troublesome thoughts, "your foul mood this morning leads me to believe that even sleep was unable to shake you out of your sulkiness."
Potter laughed bitterly, shocking Severus. "Right. Of course." The boy shook his head to himself and turned away from Severus, back to the ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter. Then seeming to regain his train of thought, he set to filling the teakettle from the tap. "Did you need something in the kitchen? Because if not, it would be nice if you could go back to hating me in silence until Mum gets up."
Those insolent words caused something in Severus to snap. He strode forward; three steps carried him to the boy's side. He seized the adolescent's scrawny arm in a punishing grip and bent down so he could speak directly into Potter's ear. "Do you think that because we are not at school that I cannot discipline you? Because I would be more than happy to disabuse you of that notion here and now, Potter. And I promise you that you will not be writing lines or scrubbing cauldrons."
Severus watched in grim satisfaction as the boy's face turned the appropriate mortified shade of red, clearly catching the implication of Severus' words. Yes, he thought, stew on that for a while. I may not want to be your stepfather, boy, but having a little extra authority over you might not be such a bad thing.
Potter twisted to face him, looking, strangely enough, not angry, but defeated. "You're going to ruin it." The words were barely a whisper, a horrified realization spoken not to Severus but to himself.
Severus shook the boy's arm slightly, as if that could force him to make sense. "Ruin what?"
Potter just shook his head, though, and wrenched himself free of Severus' grip. "What did I say that wasn't true? You don't want to talk to me. You want to insult me and make me unhappy. I don't want to sit here and drone out 'yes sir' and 'no sir' until you get bored and move on to something else. So is it really that hard to see why I'd rather you just keep away from me?"
"Your tone—"
Potter turned to face him again, and in that instant his eyes were blazing with indignation. "You have been awful to me since you first laid eyes on me. You constantly mock me, you criticize my intelligence in front of everyone, and generally do what you can to make my life miserable. And now you've invaded my private life too. And don't give me some tripe about being too young to really need a private life. I need some kind of reprieve from what I put up with from you and you have taken that away from me. And you've been even worse lately! Hell, you purposely waited until my potion was at a critical stage to call me away from it, just so you could make some baseless accusations of cheating! And Merlin forbid I show the slightest bit of frustration, because that's insolence and disrespect, and you don't tolerate that! And as if that's not enough, you have to ruin every part of my life! You didn't tell me Mum was cooking dinner. How vindictive are you? And now—now you sweep in here, and I offer you bloody tea and ask what you want for breakfast, and you somehow twist that in your mind into some personal insult!
"I'm not trying to fight you, Snape! If you haven't noticed, I've been doing my best to just ignore everything you've done, because I don't want Mum to find out! But you seem so determined to make me suffer every moment you possibly can. I'm sick of lying to cover it up. I'm sick of turning the other cheek."
"Cease this melodrama," Severus cut in, his tone sharp. He fought against the tide of emotions rising in him as a result of this confrontation. Particularly the shame. Potter is exaggerating, as usual, casting himself as the blameless victim. Well, I won't allow that kind of delusion. "Your choices to be less than honest in your dealings with others cannot be placed at my feet. If you are so certain of these grave injustices, you should have brought your concerns before the headmaster when you had the chance. Unsurprisingly, your little victim complex has twisted this affair in your mind so that all you can see is the unfairness that your actions should have consequences, that someone should not treat you with the awe and hero-worship you feel you deserve. What you fail to acknowledge is your own role in all these incidents, your own blatant lack of respect toward me, or your failure to communicate, or your inconsistent study habits. If you wish to discuss those shortcomings, I would be more than happy to do so; I would even enjoy bringing your mother into the fold, so that we might set things to rights in your mind. Shall we?"
The color drained from Potter's face at that suggestion. Severus had to suppress a triumphant smirk.
The boy drew a deep breath, so deep that his shoulders rose nearly to his ears with the force of his inhalation. And then he pushed the air out slowly, his eyes falling lightly closed. "No, sir," he said very quietly, in a perfectly deferent tone.
Severus could not keep the smugness from his voice. "That's what I thought."
The teakettle started whistling loudly from the stove. Potter leapt to pull it from the heat before the high-pitched sound could disturb Lily; Severus flicked a light Silencing Charm at it for good measure. Severus watched as Potter made himself a cup of tea in one of Lily's chipped floral mugs, then turned back to his breakfast preparations. He settled himself quietly into a chair, forgetting his lukewarm coffee and reading on the terrace.
The boy moved with alacrity and certainty, Severus had to admit. When Potter wasn't firing off his infernal mouth, his presence was almost tolerable. And it was fascinating to watch the boy throw together this breakfast, no hesitation in his steps. He set the bacon to fry and the toast to brown before setting to cracking the eggs into a glass bowl.
The silence stretched between them, filled with only the soft sounds of Potter's culinary efforts. The clink of utensils against glass or metal, the sizzle of the bacon, the gentle mechanical click of the toaster's timer. And as that silence stretched, the tension lessened, and the bitterness that seemed to hang between them like a choking black cloud seemed to dissipate.
At last, as Potter finished removing the bacon from the pan before lining up bowls of ingredients he'd prepared after the eggs, Severus decided to attempt speaking again.
Hopefully this time, he thought, the brat's cheek wouldn't derail his efforts at civility.
"Omelets?" he inquired mildly.
Potter jumped a little at the sound of his voice and cast a quick glance back at him, as if surprised the man were still in the kitchen. Then, turning back to the grease-filled pan, he replied evenly, "Yeah." Severus saw the boy's hands tighten on the countertop so violently that it forced all the blood from his knuckles, leaving them pale. "Would you like one, sir?" It sounded as if Potter were trying to keep from grinding his teeth.
Severus chose to ignore that. At least the boy had been polite. "I would."
"What kind?"
"Mushroom and cheese, I should think."
Potter nodded tightly, and he set to fulfilling the request, exhibiting the same practiced ease that he had with every other part of the meal.
Severus leaned back a little in his chair and watched, trying to make sense of the boy's demeanor. Clearly he was not happy, but was restraining himself—as evidenced by his death grip on the counter.
He had sworn to make an effort. And so far he'd only succeeded in threatening the boy with corporal punishment. Oh, and not to mention suggesting that he would gladly disparage him to Lily when, as far as he could tell, Potter had not made one complaint about his new stepfather. And yes, perhaps Potter had been out of line with his little outburst bemoaning Severus' distinctly cold and austere disposition, but Severus knew, and freely admitted to himself, that the tirade the boy had poured out had not been wholly undeserved. Potter needed to control himself and exhibit more respect, regardless, but he had been goaded and pushed in this instance.
The problem now was that Severus had few ideas about how to set things to rights. He certainly wasn't about to utter an apology of any sort; that was not merited. But, he thought, he could do something other than sit and observe the boy.
"Shall I start tidying up a bit?"
Potter's gaze flickered briefly back to him. "If you want." His voice was carefully neutral, too bland to be natural.
Severus flicked his wand at the counters and began banishing the remains of Potter's preparations. Egg shells, bread crumbs, packaging. There was little to do, though, and after a few cursory flicks all that could be tidied had been.
Harry flipped the omelet in the pan and slid it neatly onto a plate retrieved from the cupboard before pouring more egg mixture into the pan and immediately continuing on with his efforts.
"You cook every weekend?" Severus inquired as he retrieved his cooked-to-order breakfast. He piled a few pieces of toast and bacon onto the plate before returning to the table.
"When I'm home." Still that same bland voice that bordered on robotic.
As Potter continued to took, Snape inspected his omelet with his fork. It looked to be well-done, he had to admit. Fluffy, cooked but neither too runny nor too dry, and unbrowned for the most part. Even the cheese seemed to be melted thoroughly. And this all cooked by the Muggle means. The boy's culinary prowess was mildly impressive.
Snape watched as Potter finished up two more omelets. He noticed that the boy added tomatoes and green onions to Lily's, a combination he knew she relished. Apparently her son knew her preferences as well as he did; that thought settled uncomfortably in his stomach for some reason.
Once Potter had finished and plated the food, he killed the fire on the gas range, distributed the remaining toast and bacon, and carefully carried both plates over to the table before turning rather abruptly and making to leave the kitchen.
"Too good to share a table with me?" Severus snapped. As if he wouldn't notice the brat snubbing him so blatantly.
Potter paused in the doorway and turned back. His brow was furrowed, and his jaw clenched tight in irritation. "I usually wait for Mum."
"And you did not think to make the same suggestion to me?" Severus hissed. "Payback for—"
"You can eat whenever you'd like," Potter cut him off. "No one's stopping you."
"Our food will grow cold—"
"I'd say cast a Warming Charm," Potter grumbled, "but the plates are already charmed. Just like the rest of the china." The boy chose to speak just slowly enough that it couldn't be construed as deliberately offensive, but Severus had no trouble hearing the underlying contempt.
Well, he told himself, you have been behaving rather childishly.
He cleared his throat lightly. "Ah. Yes, I'd… forgotten."
Potter looked as though he were restraining himself from rolling his eyes. He turned to leave again.
Severus fought down the sense of shame bubbling up in him. The boy had made breakfast without any fuss, and here he'd all but accused him of concocting some scheme to upset Lily somehow. If he continued like this… well, he was certain to trip into the nice, deep hole he'd dug for himself any day now.
Perhaps he could make a bit more of an effort at building a relationship with Potter. It would be nice, he thought, for things not to be so strained all the time. Certainly they could learn to at least peacefully coexist, provided they both put forth the minimal requisite effort.
"Join me for a cup of tea?" Severus suggested, working to make the invitation as easy-going as possible.
The look of shock and suspicion on the boy's face might have had him laughing if it weren't for the fact that he was already feeling so nervous and out-of-sorts. "Uh… no. No thanks."
"Better things to do?" A slight bitter edge crept back into his voice.
"I wouldn't want to…ah… disturb your peace and quiet." And then the boy muttered, in a voice he likely thought too low for Severus to hear, "With my offensive existence."
Severus frowned, but before he could say another word Potter had retreated to another part of the house. Likely to his bedroom, to laze about for a few more hours.
He remained at the table for a few more moments, pondering over his next move. Dumbledore's chastisement about the olive branch the boy—Harry—had extended echoed in his head. Was he really so petty as to risk ruining everything with Lily simply because he could not repress his baser instincts when confronted by James' spawn?
He sighed and rose to make himself a fortifying cup of tea. He was going to have to come up with a concrete plan to approach the boy and begin to mend the damage he'd done. Something more than inviting the boy to an awkward cup of tea after belittling and threatening him.
Never mind that he'd much rather hand-harvest a dozen gallons of bubotuber pus.
Well, he thought, there was nothing for it. The cauldron was set, as Master Fortunado—the elderly Italian wizard he'd apprenticed under—would have said. Now all he could do was pray that the whole thing didn't blow up in his face.
XXXXX
Harry decided on the sunroom. He doubted Snape would look for him there, and the warm rays provided by the enchanted window panes would be pleasant in the slightly chilled morning air.
More than that, he had a ready-made confidante to complain to. And he certainly needed one right then. He was just millimeters away from turning back on Snape and screaming at the insufferable, arrogant man.
It was as if he were trying to egg Harry into a shouting match still! As if for some reason he enjoyed pushing Harry as much as possible, as if he wanted to see how long it would take for his new stepson to snap back and give him an excuse to dole out an extremely cruel punishment.
Harry forced himself to draw a calm breath as he settled down onto his usual cushion. He quickly scanned the barren tree structure that dominated the center of the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of bright green scales. But the structure was empty.
Harry desperately hoped Epione wasn't far. The beautiful snake he'd adopted as his second familiar (much to Hedwig's displeasure) tended to sun herself in the early hours of the morning, but occasionally she would slip into the walls through the small hole Harry had made in order to do some hunting. She was a magical breed of Boomslang, and thus was in tune with Harry's magical signature just as Hedwig was, but they had only been bonded for six months, and so the tug through that invisible bond was still developing.
"Epione," Harry called, making certain to fixate upon the image of a snake in his mind. "Are you hidden in the in-between place? Will you come speak?"
Harry waited for a moment with bated breath. He really hoped Epione wasn't too involved in hunting, or worse, in one of her strange snits. As many differences as there were between their worlds, and as challenging as it sometimes was to convey his worries and grievances in Parseltongue, Harry was grateful for his companion. Originally, Lily had insisted he take on a snake in order to come to terms with being a Parselmouth, something that Harry had struggled with after the Chamber of Secrets debacle, and Harry had grudgingly agreed, knowing that the skill might be a useful one to cultivate.
But the end of the previous year—the spring, he knew—had been the start of what adults termed a Serious Relationship between Snape and his mother. There had been low, intense discussions, and demands of what "this" was, and where were they going, and what their future would look like. And then the damned ring that the greasy bastard had offered her—silver and emerald, inlaid with tiny opalescent pearls. Slytherin colors, of course.
That was when Harry had truly begun to appreciate his mastery of the magical language of snakes. And, coincidentally, about the time he started to learn some of the more colorful insults Parseltongue had to offer, as greasy, self-important bastard did not translate so well.
But there had been egg-breaker who chokes on small bones and rancid morsel the high-flying sharp talons would not touch, and his personal favorite, slow-crawling nest castoff mocked by mice and crickets. Granted, Parseltongue insults tended to be long-winded and inelegant, but they were so very descriptive, and there was something immensely satisfying about all the sharp hisses they contained.
Epione had gotten him through the spring and summer engagement, and the late August wedding, and the emptiness of the flat during the two-week honeymoon that Harry could not think about without feeling seriously nauseous. Even Remus' cheerful presence hadn't been able to dispel the dark mood that had overtaken Harry during their absence.
Well, likely because the werewolf had decided to give at least one impromptu lecture per day on misjudging people, and Severus' hard life, and natural jealousy, as he'd called it, in competing for his mother's affections. He loved the man dearly, but at the end of those two hellish weeks he'd been ready to hex Remus halfway to Sunday.
At last Harry heard Epione's soft response, somewhat muffled by the sunroom's paneled walls. "The Warm Boy is angry today." Her tiny head and over-large black eyes appeared at the hole at the back of the room, followed by the rest of her long, elegant body. She was a good three feet now, and the shopkeeper had informed Harry that she would likely continue to grow over the years, as Boomslangs tended to be fairly large snakes.
"The horrid black man is here."
Epione slithered across the room to Harry and quickly twined herself around him and up and over his shoulders. "He is here often. His stench fills the room of your Protector-Woman."
Harry smiled slightly to himself at the Parseltongue phrase for mother. It had been a curious thing at first, to realize that snakes had no concept of parents. But then, he knew well that snake eggs were laid and abandoned; mothers did not tend to the next generation or teach their young. The only knowledge of parenting snakes had was from their observations of mammalian predators and prey; Epione's own ancestral knowledge was linked mostly to the observation of fearsome lions and other large cats.
And since there certainly was no word for "wicked stepfather" in Parseltongue, Harry had taken to using descriptive epithets instead. Today he used a mild one, despite his boiling anger.
"His stench will soon fill our whole nest," Harry muttered ruefully. "He is bonded to my Protector-Woman."
"He still bites at you when you pass and twists his words with your Protector-Woman?"
Epione's way of asking if Snape was still tormented him and lied to his mother about it. Harry stroked the snake's head gently with two fingers, willing the smooth, polished texture of her scales to calm him. "Yes. Today I offered him prey and still he threatened to bite me. And some sunrises ago he—" Here Harry struggled to put his frustration with his potions class and his undeserved detentions into words. "When he showed me the secrets of his mystery waters"—Epione had a rudimentary understanding of potions, as much as a snake could understand—"he ruined the mystery water I was making, and then he imprisoned me." There was no way to causally link the two instances, the ruined potion and the detention; snakes had no concept of punishment, and no grammatical structure of Parseltongue would allow Harry to convey the true relationship between those two wrongs. So he settled for listing them as separate complaints.
"Dust-eater," Epione hissed angrily. "Wicked consort of the talon-beasts."
Harry grinned again. This was likely why Hedwig was exceptionally unimpressed by Epione; there were few terrible insults in Parseltongue that did not refer to the most horrid beasts imaginable to snakes, the winged sky beasts, owls in particular.
"I will bite his ankle, Warm Boy, and he will quiver when my venom enters him like the small warm-beasts. He will make a fine meal."
Harry couldn't help but laugh a little at the mental image of Epione unhinging her jaw and trying to ingest Snape; she would have to start small, maybe with a toe….
"Sharing a joke?"
Harry whipped around, unnerved. And sure enough there stood the dust-eater himself, arms folded over his chest, brow arched in a cold, disdainful expression. By Merlin, couldn't the man leave him in peace?
Epione let loose a low, angry hiss and began unwinding herself lithely from around his neck.
"Don't bite him," Harry commanded quickly. He didn't think that she would; she understood well enough that she was not to attack humans, even if she sometimes threatened to attack Snape. Then, addressing the bane of his existence in English, Harry answered, "Yeah. It doesn't translate though."
Epione slid forward relentlessly toward Snape. The man stared down at her in consternation, as if trying to decipher just what she meant to do.
"Leave him be," Harry repeated, this time with a bit more authority.
"I will not harm the egg-swallowing dust-eater," Epione promised, though there was a hint of reluctance in her sibilant reply. "I only mean to frighten him so that he knows his place."
"No," Harry practically growled. That was just what he needed, another altercation between them, this time Snape claiming that Harry had set his venomous pet snake after him. "Sir, you might want to leave," Harry suggested swiftly. "She doesn't like strangers, and Boomslangs are a rather aggressive breed."
"I will only nip at his ankles," Epione wheedled. "And perhaps show him my fangs. I will not break his skin. He is but a blow snake himself. He hisses loudly but he has no fangs."
Harry had to fight down a snort of amusement at that frank assessment.
Snape's eyes remained on Epione; he eyed her warily, but showed no signs of retreating. "She is your familiar, is she not? I'm certain that she will listen to you."
"She has a mind of her own," Harry ground out, rising to his feet, his eyes still on Epione. The large snake had slowed in her advance and was now dangerously still, her beady black eyes locked on her prey. "I wouldn't take the chance. She really doesn't like strangers."
"What are you telling him, Warm Boy?" Epione demanded curiously. "You should tell him that his stomach is weak and that he will choke on his next meal."
"Is she warning me off?" Snape inquired curiously, his tone surprisingly level.
"Something like that." There was no way in hell Harry was going to try to translate the insult.
"Tell him that he is so stupid that he cowers from the shadows of passing clouds, because he does not know their darkness from the blackness of wings, fool dust-eater that he is—"
"Enough," Harry grumbled. He liked many insults in Parseltongue, but some of them were too long and rambling to be effective. "The horrid black man will not leave, and I disturbed your hunt. You should return to the in-between place for your mice."
"Your mother is up," Snape continued. "I assume you'll be joining us shortly?"
Ah, Harry thought. That explains the relative civility. "Yeah, let me wash up."
Snape nodded, and with one final cool glance at Epione he retreated.
"Fodder for the talon-creatures," Epione pronounced disdainfully as she made her way back to her small hole. "If he imprisons you again, Warm Boy, I will bite both his ankles and watch him bleed."
"You can't. My Protector-Woman wishes him to remain in our nest. Alive," he added as an afterthought.
Epione disappeared through the hole with a discontented hiss.
After washing up in the loo and combing his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it more presentable, Harry made his way back into the kitchen, trying his hardest to smooth the distaste and dread from his features.
His mother was already seated in her usual spot at the table, a cup of black coffee in her hands. She'd donned her favorite housecoat, a lovely cornflower-blue wrap that accentuated her hair and eyes. She grinned brilliantly at Harry when she saw him. "Breakfast looks lovely, Fawn," she complimented him. "Even Sev said he tips his hat to your skills."
Harry cast a small, forced smile at "Sev" in order to keep up the happy family pretense. "Well, I don't think I should quit Hogwarts for a Michelin-star restaurant just yet, but yeah, I didn't burn the toast." He plonked himself down on the side of the table, doing his best to ignore the gaze of the man seated across from him.
"Though I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed. I thought you promised me a full English breakfast last time? Hm?"
Harry felt a slight blush steal over his cheeks. "Oh yeah. I forgot. But you like omelets, yeah?"
Lily smiled indulgently at him over her coffee. "So, what have you two been up to while I was 'sawing logs', as Sev so charmingly puts it?"
Harry cast a reflexive glance at Snape, as if that could somehow aid them in getting their stories straight. "I visited a little with Epione," Harry offered. It wasn't a lie, certainly. And he wasn't about to casually admit to having a row with Snape.
"Ah, so that is what you call that monstrosity," Snape mused. "An unusual name."
"Aesculapius' consort," Lily explained, naming the ancient Greek god known for his healing work with snakes. "Kind of an obscure reference, but fitting, I thought. A good reminder that it's not just evil that is associated with snakes. In fact, in a few years I was thinking of writing to the Magical Library of Alexandria to see if they have any tablets or scrolls on the lost art of Parselmagic…."
"Hmm," Snape mused, clearly disinterested. "Po—Harry seemed to be having some difficulty reigning the creature in."
Lily rolled her eyes. "She could go for the throat and it wouldn't matter. You're daft if you believe I let my son play with venomous snakes without any precautions. The wards on the flat would vanish the poison before it could even enter your bloodstream. A few drops of essence of dittany and you'd be good to go."
Right, Harry thought. How had he forgotten about the wards? He should have just let Epione go for it. Oh well. Another day, perhaps.
"At least I've finally solved the mystery of your abundant boomslang skin stores," Snape said, at last cutting into his omelet. "I suppose you could make use of the venom as well, if Harry could convince her to cooperate."
Lily eyed Snape with mock-suspicion. "That's as far as you're going, though. You're not chopping that poor, sweet creature up for one of your experimental potions."
Snape snorted, a smirk curling over his lips. "I wouldn't dream of it. I haven't chopped up Longbottom's damnable toad yet, even though the stupid thing has practically hopped into a cauldron too many times to count. I certainly would do nothing of the sort to a noble serpent, my house's own symbol."
"I never understood the point of toads as familiars," Lily commented idly.
The conversation unraveled from there into pleasant banter—strangely enough—between Snape and Lily. Harry was content enough to listen only, focusing on his bacon and onion omelet. When his mother commented on his silence, Harry insisted it was just because he was still waking up and the caffeine from the tea had not yet hit him.
As usual, he and Snape surreptitiously ignored each other.
Once they'd all cleared their plates and magicked the dishes from the table, Snape turned to Lily. "So, what is on the agenda for today?"
Lily cast a glance over at Harry. "Well, I have some work to do on the Wolfsbane potion for Remus… Harry usually helps with that. You're more than welcome to join, but I understand if you'd rather keep yourself occupied elsewhere. Really, I don't know how you stand to brew at all on the weekends…."
Snape shook his head slightly to himself. "It's rather relaxing when there aren't gaggles of shrieking incompetents just trying to make their cauldrons explode. I'd be pleased to assist. Even if the potion is for… Lupin."
Lily smacked Snape's arm lightly. She didn't like it when the man let his grudges and prejudices show, Harry knew, but she usually let him off far too lightly for Harry's liking. "Stop it. He never approved of the way James acted and you know it. It's silly of you to keep holding that against him. I don't hold your past against you, now, do I?"
Harry couldn't help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction at the twin spots of red that graced Snape's cheeks. Yes, his mother had played the ultimate trump card, the very one that Harry was not allowed to use lest the potions master rip his head off. Snape's so-called dark past. And whenever Lily even alluded to it, Snape would start to squirm like a guilty little schoolboy.
"I said I'd be happy to help," Snape muttered. "I've been following research into improving the formulation, actually. In Belgium they've started toying with a variation using powdered heliotrope, though the trials I've followed have been anything but promising. I've often thought that minute changes in the process might yield more tangible results. I've been considering taking it up as my next research project. If Lupin is amenable, he could act as a test subject after the alpha runs with the altered formulation have been cleared."
Lily lit up like a Christmas tree. "Truly? Have you nearly finished with your research into multi-purposed antidotes?"
Snape grimaced. "Finished is… not the word I would use. I've reached too many dead ends and, to put it simply, I feel it would be best to set that particular line of inquiry aside for the time being."
Harry listened to his mother and Snape talk potions, half-following their excited chatter about the Wolfsbane potion. He was plenty happy to help with the mundane tasks of prepping ingredients and everything, especially since the finished product was so important for his Uncle Remus, but the intricacies of the complex brew were way beyond him. And the second his mother and Snape started going on about the effect of lunar phases on the brewing process, and the effect of aconite petals versus stamen, Harry knew he'd ceased to exist to the two of them.
After a few minutes, he quietly retreated to the sofa and plucked the book he'd been casually reading—An Ex-Auror's Guide to Real Defense Techniques—from the coffee table.
Eventually the highly-technical discussion seemed to come to a close, and Lily called once more to her son to invite him to rejoin the conversation.
When Harry had finally trudged back over, he saw that Snape looked as if he'd just bitten the head off a flobberworm. He was about to ask what had happened when his mother cut in.
"Harry, looks like we need to make a run to Diagon Alley for a few extra ingredients. I was going to suggest we go there anyway so you could practice some of the brews you've botched this year over the weekend; I have a list of the ones I was going to have you make. I thought you and I could go together, since Sev and I shouldn't be seen together in public, and I know you'd like to stop by some of the Quidditch shops. It would be a short outing, but what do you say?"
So Snape was jealous of this little bit of time he would get to spend with his mum. Well, Harry thought, he would just have to get over it.
"Sounds brilliant," he replied with a wide grin. "Are you sure Severus can't come though? I bet he'd love to browse through the apothecary."
Lily waved her hand dismissively. "We'll be in and out in a blink. It's not even worth the trouble of a disguise and all that. Besides, I'm sure Sev gets enough of the apothecaries with all the restocking he has to do as a potions master."
Harry pretended to look slightly disappointed. "Ah, well, guess we'll just have to find some other time for bonding, huh?"
His mother shot him a sly glance, and Harry nearly gulped, thinking he'd just about overdone it.
The sharp, reproving glare from Snape confirmed that suspicion.
"I mean, it'll be good if we're all working on the potion together," Harry continued hastily. "And it'll give me a chance to really watch a master at work. I might pick something really valuable up. Anyway, I should just get dressed and fetch my cloak and all…."
Before I stick my foot any further in my mouth, Harry thought.
Minutes later Harry was standing next to his mother, his arm looped in hers, preparing for Side-Along Apparition.
"We'll be quick," Lily promised Snape. "Harry knows I have no qualms about hexing him if he takes too long in the Quidditch shops." She jostled Harry playfully, casting him a warm smile.
"As long as we don't make a detour into Flourish and Blotts," Harry muttered, bumping his mother back. "Last time I thought I'd lost you."
Snape stood just a little too stiffly, his expression smooth and placid. "I'll get a start on the Wolfsbane," he offered, his eyes on Lily and Lily alone.
"Behave," Lily admonished teasingly, brandishing a finger at him. And with that they Disapparated.
Harry was glad that, over the years, he'd become mostly accustomed to the rather unpleasant sensation of Apparition. He'd Side-Alonged with his mother frequently enough that the queasiness and disorientation were never that severe. Still, it was his second least-favorite mode of wizard travel, outranked only by Portkeys. And the Floo was not far behind that, to be certain.
They arrived in the quiet little alley behind the odds and end shop that was designated for Apparition. Harry always wished that whoever was in charge of cleaning the streets in the alley would pay a bit more attention to this particular little nook, as it was often rubbish-filled and unpleasant. But as usual, his mother didn't linger there, instead striding briskly off toward their first destination.
Harry followed her, reveling in the slow, sweet sense of relief that was stealing over him. He could breathe again, he thought. No Snape lurking around the corners, trailing after him, spouting off threats and insults. He felt as if he could burst into song, but his mother might wonder a bit at that.
So he contented himself with grinning like a loon as he strode beside his mother.
The grin didn't last long, though. Because even when Severus Snape was absent, his specter just had to haunt every conversation he had with his mother.
"So, did you get a chance to chat with your stepfather this morning?" Lily inquired casually as they made their way down the cobblestone street.
Harry fought to keep his muscles from twitching into an ugly expression. "Uh, yeah," he answered evasively. "But not much. You know how I am in the morning. Takes me a while to wake up—"
"Mm," Lily cut him off, casting him a knowing look. "I think I see what's going on here."
Harry swallowed nervously. "You—you do?"
Lily stopped and turned to her son, her green eyes alight with sympathy. She laid a hand on Harry's arm in a gesture of comfort. "There's no shame in being a little… anxious… around Sev. I know you see him mostly as your professor, and he cuts a scary figure, doesn't he?"
Scary, Harry thought bitterly. I'm not five. He's a sarcastic arsehole. But sure, let's call him scary.
"And it must be hard to see him in another light," Lily continued blithely. "I know Sev's been struggling a bit too. This is all very new to him, and you may be his stepson, but he's still used to seeing you mostly as a student. And he has to keep a professional distance from his students. It's hard for him to drop that guard…."
They'd reached Slug and Jiggers apothecary, Harry realized, desperate for some sort of distraction. He didn't think he could make it through this little lecture without rolling his eyes at least once. He wondered what potions his mother planned for him to redo… and how she and good old "Sev" would react once he proved he was perfectly competent in the subject.
"Harry." Lily's hand tightened on his arm, drawing his full attention back to her. He met her eyes, and there was a deep sorrow there that surprised him. "Sev hasn't had an easy life. It's not my place to say… but it's really difficult for him to open up. You need to understand that. If he comes across as cold or distant or, Merlin knows, plain mean, it's not because he wants to hurt you or keep you at arm's length. It's a protective instinct that he had to learn… and he'd bite my head off for telling you even this much, I promise you. You just have to give him a chance, and hard as it might be, ignore his barbs. I know he throws them around liberally….
"I'm babbling. Listen, Fawn, all I'm asking is that you keep an open mind and really give him a chance to open up to you. Maybe even think about taking the first step. Ask him for help with your Potions homework, or his advice on your course load for the next year—or see if he'll practice dueling with you. Something like that. Will you consider it?"
A host of acerbic responses bubbled to mind at his mother's absurd request. Ask advice on his homework? Quit while you're behind, Potter, and save your mother the embarrassment. Or for class suggestions? Well, I'm certain your performance will be equally abominable in whatever subjects you choose. Care of Magical Creatures, perhaps, so that you will fully understand the implications of the mark "Troll". Maybe Divination, so that your failure will at least be foreseen? Or Merlin forbid, dueling. The man would love the excuse to hex him into a puddle. Or worse, he would use the occasion for a tragic and embarrassing "accident" that left Harry with some unsightly permanent disfigurement.
But with his mother's pleading eyes boring into him, Harry could scarcely bring himself to deny her. "I'll try," Harry mumbled.
Lily flashed her winning smile at Harry. "Thank you, love." She raised a hand to his cheek and touched it briefly.
Harry leaned into it instinctively, focusing all his energy on that little gesture. This was why he was putting up with Snape, he reminded himself. Because his mother needed it. Because it made her happy. And tolerating one miserable old bastard was a small price to pay for that happiness.
"I'll see to the ingredients," Lily said at last. "Why don't you go browse the shops, and meet me in a half an hour at Fortescue's?"
Harry grinned cheekily. "Ice cream in the morning, and without Severus? Mum, we shouldn't."
Lily waved off his mocking protests. "Sev doesn't have much of a sweet tooth. Besides, what he doesn't know won't hurt him."
"And now we're keeping secrets?" Harry teased in a tone of mock-outrage.
"Hmm, perhaps we should mention it," Lily conceded, her eyes sparkling. "Honesty is the best policy."
Those words struck at something in Harry. He hated lying to his mother like this. He hated this elaborate charade; he hated constantly worrying that one word or gesture or expression would let something slip, and then the ruse would unravel.
But he wouldn't put another burden on her shoulders. He wouldn't give her cause to quarrel with Severus. She didn't need that, not now and not ever.
And loath as he was to admit it, Severus was good to her. He would never hurt Lily; he treated her well, and he would do anything for her. Hell, the man practically lived for her; as much as Harry hated the man, he certainly recognized the worshipful expression the man wore whenever he gazed at Lily. Yes, the man would do anything for his dear, precious Lily.
Well, anything except curb his vitriol for her son.
"Be safe," his mother told him, drawing Harry out of his reverie.
Harry tried to shake off his dark thoughts by rolling his eyes. "I'm going down the street, not across the country, Mum."
"You have a habit of attracting trouble," his mother muttered, "or going looking for it. So no running after basilisks or three-headed dogs—"
"Or baby dragons," Harry added.
"So help me Merlin," his mother muttered, "if I catch you doing anything that dangerous again…."
"You'll transfigure me into a teapot and keep me in your china cabinet for the next ten years," Harry finished for her, familiar with the threat.
"Watch your cheek, young man, or you'll be a particularly floral teapot."
They parted ways after that.
Harry tried to lose himself by visiting the three most prominent Quidditch shops, but even drooling over the model Firebolt in the window wasn't enough to keep his dismal thoughts from nearly overwhelming him.
He thought back to Snape's behavior that morning. It was as if the man was trying to sabotage himself. Harry wondered if he even realized how awful he was behaving, or if he was simply so entrenched in his hatred of his stepson that he didn't realize that Lily would throw him out on his arse if she ever discovered the full truth.
And that invitation to have a cup of tea! What had the man been playing at? After he'd badgered and insulted Harry, and Harry had done an admirable job of keeping his tongue in check (if he did say so himself), he had the nerve to insist that Harry join him at the table. As if the man had suddenly changed his mind and decided he would be civil! As if Harry would willingly prolong his exposure to the man's toxic presence!
He could imagine how that would have gone. Merlin, Potter, you slurp tea like that great slobbering beast Hagrid keeps around. And slouching? Is the Great Harry Potter too good to exhibit halfway decent manners at his own breakfast table? But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised after the sloppy technique you employed while cooking our breakfast. Certainly a deranged house elf could have done better. Your mother must hold her tongue each weekend to spare your feelings.
Well. He could avoid the man as much as possible and spare himself all that. He would help his mum brew for a bit, and then he would hide from the two of them for the rest of the day behind his textbooks. Maybe he would write Ron and Hermione, or find Epione again and talk with her. Sometimes she would slip outside and roam—discretely, of course—around London, which meant that she occasionally had interesting adventures to share with Harry. There was also the possibility of working to strengthen their magical bond. A rare text Lily had acquired described the possibility of Parselmouths sharing minds with their serpent familiars. Harry knew he was far from being able to do that with Epione, but he did want to put in the work to eventually reach that state of harmony.
One thing was certain. He wasn't going to talk to Snape any more than he actually had to.
After a little half-hearted Quidditch banter with the shopkeeper at Quality Quidditch Supplies (the wiry, dark-haired wizard was adamant that the Holyhead Harpies were headed for the Cup this year), Harry took his leave and set off toward Fortescue's.
Lily was already waiting for him, seated at their usual table. She'd already taken the liberty of ordering, too; Harry spied the heaping dish of his favorite peppermint ice cream settled before his seat, presumably under a Cooling Charm.
"See anything you like?" Lily asked as Harry settled into his seat.
Harry shrugged indifferently. "The new Firebolt, but I'm pretty sure I'd have to save up my allowance for a good, oh, three decades before I could even think about buying it. I think my Cleansweep will have to do for now."
"Christmas is coming up," Lily murmured vaguely before spooning a generous scoop of whipped cream into her mouth.
Harry snorted. "I think I'd have to agree to skip the next ten Christmases to justify you spending that much on me."
"We'll see," Lily hummed. "Maybe if you manage to get your potions mark up…."
Not likely, Harry thought. I could qualify for my Mastership and Snape would still find some reason to fail me. But he didn't voice his skepticism, instead choosing to flash his mother a tight smile.
"I'm really trying, honest. I let Hermione go through my last essay like six times. I think even Sn—Severus was impressed by the quality. Though you know he doesn't let on to that sort of stuff."
"I'm sure it'll get easier," his mother told him soothingly. "I see how you brew at home, Harry, and frankly it surprises me that you have so much trouble in that class. I know Severus is hard on his students and that he has high standards, but still, I have to think that the problem is nerves more than anything. I'm sure that once things have settled and you're a little more comfortable with your stepfather"—Harry suppressed a violent shudder—"you'll be at the top of the class."
"Harry!"
Harry whipped around, the voice catching him by surprise.
Neville Longbottom was flagging him down from the opposite side of the street. The boy crossed unthinkingly, nearly getting himself run down in the process. But Neville seemed completely oblivious to the stout, bearded wizard in green robes that he'd nearly bowled over in his excitement—though the wizard seemed less oblivious, as he appeared to be muttering curses after the boy.
"Hiya Neville," Harry greeted the boy, letting his surprised tone stand in for the unasked question.
"Gran had some errands to run this weekend, and Uncle Algie's down with some sort of pox, so she asked for special permission from McGonagall for me to accompany her," Neville explained breathlessly. "She's at Madame Malkin's right now, said I'm to meet her in an hour or so." The boy's gaze switched to Lily. "Hullo, Mrs. Potter," he greeted her politely, just a touch of his characteristic timidity creeping back into his voice. "Good to see you out with Harry."
"Neville," Lily greeted the boy gently. "Mrs. Potter was my mother-in-law, you know. It's just Lily."
Neville blushed a fierce red. Then he muttered very quickly, his words running together, "I'm glad Harry's not in trouble 'cause it was really my fault and Snape's too I guess."
Harry's eyes snapped back to his mother as alarm bells sounded in his head. What in the hell was Neville doing?
"What was your fault?" Lily asked in that same gentle tone, though Harry was not fooled. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Nothing," Harry began, but Neville was too eager to explain his role in last week's potions disaster.
"Well, I—I guess Harry probably told you about when we were making the Solution of Clarity…." His nervous eyes flickered to Harry, as if he were only realizing just now that he'd really stepped in it. "Even if he didn't, though, it really wasn't his fault at all—"
"Neville, it's all right, I already told her everything," Harry cut in swiftly.
Lily wasn't fooled, though. Her eyes flashed dangerously, a look that caused Harry to gulp reflexively. She grasped Harry's shoulder firmly in her hand and fixed Neville with a no-nonsense glare that would give McGonagall a run for her money.
"How was it your fault, Neville?" she inquired evenly, the tension in her fingers belying her controlled tone. "And Professor Snape's, you said?"
"I said it was Snape's fault," Harry tried, hoping he wasn't coming across as too desperate. "Mum, you know how it is… I was embarrassed, and I didn't want to take responsibility—"
"Harry, let your friend answer my question." Lily's hand tightened in warning.
Neville seemed a little confused, and was growing more nervous by the second, especially under Lily's intense scrutiny. "Well… Harry had almost finished his potion when Snape called him away from it. And Harry tried to tell him that he had to watch it closely, because the end part's really critical, and that it wasn't a good time, but Snape didn't listen, and he wouldn't even have someone good at potions keep an eye on it. Harry asked if Hermione could watch it for him, but he said no and made me do it, and I… well, I'm not very good, and I swear I looked away for just a second, but I think I was supposed to be stirring it… and it turned to sludge. So it was really my fault that Harry got a zero. I was so worried that you'd be really upset with him, see, because I know how Gran gets when I miss a grade like that—though she kind of expects it in potions now…."
Harry sensed his mother's breathing changing as Neville babbled on, hapless and clueless as always. That, and the near-painful grip on his shoulder had him spiraling into panic.
She would blame Snape now. She would accuse him of being awful to Harry, and they would have a huge row, and then…. Well, Lily had already forgiven the man once. Two betrayals was too much. She would cut him out of her life, and then she would be miserable and wounded….
No, Harry, get a grip, he ordered himself. Neville hadn't said anything too awful yet. He'd basically assumed responsibility. Maybe Lily would think that Snape had been negligent or a bit too cruel, but it was nothing condemning. So as long as Neville didn't say anything else.
"Neville, what did Professor Snape want to ask Harry?" Lily demanded.
Harry tried to communicate with his wide, alarmed eyes that Neville should just stop talking or feign ignorance. He even shook his head a little, as much as he thought he could with his mum standing right next to him.
But Neville was as oblivious as ever. "Oh, he was awful. He—"
"Shut your bloody mouth, Neville!" Harry hissed before he could stop himself.
"Harry James Potter!" Lily snapped, clearly appalled. Her brow crashed down in a thunderous scowl. Not only could she give McGonagall a run for her money, Harry thought, but she might be able to rival Snape's bone-chilling expressions too. "You do not speak like that! Apologize to Neville this instant!"
Harry knew his cheeks had to be a nice crimson by that point. He was fairly certain that a few nearby families had heard his mother's scolding. Not that a little public humiliation was too big a price to pay if he'd achieved his goal of keeping Neville from saying too much more and ruining everything.
"Sorry, Neville," he mumbled, staring down at his shoes. "I'm just still embarrassed about it, okay?"
Lily ignored that statement completely though. She continued her line of questioning with all the focus of an Auror nearing the end of a case. "He was awful?" she prompted.
"Mum—"
"Not another word, Harry," Lily hissed in her fiercest you are in so much trouble voice. "Not a single word, do you hear me?"
And it was then that Harry knew all hope was lost. She'd scented that something was amiss. Of course she had. His mum was brilliant. It was a miracle she hadn't figured it all out sooner.
So Harry nodded dejectedly and chose to stare at his trainers.
"Mrs. Potter—"
"Neville, this is very important. Please answer me. What did Professor Snape need to say to Harry?"
"He accused him of cheating," Neville informed her in a tone of protest, as if news of Snape's gross unfairness would somehow get Harry out of whatever trouble he was currently in. "With no proof or anything! He made him just stand there while his potion was getting ruined while he looked for Harry's essay, and then he said it was just too good to be Harry's. And Harry tried to tell him that he'd worked really hard so he could get his grade up, but he wouldn't listen. It was awful. He basically called him an idiot in front of the whole class. Really, Mrs. Potter, you have to believe me, Snape's got it in for Harry. It's just like all those other times when he 'accidentally' knocked something into Harry's cauldron, or hovered over Harry criticizing him until he made a mistake. I tried to tell Professor Dumbledore about it, but I don't think anything really happened—"
"Thank you, Neville," Lily cut the boy off.
Neville puffed up a little, indignant. "It's true!" he insisted. "You can ask Professor Dumbledore. And then I heard that Professor Snape hunted Harry down just to yell at him and give him a detention for no reason. Some of the lower forms from Hufflepuff got upset about that and talked to Dumbledore too—"
"Neville," Lily interrupted the boy again, though now her tone was solicitous and soothing. "I believe you, trust me. I am… disappointed"—the sharpness of that single word let Harry know that disappointed wasn't the half of it—"that Harry couldn't tell me about all this himself. But I'm grateful that you did, and believe me, I will be rectifying the situation. I think a parent-teacher conference is in order." Those last words were uttered like a death threat.
Harry cringed.
And Neville sagged with relief, his eyes shining. "Good. Because I hate seeing Harry get into so much trouble for no reason. And when Professor Dumbledore wouldn't do anything, well…." He flashed a hesitant smile at Harry.
Harry couldn't return the gesture. He still felt too numb. Oh, his mum was furious with Snape, that he could tell. But some of that fury was reserved for him, for his lies and deceit. Harry lifted a hand to his stomach, afraid that his ice cream was about to make a second appearance for as much as his stomach was churning.
"You're a good friend, Neville," Lily reassured the boy, even as she moved to secure Harry's arm in a borderline painful grip. "I'm sorry to run out on you like this, but Harry and I have some business to attend to. But Harry will see you after the weekend, all right?"
Neville's eyes had never left Harry, and apparently whatever he saw there upset him, because his tentative smile had collapsed into a look of deep concern. "Yeah," he agreed. "See you Monday, Harry." The words rang out like a question.
"Yeah, see you Monday," Harry mumbled faintly.
And then Lily had dragged him off to a secluded little alleyway and cast a Silencing Charm before turning her blazing green eyes on him.
"How long?" she demanded curtly.
Harry decided to feign ignorance. "Mum, I don't know—"
Lily dropped her voice to a deadly whisper that raised every hair on Harry's head. "Harry James Potter, you will answer me clearly and honestly this instant. You are already in over your head, but don't be foolish enough to believe that you can't dig yourself in any deeper. How long has Severus been treating you like this?"
Harry couldn't meet her eyes. Instead he studied the pattern of bricks on the side of the building. "I… I dunno. A while—"
"How long?"
Harry flinched. "Since the beginning," he confessed, knowing that there was nothing for it. "But it's not so bad, Mum, honest. You're overreacting—"
"I have been a blind fool, and I will make no excuses for myself," Lily began heavily, "but if you dare to dissemble or make excuses or, Merlin forbid, try to downplay the severity of this, you will be permanently benched from Quidditch and you will not see your broom again until you are of age. I expect the raw, unvarnished truth. Is that much clear?"
Harry swallowed thickly. It was over, he thought miserably. There was nothing more he could do. Continuing to lie now would just make things worse. It would just damage his relationship with his mum, and that was the last thing he needed right now.
"I understand."
"He acts differently when I'm not around?" The words were hard and clipped.
Harry nodded into the ground.
"How?"
Harry flexed his hands nervously, wondering how much his mum expected him to say. "He insults me a lot. He doesn't bother trying to hide how much he hates me."
"Has he hit you? Or threatened to?"
Harry felt his cheeks burn slightly hotter as the man's promise of corporal punishment came floating back to him. "He hasn't, and no—just… he threatens to punish me normally. Like, detentions or lines… or… you know, now that he's my stepfather and can…."
"Did he say what he would do if you came to me with your concerns?"
"He didn't blackmail me!" Harry protested, even though he knew that was at least partially untrue, especially given yesterday evening's pleasant little "chat". Thought Snape had only promised retribution if Harry had tried to "poison Lily against him", which could easily have been construed as Harry telling lies about Snape, not merely telling her his side of things.
A stolen glance up at Lily showed Harry that she was unconvinced.
"Honest! He didn't need to, Mum, because I didn't want you to know. He didn't have to threaten me at all. I don't think he even realizes how bad he's been."
Lily heaved a long sigh, but she didn't press the issue any further. "You lied to me about him making an effort to reassure you and support you. In fact, you've lied about a lot of things concerning Severus. Why, Harry? Why on earth…?"
Tears pricked at his eyes. Almost three years of abuse, he thought bitterly, and for what? Snape wouldn't appreciate in the least what Harry had tried to do for him. Well, not for him, per se, but his actions had benefited Snape for sure. And now it was all going to unravel, because Neville couldn't keep his mouth shut. Well, that, and because Snape was an arse who couldn't refrain from bullying and belittling Harry.
"He's good for you," Harry mumbled. "He's awful to me, but… but he'd do anything for you. And after everything… Mum, I knew you'd want nothing to do with him if you knew how he really treated me. But you need him. I hate it, and I hate that it's him, but he makes you happy. And after everything…." Harry's throat felt almost too tight to continue. He swallowed past the awful lump that was forming there, and pressed on, "I just want you to be happy. I didn't mind putting up with him if that was what it took."
His mum looked torn between sorrow and anger and love for Harry. And that combination just caused the lump to swell painfully, silencing him as surely as a spell.
"Harry," Lily muttered, and shook her head slowly. "Harry, I am the parent, you are the child. It is not up to you to decide what is best for me. And if Severus could treat you like that, he is not the man I thought he was—"
"No!" Harry cried, his voice harsh with panic. "It's not that bad—honest, he's just kind of mean most of the time. What happened last week was big. And I don't think he thought I could even brew the potion, so it's not like he was trying to deliberately sabotage it."
"Should I ask your friends, Harry? Better yet, should I floo call the headmaster and hear his opinion on things?" Lily's sharp, prickly tone tore through Harry. She knew. She didn't have to hear all the gory details of how Snape had been acting; she could piece it together on her own.
"No," he mumbled.
Lily drew a deep, deliberate breath. "I appreciate your concern for me, I truly do. But it is not your place to decide who should and shouldn't be in my life. You lied to me—deliberately, brazenly, and not just once but multiple times. You didn't give me a chance to see how Severus was treating you and make a decision based on what was best for you—and that is my privilege as a parent, Harry.
"I know you were trying to do what was best for me, but the fact remains that you deliberately and repeatedly violated my trust." As Lily spoke, her voice gradually regained its volume, its intensity, and its furious edge. "If you can lie to me so casually about this, how can I have faith in anything you say? How can I possibly know that you won't decide to omit or alter all kinds of important things because you, my child, think it's for the best?"
Harry knew he couldn't have answered, even if it hadn't been a rhetorical question. Lily's all-too-judicious scolding was driving him to misery. All his pride and self-righteous anger for his stoicism in face of Snape's attacks was quickly turning to self-loathing. Because his mum was right; how dare he treat her like a child? And how dare he break that sacred bond they'd shared for so many years?
The promise of no lies, not ever, not about anything, had bound them together through the hardest years of their lives. When Harry had been just seven, Lily had been released from St. Mungo's, and it had been then that she'd made that vow. She promised to tell Harry when she was hurting or sad so that Harry could try to help. And Harry promised to do the same.
His mum had been the only person in the world with whom he could be completely honest, and whom he knew would be honest in turn. Even when the news was less than pleasant, or when other parents might have deemed it inappropriate for their children. She'd told him about Remus' lycanthropy, and the awful "friend" who'd gotten Harry's father killed and who was still rotting in Azkaban. She'd told him about Snape's less-than-saintly past, and the Mark branded on his forearm, the one that Harry was never to mention or ask about directly. Lies were walls, his mother had told him, and they couldn't afford to have any walls between them.
And now Harry could see what he'd done. He'd thrown that all away. He'd built walls to keep his mother from the truth because he thought it was too unpleasant. He'd hurt her, and deeply. Oh, he hadn't meant to. He'd only wanted to protect her. But he'd done just the opposite.
And now he could feel the creeping fear in his gut as he wondered if he could ever get that trust back. If things would ever be the same between them again.
Lily left him in silence for a few seconds before shaking her head to herself. "We will discuss this later. I think it's high time that we headed home now, though." Lily drew him close.
Harry turned into his mother's side as they Apparated, hiding his face, hoping that she wouldn't notice the thick tears that were rolling down his cheeks.