Harry woke with a start. He had just had the strangest nightmare he'd had in a while. He had dreamed that Uncle Vernon had gone mad, and taken him and the Dursleys to a shack in the sea, where he'd been kidnapped by a magical man that looked like a vampire…
The room was a blur around him, but as he groped about for his glasses, it became quickly apparent that he was not in his cupboard, nor in Dudley's second room on Privet Drive. His heart stuttered with fear. It hadn't been real. Surely, his nightmare hadn't been real!
He found his glasses sitting on an end table next to what felt like a sofa he seemed to have slept on. He slipped the glasses on his face and looked around. He was in an unfamiliar room. It was brighter, cleaner and cozier than the shack in the sea had been, but it was not as big or expensively decorated as the Dursley's place. He was wrapped under a pile of soft, warm blankets, and as he sat up, he was left with the odd impression that Dudley's old cast offs fit him better than they had the night before.
As he blinked, he realized that each object in the room appeared crisper in his vision than it had the day before, too, as if the lenses in his glasses had been changed to a more proper prescription as he slept.
Where was he? The room had no television, and only one sofa. There was a large bookcase filled with books, too far away to read any of the titles, and an old-fashioned radio sat in the corner.
The two large living room windows faced the morning sun, and the curtains were open – fully pulled back. So, he probably wasn't in a vampire's lair, then. He supposed that was comforting.
"Good morning," a gruff, sardonic voice said behind him, making him jump.
He spun around to see the man from last night, tall and pale, with long, lank hair and a large nose. He was dressed in the same strange robes as he had been wearing the night before. "Who are you?" Harry asked wearily, moving to put more of the sofa between the two of them, in case he had to make a run for it.
"My name is Severus Snape. Professor Snape to you, as I am the potions professor at Hogwarts. I suppose I should actually deliver your letter, now."
Harry stared at the man for a long moment, before skittishly inching forward enough to take the letter from Professor Snape's outstretched hand with nervous anticipation, and quickly read it. And then read it again. "Reply by owl?"
"Merlin, relax, Potter. I'm not going to hex you. I work for Hogwarts, and was sent to find you by the headmaster himself. As to your question, owls are the standard means of long-distance Wizarding communication," Professor Snape said, waving his hand dismissively. "I take it you don't have one?"
"No, Sir."
"Well, they are on the approved list of pets allowed at Hogwarts. I suggest you invest in one today. Tell me, Potter, what do you know about our world?"
Harry's thoughts were racing as he tried to keep up with this increasingly strange conversation. "What do you mean, our world?"
"The Wizarding World. The world your parents lived in. The world they died to protect."
His mind went blank, and he shook his head in denial, backing away from the strange man. They had the wrong person. "I'm not a wizard. My parents died in a car accident. I think there's been a mistake."
Professor Snape frowned dangerously. Harry gulped. "Your relatives told you nothing, then?"
Harry shrugged helplessly, surreptitiously looking around for an escape route he could take if the man got violent. "No, Sir."
"Lily Evans Potter and James Potter – your parents – did not die in a car accident. They died fighting against a very dark wizard. They died protecting you."
Harry shook his head in denial, even as his reoccurring dream of a green flash of light and a woman's scream echoed in his mind, accompanied, for the first time, by a cruel, cold laugh, high and terrible.
"Tell me, Potter, have you never done unusual things; never made things happen by simply thinking them?"
No, he… Harry had, he realized. Growing his hair back to avoid embarrassment, finding himself on the school roof to avoid Dudley, Piers, and the others, making the glass at the zoo disappear, in an act of both kindness and revenge. His eyes went wide, and he looked at Professor Snape imploringly, for an explanation.
"You're a wizard, Potter. You always have been. You were born into it."
"How do you know that?"
"I knew your parents, Potter, and the incident where they died, where you got that scar of yours, also marked the defeat of the dark wizard that had plagued our world for years. Your parents were hailed as heroes. They are very famous, almost as famous as you are."
"I… you knew my parents?" Harry latched onto the least crazy part of the statement.
The professor's severe features softened a little, and he took a small, tentative step forward. "I did. Your mother and I were childhood friends. I have many fond memories of her. Your father and I were… less close, but we did go to school together, at Hogwarts. Your mother went there, too."
"What were they like?" Harry asked, eagerness overwhelming his doubt and trepidation. He had never had anyone, anyone, who would talk about his parents to him before, and he was worried that his heart was beating too loudly for him to hear the man's answer.
"Your mother was both kind and resourceful," Professor Snape said with a reminiscent smile. "She was very clever, and had a wicked sense of humor, but an even stronger sense of justice. She despised bullies. She was a loyal friend, but she knew how to stand up for herself, too. I met her before we went to Hogwarts, and even though we were sorted into different houses, she remained my friend for a long time, and stood up for me against… against the bullies who harassed me. Not that she didn't yell at me when I fought back against them too viciously, either."
Harry felt warm inside. His mother sounded like a girl he would have liked to be friends with; someone he could be proud of, not ashamed of, as the Dursleys sometimes insisted. "And my dad?"
"Your father… I am not the best person to ask about your father. Like I said, we were not close. But he was very popular, and a good flier. He was also… very brave, in the end."
Harry smiled, and nodded, with tears stinging his eyes. His parents were good people. He wanted to learn more. He was desperate to keep this stranger talking, but didn't want to scare him off with any questions that might be too personal. He opted for a round-about approach. "What did you mean, about being sorted into different houses at school?"
The man's demeanor shifted, and he seemed to enter 'professor mode'. "You saw the Hogwarts crest on your letter? The four animals? They represent the school's four houses. They are Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. I, myself, am the head of Slytherin house. Each house is meant to represent or embody a different ideal or virtue in its members. Ravenclaw champions a thirst for knowledge. Gryffindor champions bravery. Hufflepuff champions loyalty, and Slytherin champions cunning and ambition. It is normal for students to embody a certain level of all of these attributes, of course, but being placed with other students with the same dominant trait, in common rooms and environments meant to foster those traits, does tend to hone and sharpen them."
Harry nodded. That made sense. "And you were in Slytherin, Sir?"
"I was. Both of your parents were Gryffindors, but I think your mother would have done well in any of the houses. She was certainly loyal, and cunning, and she was smarter than anyone else our age. She was brilliant at charms, and her and I shared a passion for potions. I went on to get a mastery in Potions, and at least when we had spoken about it last, your mother had planned to do the same."
Professor Snape had been dropping hints since the conversation had started, and Harry, despite fearing driving the man away, felt compelled to ask, "Sir, did you and my mother have a fight? Is that why you don't know for sure if that was still the plan?"
Professor Snape sighed heavily, and ran his fingers through his greasy-looking hair. "That is very perceptive, Potter, and while it is not something I wish to speak about at length, yes, we had a fight. She stopped speaking to me, and she was murdered before I had a change to redeem myself, to apologize and make things right. To this day, I still count that among my greatest regrets."
"I'm sorry for asking, Sir," Harry said, desperately thinking of another, safer question to ask. "Is potions something like chemistry?"
Professor Snape gave Harry an amused smirk, letting him know that the deflection had not gone unnoticed, but he answered anyways. "In a way, yes. Muggle – that is non-magical – science focuses on the chemical and physical properties of the world that muggles can perceive. They are blind to the magical properties of the world, and thus cannot study and categorize them. So, while chemistry is the study of combining the chemical properties of various substances to create new ones, potions is the study of combining substances based on their magical properties. It is a study that follows the same logical rules as a muggle science, but it is not something a muggle would be capable of understanding or replicating. It requires a magical core to observe and manipulate."
"And you're sure I have a magical core, Sir? I mean, you're sure I'll belong at Hogwarts, in the Wizarding World? What happens if there's been a mistake, and I'm not magical enough, if I'm defective, or a freak, or something?"
"The Hogwarts registry does not make mistakes, Potter. It knows you belong at Hogwarts. Lily's son most certainly belongs there."
"Will I be behind, Sir? I'm assuming that there are children raised in the magical world. Have they been learning about magic, already? Is there a magical primary school, or something?"
"There are some wizarding day schools for younger children, yes, although most families opt for private tutoring, if they can afford it. No children are allowed to have a wand before they turn eleven, though, and while they might learn a little magical theory, they are mostly taught wizarding history, along with basic comprehensive disciplines, like language studies and mathematics. They do, however, have the advantage of passively observing and absorbing the sorts of spells that their parents and other adults cast in their presence. They already know some of the limits and possibilities of what magic can do."
"Is there something I can do to catch up, Sir?"
"I suppose I can point out some additional material you can purchase, when we reach Diagon Ally."
Harry's face fell. He didn't have any money of his own, and there was no way the Dursley's would allow him to spend money on extra books. They would be mad enough if Harry couldn't find second-hand versions of everything he needed. "No, never mind. That's okay. I'm sure I'll manage, without. It would be unfair to the other children raised with muggles, right?"
"There is nothing wrong with putting in the work to better one's self, Mr. Potter. We'll stop by the wizarding bank, when we first arrive. Your tuition was paid for, in advance, but I'm sure your parents left you enough money to comfortably cover the cost of supplies, plus a few extra books. Your mother, especially, would be proud to see you investing in your education and your future."
Harry's chest lurched with painful hope. "You think… you think my parents left me money and things?"
"I'm sure they did. We'll see, soon enough. Why don't you clean yourself up, while I make us breakfast? We can leave, after that."
Harry got ready as fast as he could, his stomach rumbling non-stop once Professor Snape mentioned the prospect of food. He looked at himself in the mirror after he'd taken a quick shower and redressed. Dudley's cast offs definitely fit him better, and they'd been patched up, too. They looked almost like they'd been bought for him, brand new.
Two plates of food were set out on the kitchen table when Harry entered the kitchen, and Professor Snape was pouring himself a cup of coffee, before he sat down, gesturing for Harry to do the same.
The food was simple fare, but it was delicious. Fried eggs, bacon, beans, tomato slices, and toast with butter, as well as a large glass of cold, creamy milk. Harry ate until he felt like his stomach would burst, and then sheepishly apologized for his rudeness, and offered to clean the dishes.
Professor Snape accepted his offer, but joined him at the sink, drying the dishes after Harry washed them, and putting them away. They worked companionably in silence.
"You have a good work ethic," Professor Snape commented softly.
Harry blushed. "I don't want to be useless, Sir. I know that you're doing me a huge favor by spending so much time with me, today. I wanted to show that I'm not ungrateful."
"Well, thank-you, Mr. Potter. Harry. Not many children your age are so… considerate."
Harry thought about his cousin, and about Piers Polkiss, and nodded. "I suppose that's true, Sir. I think, maybe most kids expect all adults to be like their own parents, and be loved and accepted, no matter what they do."
"And you know better?"
Harry hesitated, then nodded, worried that the question was a trap.
"I knew that, too, when I was your age," Professor Snape said, giving Harry's shoulder a short, comforting squeeze. "Let's get going."
"Yes, Sir!" Harry said eagerly.
"Hold still for a second. I'm going to put a glamour on your scar."
"What's a glamour?"
"It's a charm that will make your scar less noticeable when people look at you. Everyone knows about the story of how you got it, and everyone will recognize you, if they see it. I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want to be harassed by strangers wanting to shake your hand or take your picture the entire time we're supposed to be shopping."
Harry shuddered. He did not want that either. He had always liked his scar, thought it looked cool, but if it was going to cause him that much trouble, it wasn't worth it. "Can you make the glamour permanent, Sir? I don't want to be famous. I just want to be normal."
"It would take something stronger than a simple glamour to hide it forever, Mr. Potter, and people would recognize you eventually, even without it. You look very much like your father did at your age, and your eyes are startlingly similar to your mother's. I'm afraid you will have to learn to live with the fame, but hopefully this will help you ease into to public eye slowly."
Harry's heart sank. "So, it's true? I'll never be normal; I'll always be a freak?!"
"Is that what the Dursleys told you?"
Harry looked down at his old trainers, and scuffed his toes on the floor. "Maybe."
"Harry, you are not a freak. You survived a curse that was meant to kill you. No one knows why, exactly, but that does not mean that there is not a rational reason for what happened. You survived, and the dark wizard who attacked you vanished. People see that as a miracle, and yes, some people will treat you differently because of it. But that doesn't have to define you. Work hard. Study hard. Prove yourself to be more than just a scar and a name.
"I, for one, promise to treat you fairly. If you work hard in my class, I will give you the praise you deserve. If you are lazy or careless, I will punish you like I would anyone else. I will give you the opportunity to earn my respect. Does that sound fair?"
Harry's eyes gleamed as he nodded with fierce determination. Now that Professor Snape had mentioned it as a possibility, Harry desperately wanted the chance to prove himself. Dudley hadn't gotten a letter. Dudley would not be at Hogwarts to turn the teachers and other students against him. He was famous, apparently, but Harry was not going to let that stand in his way. There was a month left of summer. He would study hard, and become so good at magic, that no one would be able to think that he was a freak who didn't deserve to be there. "I promise I'll make you proud, Sir. I promise."
"Very well, Potter. Let's get this shopping trip over with."