Seven Drops and Asphodel Blooms
Summary: When Harry blows up his aunt during the summer, Dumbledore is much quicker to react. Snape finds him far before the Minister does, but his plan of dropping him off with a lecture and half a dozen additional summer assignments doesn't work out.
In which Harry spends the summer at Spinner's End.
Chapter 18
"How about dragon claws?"
"Too volatile. An outcome almost impossible to predict."
They climbed the stairs to Grimmauld Place, skipping the step that had come down with a curse last week.
"Weeping eytelia bark?"
Snape considered this. "Little magical potential, but not impossible. Perhaps worth a trial."
"Spoolwood too, then. Same family, so it should have similar attributes."
Snape paused, halfway through the front door. "Are you trying to impress me with your Herbology prowess?"
Harry slipped into the house behind him. "Is it working?"
"In stark contrast to last year, I dare hope you stand a chance of earning an acceptable grade."
Harry had another retort ready to go, but he cut himself off when he realized that Sirius was waiting for him in the hallway. Snape had spotted him too, so he didn't call Harry out on his sudden tongue-tied-ness.
In a truly commendable token of restraint neither of them instigated a fight, but Sirius had clearly overheard their conversation. He acted grumpy over it all morning.
After some more prodding on Harry's part, Sirius and Remus finally let him help rid the house of all traces of Sirius' late family. Harry wasn't exactly desperate to spend his holidays doing chores, but rummaging through decades old magical artifacts beat polishing and waxing Aunt Petunia's kitchen floors.
He'd gone through hypnotically smelling sticks of incense, a chest full of suspiciously stained nails, and a strange ceramic flute called an ocarina (according to Sirius) that he definitely shouldn't try to play (according to Remus) before Remus excused himself. He'd been feeling under the weather all morning.
(The next full moon was close – Harry knew, because the night sky flowers' constellations always shone brightest around this time of the month.)
(Harry was glad he'd managed to convince Snape to brew the Wolfsbane before Remus had to go through another transformation without it.)
Maybe Sirius had been waiting for a moment alone, because he said, "When you told me where you were staying over the summer, I thought you were pulling my leg."
Harry set down a glass jar he couldn't decipher the inscription of – they looked a bit like the symbols Hermione studied in Ancient Runes – without saying anything.
"I'd be lying if I said I've come to terms with it." Sirius tugged at a strand of hair that had wrestled itself free from his hair tie. "Stupid, I know. Not like it was ever my decision."
Harry gave up on trying to make himself look interested in the clutter surrounding them. He stared at the glass jar just to have something to focus on. "He's changing," he said quietly. "He's already much better than he used to be."
Sirius made a disbelieving sound at the back of his throat. It sounded abrupt, like he hadn't managed to hold it back in time. "Before I escaped I hadn't spoken to him in ten years," he said instead. "That's a long time."
"Yeah."
More silence followed, one that Harry stood no chance of deciphering. When he tried to sneak a glimpse, his godfather's expression was unreadable.
Sirius sighed. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"
"With Snape?"
Sirius shrugged. "Yeah. But also in general."
"I'm fine," Harry said reflexively before realizing that didn't actually answer Sirius' question. "I'd tell you if I wasn't. Promise."
Sirius nodded, his brows furrowed. It wasn't a happy look, but at least he made no more comments about Snape. "I don't think I've apologized to you."
That took Harry aback. "What for?"
"I should have been there for you." Sirius was avoiding his eyes again. "After your parents... You should have never gotten stuck with your relatives in the first place."
Harry understood then that if Sirius hadn't gone after Pettigrew all those years ago, Harry might have been raised by him. He would have lived a completely different life. He would have grown up in the magical community from the start.
"Oh." He didn't know what to say.
He felt an irrational sense of loss for the life he could have had. Sirius could have been like his father.
"I just," Sirius let out a joyless laugh, "it feels so unbelievably unfair that Snape gets to do what I should have– And I know it's my own damn fault, but I just–"
He inhaled shakily and muttered, "I feel so incredibly stupid for losing twelve years of knowing you." He grimaced. "I guess some part of me still thought of you as a smaller version of James. I didn't realize how little I knew you until I watched you act so casual around Sniv– around Snape."
Harry gave a helpless little shrug. "It wasn't like that from the start. We couldn't stand each other until last year."
"So what changed?" The question didn't sound like an accusation. Sirius seemed almost desperate to understand.
Harry hesitated. "I don't know. We got to know each other. Kind of had to, since we live in the same house." He paused. "And I guess… Well, you know he hated me because of my dad. So it got a lot better when he stopped seeing me as him."
There was a pause before Sirius gave a startled, groaning sort of laugh. "Point taken, but ouch. Can't believe you just compare me to that– to Snape. Come on, kid, I feel dirty now."
Harry grinned despite himself. The silence felt a lot more comfortable than before.
Sirius let out another sigh. This one felt definite. "Alright, come on. Mom's trash isn't gonna get rid of itself."
He made an effort not to speak badly of Snape after that.
Harry was perhaps getting a little too invested in the clean-up. Sure, there were old clothes and cracked dishes to sort through, but there were also contraptions he had never seen before, old brooms Harry itched to take out for a flight and magical books that he doubted even Madam Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, would have set eyes on before.
They were still clearing out what might have been a study in its better days, failing to pry open a heavy gold locket, when Snape arrived to take Harry back.
Unfortunately for Snape, he passed by the cursed walking canes they'd barely managed to tame earlier.
"Ah. You're back," Sirius said without trying to pretend like he cared about the canes that had tried clubbing him over the head not half an hour earlier springing back into action.
"Get your house under control," Snape snapped, chucking the (now charred) canes to the other side of the room.
Sirius scoffed without looking up. "I don't want to know what you keep in yours."
Harry wisely decided not to mention that if Snape stored cursed objects in his house (which wouldn't be at all out-of-character for him), they were well enough hidden that Harry had yet to stumble over them the entire time he'd spent at Spinner's End.
"Just this last pile and the closet to go through," Sirius said, deciding to ignore Snape altogether. The room had resembled a run-down bazaar crossed with a garbage dump. Now it almost looked like something remotely possible to live in. "Though I think we'll leave the closet alone for now. I'm pretty sure I heard something scratch the door from the in–"
"How did you get this?"
Sirius and Harry both turned. Snape stood in front of the pile of objects they'd deemed 'possibly not completely worthless', staring at the gold locket neither of them had managed to open.
"My dearest family likely got it through highly unethical and most likely illegal means," Sirius said flatly. "I'm insulted you would assume that any of this stuff is mine."
Snape tore his eyes away from the locket. His face looked even paler than usual. "This has Salazar Slytherin's mark on it."
Sirius pulled a face. "Ew. Well, good riddance."
Snape's thunderstruck expression morphed into one of utter scandal. "You're going to throw it away?"
"Well, I'm not going to keep it."
"What if it's genuine?"
"All the more reason to toss it."
"I'll take it."
Sirius straightened his spine like he was preparing for a fight just for the hell of it. He seemed to change his mind at the last second, his eyes flickering to Harry. "Whatever. As long as it's gone."
Snape didn't say another word, though he kept sending wary glances at Sirius like he expected him to tear the locket back out of his hands.
As soon as they were back home, he whipped out a withered spellbook and various instruments Harry stood no chance of understanding, casting spell after spell over the locket that seemed to have no effect on it at all. By the end of the day it had disappeared into some corner of Snape's study.
If Snape had any more success at opening it than Harry and Sirius, he didn't mention it.
When Harry entered the kitchen on the morning of his 14th birthday, Hedwig was already waiting for him. She sat on the kitchen table (Snape had proven to be surprisingly tolerant of her), nibbling on a piece of toast and a small stack of birthday presents next to her.
"Thanks, Hedwig." Harry stepped up to the pile, grinning.
She looked up from her toast for just long enough to give him a gracious hoot.
Old habits seemed to die hard, as Hagrid, Hermione and Ron had all sent him packages of cakes and sweets. Though Harry no longer feared starvation over the holidays, he appreciated the presents just as much.
Sirius and Remus had given him several pictures of his parents he would add to the photo album he'd once gotten from Hagrid, as well as a trinket they'd found in a glass cabinet at Grimmauld Place: a beautiful figure of an occamy. They'd reassured him in the letter they'd sent alongside it that Sirius, Remus and Snape had all had their turn of making sure it was harmless.
Lastly, next to a generous helping of Mrs. Weasley's treacle tart, was an unwrapped book that looked like somebody just happened to have left it there. Harry picked it up to read the cover. It said '107 Potion Recipes for Hopeless Airheads'.
Harry snorted and added it to the small pile, right on top of Ron's enormous package of cauldron cakes.
He tried one of the recipes ('Headache Remedy in 11 Steps – Even a Simpleton Could Brew It!') later that afternoon. Snape still didn't trust him alone in the study after the debacle that had introduced Harry to the muggle librarian and watched his every step.
He didn't mention the book, though he did send Harry a glance that looked suspiciously close to approval when his potion turned out almost precisely the shade of lavender the instructions told him it should be.
"Ron asks if I want to come along to the Quidditch Cup." Actually Ron had asked if anything short of wagering away his soul would grant him permission to be let go for the Quidditch final. Harry, however, was a natural at paraphrasing. "His family's got an extra ticket. They even invited me to stay at the Burrow for the rest of the summer."
"How generous of them." Snape squinted through a floating hand lens as he positioned a tiny tweezer and an even tinier scalpel. Harry refused to believe anybody could use the tools without magic to help them along.
Snape had been dethorning his cutleaf harlequins for about half an hour; an endeavor he'd deemed to be so risky that Harry earned himself warning glares whenever he leaned so much as an inch too closely to the table Snape was commandeering.
"It's not a problem," Harry pressed. "Right? Dumbledore said the Burrow was okay for a few weeks."
Snape finished dethorning one of the flowers with impossibly delicate motions. He discarded it on a growing pile. "I have no objections if Dumbledore has none," he finally said. "I trust you've put thought into your transportation?"
"Can't I just use the Floo?"
"Provided you communicate a set date and time, I see no issues with that."
"I'll send another letter today," Harry promised.
Another flower had its thorns meticulously removed. Harry was kind of glad he wasn't being made to help.
He thought about packing but decided against it. There was still over a week until the Quidditch Cup, so it wouldn't make sense to prepare for the Burrow already. One more week here and another two at the Burrow – Harry realized that the summer holidays had never gone by as quickly as they had this time.
The question occurred to him a few days later as he was stuffing robes and old socks into the gaps between his school supplies. He took a look at his school trunk before considering everything left scattered in his room.
There was the cutting of lemon balm he'd kept from their last trip to the castle – too old to be used as an effective Potions ingredient, but still smelling faintly of lemon and just a hint of mint.
On his bedside table lay the old photo album he'd gotten from Hagrid during his first year, containing all the pictures he owned of his parents. Next to it was the occamy figure Remus and Sirius had given him for his birthday.
More plants covered the windowsill. Harry hadn't realized how many of them he'd piled up until he'd been forced to let Hedwig into the house downstairs for fear of her knocking down half of his flower pots.
He had no clue how he was supposed to fit all of it into his trunk.
"Have you finished packing?" Snape asked him that evening, after everything had been settled with the Weasleys and Sirius.
"Almost." Despite looking forward to the game, Harry had been procrastinating all day.
Was this what the summer holidays were like for everybody else? For Ron and Hermione, who all had families that made Harry wonder why they ever decided to stay in Hogwarts at all during the winter and spring breaks?
"I was wondering," he said, and paused, because despite everything that had changed since last summer, it still felt like an odd conversation to have with his teacher. "Just... how permanent is this?"
"'This'?" Snape echoed in that special tone of voice he used where Harry couldn't tell whether he ought to feel insulted or not.
"You know." Harry made a vague gesture with his hand. "Me. Living here. I'm going to the Burrow this time, but what about next summer? What about the one after that?" Harry had four more years of school ahead of him. Including this one, that meant four summers in which he needed a place to stay.
"That entirely depends on your personal wishes," Snape said quietly. "Black has repeatedly stated his willingness to house you, now that his home no longer resembles a death trap."
Harry allowed himself a moment to picture it. He'd bring all of his things to Grimmauld Place, pick the least dingy room he'd helped clean up, and live with Sirius and – for as long as he decided to stay – Remus. He'd learn to live with Mrs. Black's shrieking and the odd sounds that creeped through the house at all times of the day.
Some of his plants needed more light than the old-fashioned, stained windows allowed inside. Maybe Sirius or Remus could help him out with a spell...
His visits to Grimmauld Place were fun, but what would living with Sirius be like in the long-term? Sirius didn't seem the type to care about when he went to bed or whether he did his homework or not. He also didn't seem the type to take the Statue of Secrecy seriously.
There'd be no more surprise trips to Hogwarts or afternoons in Snape's greenhouse. He wouldn't get to bring the living room painting or the night sky flowers. There'd be no more brewing in Snape's study – though when exactly Potions had morphed into something he'd miss, Harry had no idea.
"I like it here," he said quietly, feeling awfully like he was betraying his godfather once again.
But he still knew so little of Sirius. He loved spending time with him, but up until a few weeks ago he hadn't known the man at all. Moving in with him for good... Harry would have to figure out everything from scratch. He'd have to find out about Sirius' rules and expectations. He'd have to find new ways to spend his summers.
He'd have to bid goodbye to the routine he'd formed. That was probably the main reason the thought of leaving Spinner's End formed a lump in his throat.
"I want to keep visiting," he said, thankful that for once Snape was simply waiting. "But I don't think I want to move in permanently."
Had Harry not paid close attention, he would have missed the miniscule widening of Snape's eyes. It was gone in a flash.
Harry summoned all of his courage and added, "There's nowhere else I'd rather go, either."
The pause that followed had him fidget in place. He dug his fingers deep into his left forearm, letting the discomfort distract him.
"Very well."
Harry let go of his arm. "Really?"
Snape – having looked into the distance with an unreadable expression – turned his head and met Harry's gaze. "Yes. Quite."
Harry tore his eyes away. The urge to fidget grew tenfold, but it felt giddy instead of anxious now.
He didn't end up packing everything. "It doesn't all fit in my trunk," he said, shrugging in response to Snape's question.
Some old letters he'd kept since his first year at Hogwarts stayed in his bedside drawer (though he carefully stored away every single one of Lily's). He put away some of Dudley's old clothes out of habit, then realized that with the new clothes Snape had gotten for him at the beginning of the summer he no longer needed them and tossed them instead.
His plans of replacing his own Potions textbook with Snape's and excelling in all future classes were quickly foiled. Snape told him he could have it for additional reading, but would have to get by on his own during classes. After all, "How else am I to determine how much you've learned?"
All of his plants one by one made their way into the greenhouse. Harry managed to store all of them in the correct climate but one – a tricky kind of spoolwood that had done perfectly fine in his room but would instantly wither if it wasn't kept under tundra-like conditions for at least a month out of the year, according to Snape.
"Don't forget about them when we return," Snape told him, reapplying the wards that would keep the greenhouse in stasis during their time at Hogwarts.
They weren't active yet, but they would be in two weeks, when Snape made his way to school for good.
(Now knowing that Snape had such a simple way into the castle, Harry wondered how often he visited his home during the school year.)
Harry nodded, feeling something impossible to define at hearing the words 'when we return'.
He found the Marauder's map lying on the kitchen table the morning before he was due to leave for the Burrow.
Having almost accepted its loss after Snape had confiscated it last school term, Harry didn't hesitate before stuffing it into his pocket, deciding not to question Snape's surprising bout of generosity.
A/N:
Sirius, realizing he'll have to play nice with Snape from now on:
Sirius:
Sirius: so is it too late to go back to Azkaban yet
xxx
Many thanks to To Mockingbird, Igornerd and flyingcat!
~Gwen