After the visitors left, the Headmaster genially shooed everyone off to their respective classes, much to Snape’s irritation. He knew the brat would have questions about the comments that had been thrown about in the Great Hall, and he wanted to be the one to set the record straight… Or at least to get his version in first.

Accordingly, Snape made sure to waylay the little monster en route to lunch, and he dragged him off to their quarters where, over a meal provided by the house elves, he explained a few things.

“I am certain you have some questions from the Minister’s little tantrum this morning, Potter, so you may ask them.”

Harry chewed his sandwich thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. “So is that who the weird man in the stupid hat was? A minister?”

“Not a minister, Potter. The Minister. The Minister of Magic, to be precise – akin to the Muggle Prime Minister.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean people actually voted for him?”

Snape sighed. “I confess to a similar astonishment.”

“So why was he here?”

“Mr Malfoy has a great deal of influence over the Minister. In addition, he and the Headmaster are often at odds as to the direction Hogwarts should take. When he learned of the difficulty you had last night, Mr Malfoy hoped to use the event to embarrass the Headmaster. To that end, he coerced the Minister, and the Press as embodied by Ms Skeeter, to come to Hogwarts.” Let’s see what your Gryffindor brain will make of that, Snape thought, deliberately not providing much commentary or interpretation to the brat.

Harry frowned. “So they were trying to make the Headmaster look bad?” he asked slowly. “D’you think they did?”

Snape fought back a smile of pure pride. That’s right. We’ll make a Slytherin out of you yet. “I suspect that Ms Skeeter will find it more politic to write a heartwarming story about you than a sensational piece maligning the Headmaster.”

Harry grinned in relief. “That’s all right then. I don’t want anyone to get into trouble.”

“Do you have other questions?” Snape forced himself to ask, dreading the answer.

“Yeah – she said I had a godfather. Do I?”

“Yes.”

Harry waited, but no further information was forthcoming. “Where is he? Why don’t I know him? Who is he? When –“

“Potter! You will hyperventilate if you go on like this. Ask a different question if you can’t speak in a coherent question!”

Harry sulked but his curiosity wouldn’t let him stay quiet. “What’s a Death Eater?”

Snape wished he’d had a chance to down a Calming Draught before intercepting the brat. “You are aware of how your parents died – the real story, not the nonsense those disgusting Muggles pretended?”

Harry nodded soberly. “There was an evil wizard named Volauvent, who –“

“Don’t say that –“ Snape broke off, an odd look on his face. “What did you say?”

Harry obligingly started over. “There was an evil wizard named Volauvent –“

Snape resisted the almost overpowering urge to throw himself to the ground, laughing hysterically. “No, Potter,” he said, only the slightest tremble in his voice revealing the effort it was costing him to maintain his normal, severe visage. “A ‘vol-au-vent’ is a light pastry shell containing a savory filling. The Dark Lord’s name is –“ He conjured quill and parchment and wrote “VOLDEMORT” in large letters.

“Oh.” Harry looked over the word, even as Snape happily fantasized about Voldemort’s reaction if he were ever addressed as Lord Vol-au-Vent. Maybe Snape could come up with a hex that forced everyone to pronounce “Voldemort” that way? “I guess that makes more sense. Aunt Petunia used to have me make vol-au-vents for her club meetings. I wondered why the evil wizard would call himself that. Voldemort sounds a little scarier.”

“Don’t say that name aloud in front of me,” Snape snapped, one hand flying to his forearm even as he registered with well-disguised glee Harry’s disdainful tone. Obviously “Voldemort” was, to an 11 year old, an undistinguished choice. “You are to refer to him as ‘You Know Who’.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “That’s stupid,” he argued. “I mean it sounds like something a girl would say. If we can’t say his name, can’t we at least use a cool code name?”

Snape blinked. The power of eleven year old boys to focus on the most ridiculous issues at the expense of truly important ones never ceased to amaze him. Did Harry truly imagine Voldemort chose his name hoping to instill awe and wonder in preadolescents? Boys and Girls! Fortscue’s Ice Cream Parlor presents a “Name the Dark Lord” contest. Try to come up with the best Evil and Scary title! First prize is a seat by the Dark Lord’s Throne! Second prize is a free troll-sized sundae! Only one entry per person; cheaters will be crucio’d.

“I mean, ‘Darth Vader’ is a really good name for a bad guy. Or even ‘Skeletor’ or –“

“Enough, Potter. I doubt the Dark Lord would be troubled by your disapproval of his choice.”

“Well, I mean, is that his real name, or is he just trying to sound all wicked and tough?” Harry pressed. “There was this girl in my school an’ her real name was Janice, but when she was nine she decided she wanted to be called ‘Angelique’ an’ she refused to answer if you used her real name. Is that what he did? You know, the bad wizard? Just came up with a new name?”

Snape couldn’t believe that, with all of the revelations that had swirled about the boy’s head that morning, the brat was focusing on the Dark Lord’s choice of title. “No. He was born ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’. He assumed the title –“ he tapped the parchment “ – in an effort to distance himself from his less than ideal parentage.”

“Did he have a rotten childhood then?” Harry asked. “In school they were saying that a lot of criminals had rotten childhoods – or they’re actually crazy but they aren’t getting the medication they need. Is that his problem?”

Again, Snape was forced to fight back unmanly giggles at the innocent question. The idea that the Dark Lord’s activity could be attributed to a lack of – what did the Muggles call them? – ‘mood altering medication’ was quite appealing. Perhaps if they had laced Voldemort’s pumpkin juice with a few potions, he would have been happy to work in the Ministry alongside Arthur Weasley? “No,” he managed to say, quite firmly. “The Dark Lord was not the innocent victim of mental illness nor can any childhood, no matter how appalling, excuse his actions. He was an evil person who wished to rule the world by destroying all dissent and terrorizing the populace into following his dictates. He embraced a hateful and inaccurate philosophy that implied that certain people were better than others due to their bloodlines. He despised Muggles and anyone with ties to them.”

“If he was such a bad guy, why would anybody join him?”

Snape nearly flinched. The questions were beginning to get uncomfortably close to home. “He was an extremely powerful wizard. That in itself is attractive to many – the idea of being associated with someone whose magical strength is so great… Many find power intoxicating, particularly those who have traditionally been in positions of weakness.” Harry frowned, but nodded. “Others, while not attracted to his strength, nevertheless feared to oppose him because of it. Some embraced his philosophy as it enabled them to feel superior to others, even or perhaps especially when they were significantly less impressive and accomplished than those whom they damned as lesser creatures. And many – perhaps most – wizards and witches were content to ignore the whole thing and let others fight the battle for them.”

“Like my mum and dad fought him?” Harry asked quietly.

Snape felt a heaviness settle in his chest. “Yes.”

“They were fighting him, an’ he tried to kill them because some witch said something about a baby an’ he thought it was me?”

“Yes. It was prophesied that a child would be born who could defeat him. The Dark Lord sought to find and destroy the baby. You were identified as a potential candidate and your parents took you into hiding. They were eventually betrayed and the Dark Lord found you.”

Harry’s eyes were bright with tears. “An’ he killed them and tried to kill me an’ I killed him an’ got this scar,” he finished. “Hermione showed me a book about it.”

Snape hated what he had to say next, but he knew in the long run it was better to make the boy aware of what he would have to face. “It is not clear that you killed the Dark Lord, Potter,” he said as dispassionately as he could. “You clearly vanquished him, but it is possible that he is merely… missing.”

Harry’s eyes were wide. “You mean he could come back?”

“It is possible. Some of his followers still believe that he will, and they remain loyal to him.”

“But the book said the war was over!”

“Books say many things which are inaccurate.”

“Don’t tell that to Hermione!” Harry exclaimed. Then a shadow passed over his face. “So there are people out there who still support him? They probably don’t like me.”

“That is correct. It is also why it is important for you to study hard to be able to protect yourself – and others whom you care about,” he added swiftly, having already learned that Harry’s sense of self-preservation was underdeveloped.

“So that’s why those boys went after me?”

Snape nodded. “They held you responsible for their families’ misfortunes, ignoring the fact that their families brought the events upon themselves through their actions.”

“Are there other kids here at school who won’t like me ‘cause of what happened with Volauvent?” Harry was so concerned with his question, he didn’t realize he was still using the wrong name.

Snape decided to ignore it as well. If Harry made that mistake in public, it would likely be mistaken for Gryffindor bravado, and that might not be a bad thing. If the Dark Lord did come back, finding out He was being called a flaky pastry might so infuriate Him that He would miss with His first few Unforgivables. “There are those at Hogwarts and the rest of the wizarding world who will despise you for those events, just as there are many more who will unjustifiably laud you for the same.” At Harry’s blank look, he rephrased things. “Some people will like you for it, and some will hate you for it.”

“But that’s just stupid! I don’t even remember it, not really! I’m just Harry – why can’t people just see me and not this scar?” Harry pushed back his fringe angrily.

“Many people are foolish sheep who cannot be troubled to think for themselves.”

“But you do! You don’t just see the scar! You see me,” Harry said. “Why can’t others?”

Snape colored. It hadn’t been the scar that had blinded him to the boy at first; it had been Harry’s resemblance to James. Was he in fact any better than those who either fawned all over the brat or wished him dead, all on the basis of that lightning-shaped scar?

“As I say, Mr Potter, the majority of people are too stupid or lazy to draw their own conclusions. This is what makes people like Ms Skeeter so powerful and allows idiots like Cornelius Fudge to be elected Minister. You need to be aware of this and be careful not to begin believing your own press.”

Harry played absently with his crisps for a few minutes. Finally he looked up and asked, “Pr’fessor, why’d that lady reporter call you a Death Eater?”

Snape swallowed hard, forcing his expression to remain unchanged. “A Death Eater,” he began, “is a follower of the Dark Lord.”

Harry’s head came up fast, eyes huge. “Of Voldethingie! But you’re not –“

“I was.”

To his surprise, Harry neither recoiled nor ran screaming from the room. Instead, the boy stared intensely at him, as if trying to read his soul. “But the Headmaster said you were a spy,” he said finally. “I heard him.”

“I was.” Snape took a sip of water. “I joined the Dark Lord when I was very young and very foolish. When I came to realize the enormity of my mistake, I went to the Headmaster and asked him for help. With his assistance, I became a spy in the hopes of helping to hasten the Dark Lord’s downfall.”

“So you don’t still support Voldevent?” Harry pressed cautiously.

“No, though many still believe I do, as you observed from Ms Skeeter’s questions.”

Harry huffed. “Well, that’s just stupid.”

Snape coolly raised an eyebrow, though the boy’s declaration had caused a warm feeling to blossom in his chest.

“Well, it is,” Harry insisted. “It’s as dumb as all those people who think they know me ‘cause of my scar. They just think they know you because of what that reporter says.”

“Mm.” Snape wasn’t sure he trusted himself to say anything else; the brat’s unqualified trust both delighted and terrified him.

Harry thought of another question: “Erm, why did that lady ask about my godfather? She made it sound like I should be scared of him.”

Snape internally gnashed his teeth. That idiot Skeeter woman had a lot to answer for. “Your godfather was one of your father’s closest friends. During his Hogwarts days, your father had three best friends. Unfortunately, they turned out to be an idiot, a werewolf, and a coward.” Snape smirked as Harry’s eyes widened. “Your father made his best friend your godfather. It is widely believed he also trusted this man, Sirius Black, with the Secret of your location when your family went into hiding. When the Dark Lord found you, it was assumed that this man betrayed you to Him. There was subsequently a battle between your godfather and another of their little gang, resulting in several deaths and the disappearance of the other wizard. Your godfather was captured and imprisoned in Azkaban, a dreadful place.”

Harry was trying to keep up. “Why would my dad pick such awful friends?” he demanded, then he gasped. “These were the ones who picked on you!”

Snape merely inclined his head. At Harry’s horrified countenance, though, he softened. “Your father did – eventually – develop a more mature outlook, Potter. He demonstrated a latent intelligence when he fell in love with your mother and successfully courted her. He displayed great courage when the prophecy was made known and died bravely, defending you and your mother. Perhaps his friends did not grow up as he did, and that caused the rift which led to their betrayal; I don’t know. While they were all in school however, they delighted in swaggering around campus, picking on those whom they could get away with tormenting. I was, unluckily, their favorite target, perhaps because I was often able to defend myself.”

“So my godfather helped kill my parents an’ now he’s locked up,” Harry said bleakly.

“Not exactly,” Snape admitted. “First of all, your godfather has recently escaped, and there is speculation that he will seek to harm you for your role in defeating the Dark Lord. That is why the reporter asked if you were frightened of him.”

Harry gulped. “You won’t let him hurt me,” he said, a little shakily.

Again, warmth blossomed. “I will not let anyone hurt you, especially Sirius Black,” he spat, imbuing Black’s name with all the vitriol of twenty years of hatred.

Harry relaxed. “Then that’s okay. How would he get here, anyway?”

“Precisely,” Snape agreed. “However, there is another misperception I should correct. As I said, your godfather was imprisoned in Azkaban. There was never a trial, and it appears some in the Ministry now seek to re-open the case.”

Harry gaped at him, scandalized. “How could he not have a trial? People can’t just be sent to jail without a trial – can they?” he asked, realizing anew that he was no longer living in the Muggle world.

Snape shifted in his chair. “Not usually, but at the time, everyone was certain of his guilt, and it appears that certain… formalities… were overlooked.”

“But that’s wrong! So he’s just been locked up this whole time? What if he didn’t do it?”

“That is distinctly a minority opinion, Mr Potter,” Snape sniffed. It wouldn’t do to have the brat appear too convinced of Black’s innocence when the rest of the world expected him to be terrified.

“Yeah, but –“

“And it now appears that there will be an investigation and presumably a trial, so the matter is moot,” Snape continued in tones that brooked no argument.

“It just isn’t fair,” Harry muttered. Then he looked up again, his brow creased. “If you were a spy an’ people thought you were a Death Eater, then how come when Voldevent –“ Snape had given up trying to correct the brat “- disappeared, you didn’t get sent to Izkibibble?”

“Azkaban. And I was spared imprisonment because the Headmaster spoke up on my behalf and revealed my role as a spy. The facts were not well publicized, but the truth was made known to the Ministry, and they accepted the Headmaster’s word.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “So how come the Headmaster didn’t speak up for my godfather or make the Ministry give him a trial?”

Two points for thinking like a snake and not a lion, Snape thought, smirking. “Well reasoned, Mr Potter,” he replied. “Such perspicacity has earned a chocolate frog.” He accio’d the treat from the stash he had hidden in his quarters, knowing that those blasted books insisted that he have some way of rewarding the little brat.

Harry stated in astonishment as the frog landed in front of him, but his paralysis was quickly overcome by his greed for chocolate. “Thanks!” he said, munching away at the frog. “Erm, but what’s perssicacity?”

Snape rolled his eyes. He would have to get the brat a “Wizarding Word of the Day” calendar. “Perspicacity is another word for cleverness. It indicates that you are able to perceive subtleties and make fine distinctions. In this case, you correctly identified similarities between two unrelated cases and inquired about them. That was clever and shows that you possess the ability to think critically.”

Harry beamed.

“To answer your question, you will have to consult the Headmaster, as only he can share his motives with you.” Snape had no intention of opening that Pandora’s box. Oh, he had his suspicions, but he wasn’t going to share them with the brat. Even if Dumbledore had believed in Black’s guilt, he still should have pressed for a trial… unless he had another reason for wanting the entire matter to vanish quickly and quietly. A reason like his extremely unorthodox handling of Harry’s placement with the Dursleys, for example. Sirius Black’s trial would certainly have involved plenty of questions about The Boy Who Lived, and considering how closed-mouthed Dumbledore was being at the time about everything related to Harry, Snape could well imagine that he would not welcome anything that kept the spotlight on the Potters and their orphaned child.

He didn’t want to contemplate whether Dumbledore truly believed Black was guilty and the trial a mere formality that could, if held, have placed Harry at risk from the remaining Death Eaters. If he didn’t, and Dumbledore had cold-bloodedly allowed Black to languish in Azkaban in order to have Harry grow up in the environment he had chosen… No, that thought was almost too horrible to contemplate.

Still, even if Dumbledore wasn’t that chillingly manipulative, he had at the very least not intervened when he bloody well knew he should have, and Snape had a horrible feeling that as a result an innocent man – well, Black anyway – had endured years of undeserved torment. That alone was enough to convince Snape not to place his own or Harry’s life in the man’s hands. Dumbledore was, at best, fallible, and that meant that he wasn’t going to be trusted with Harry’s safety. Not any more.

“So… do you think he did it? My godfather, I mean,” Harry asked tentatively.

“The vast majority of the wizarding world is convinced he did, Potter, assisted by inane articles by Rita Skeeter and others. The alternative – that the Ministry could allow a miscarriage of justice this enormous – is simply too much for most to tolerate.” He tossed his head back. “I, however, have no faith in the Ministry, so while I have every reason to know how spiteful and reckless your godfather is, I am unwilling to condemn him on the sole evidence that ‘everyone knows it’s true’,” he sneered.

Harry looked mournful. “I wish life worked out an’ was fair an’ –“

“Do not prattle on like a naïve nitwit, Potter. If that were the case, you would not have spent ten years of your life in those Muggles’ cupboard, treated like a house elf and thrashed mercilessly.”

Harry squirmed. “It wasn’t that bad,” he argued unconvincingly. “I mean, mostly it was just a slap or two.”

Snape glared at him. “Do you need another set of lines?”

“No, sir!” Harry assured him quickly.

Snape eyed him thoughtfully. “If I were to treat your friend Mr Weasley as the Dursleys treated you, giving him ‘just a slap or two’, would you say I was justified in my behavior?”

“You wouldn’t do that!” Harry protested.

Snape shrugged. “Why not, if it’s not ‘that bad’?” he taunted. “After all, Weasley can be extremely annoying.”

“All right!” Harry snapped, feeling embarrassed and angry though he was unsure why. “All right, I understand!” His professor didn’t have to be so snarky about it. It was just that Harry didn’t like to think that he’d been treated so badly. It made his head hurt. Better to pretend it hadn’t been so awful, except that Professor Snape wouldn’t let him get away with doing so.

“Good,” Snape replied sternly. “Do not let me hear you exonerating those disgusting creatures for their actions, or mitigating their crimes in any way. You did not deserve that treatment. You are a very special child whose self-esteem is sorely lacking.” Snape glared at the brat awfully as he said that; he didn’t want the little fiend to think he was getting soft.

Harry squirmed, his irritation slowly being replaced by a tingling of pleasure at his professor’s words. Very special child. He really liked it when his professor said stuff like that, especially since he didn’t use a drippy, squishy sweet voice that would have horribly embarrassed Harry. When Auntie Molly called him “love” or “dear”, it was okay, because that was what mums were supposed to say. But if his professor had gotten all mushy on him, Harry would have wanted to sink through the floor. This way, it wasn’t that Harry was a babyish idiot who desperately longed for a mummy and daddy, it was that he had a guardian who was strong and strict and forced him to accept his affection. That was much better for Harry’s ego.

“All right, Potter, now that you have finished your meal and I have satisfied your insatiable curiosity, you may rejoin your class,” Snape ordered.

“Okay,” Harry said agreeably, standing and gathering his things. “An’ I can still help with potion ingredients tonight, right?”

“If your homework has been done to my satisfaction,” Snape warned.

Harry rolled his eyes. “ ‘Kay. Oh, an’ Hermione’s going to come too,” he called out as he slipped through the door, oblivious to his professor’s horrified expression.