Snape picked up the Potion Timer. It was undoubtedly one of those he had seen in the Hogsmeade bookshop; small, round and smooth, a polished amethyst embedded in its silver surface.          

20 Galleons. There was no way the boy had that much money. And even if he did, the old clerk hadn’t seemed like the kind of person who’d sell a young boy an expensive object such as this without an adult’s permission.

No, quite clearly, Harry had not paid for it. Snape clenched his fist around the thing. Here he was, sacrificing his morning to give the boy a treat, and the first thing the brat did was prove that he had a criminal streak a mile wide. Snape had never even noticed him go near the Potion Timers, let alone… Apparently, Harry was quite the accomplished thief.

But Snape had known that, of course. He’d seen in the boy’s memories how it had been: First, Harry had taken only small snacks from the supermarket shelves, enough to sustain him when his aunt and uncle once again decided to withhold his meals. Then… well, the boy needed notebooks and pencils for school. Petunia was not going to buy them, so the child found a way to provide for himself… and in true Slytherin fashion, morals could be set aside if they hindered one’s survival. Survival, in Harry’s case, meant not starving, not freezing his fingers off in winter, not being punished because he always “forgot” his school things…

Harry was a thief out of necessity; a survivor. And now, a thief who stole not for himself, but to give a gift to someone, however ill-advised.

Snape sighed. Foolish boy; did he really think his teacher would appreciate stolen goods? He was not looking forward to this conversation. He could not let it slide, of course, but neither did he want to destroy what tentative trust he might have established with the boy.

He looked back down at the scribbled note and at Marlowe, who was watching him with an unreadable expression in his amber eyes.

“What am I going to do with the little dunderhead?”

The Kneazle meowed.

“He deserves a month’s detention for this, you know.”

Marlowe’s tail twitched.

“Or two.”

Marlowe jumped off his chair and, in a rare display, bumped his large head against Snape’s shin.

“Yes, I do realize that you have taken a liking to the boy, but he cannot go around stealing things. He’s a young wizard, not a Kneazle kit.”

Marlowe looked at him as if to say “what’s the difference” and stalked out of the kitchen, tail held high.

Well. It wasn’t as if he had never had this talk before. Thievery did happen in Slytherin House; Snape had no illusions about his snakes in that respect. Hufflepuffs generally didn’t steal because it would hurt their friends; Ravenclaws understood the rational necessity for respecting property, and Gryffindors fancied themselves too noble to take what wasn’t theirs (and most of them had rich parents, anyway). His Slytherins… well, if the opportunity presented itself and the temptation was great, some of them weren’t above pocketing another child’s belongings. Snape fought the good fight, trying to eradicate the habit, but he wasn’t always successful. And Harry’s case was complicated by the fact that this particular Slytherin had needed to steal in order to survive. How on Earth was he, Snape, going to explain the difference to the child?

Snape wondered if he should call Albus. The headmaster had a way of getting through to even the most pigheaded people; hell, he’d made a tearful Mundungus Fletcher return a stolen baby unicorn to an irate Hagrid. If he talked to Harry…

But Snape had never been one to ask for help, and after a moment or two, he returned to the living room, sitting down with his tea and staring into the fireplace. This was between Harry and him, and Snape knew that he would need some time to think before the boy came back.

###

Snape was in his office grading papers when he heard to door to his quarters open and close. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Harry had returned on time, half an hour before it was time for the boy to go to bed.

He set his quill in its holder and got up. He’d thought about the upcoming talk for quite a while, and hoped that he could do it without his damned temper getting the better of him. The boy had had enough of that from his Muggle uncle.

Harry smiled at him, and Snape realized that the child had been looking forward to seeing him, knowing that Snape must have found his “surprise” by now. He sighed inwardly.

“Have you had dinner?” he asked the boy by way of greeting.

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

“ ‘Yes, sir.’ ”

“Yes, sir,” the boy repeated obediently. Snape noticed that Harry was watching him from the corners of his eyes, obviously expecting something.

Well, no sense in procrastinating.

“We need to talk,” he told the boy, whose face instantly took on a wary expression. So he’d noticed that Snape wasn’t exactly pleased. Good. “Go and sit in the living room; I’ll join you in a minute.”

Harry did as he was told, giving Snape an uneasy glance over his shoulder. Snape went into the kitchen and busied himself with some left-over dishes; he wanted Harry to wait for a while, if only to give the boy time to think. Harry probably knew on some level that what he’d done was wrong; the crux would be getting him to admit it.

After a few minutes had passed, he went into the living room, where he found the boy sitting in one of the arm-chairs by the fire. Snape wasted no time, sat down in the arm-chair next to Harry’s and put the Potion Timer on the coffee table between them.

“Explain,” he said.

Harry frowned. “It’s for you. I wrote you a note.”

“I know,” Snape said, taking care to speak quite calmly. “I’m aware that you didn’t pay for this, Harry.”

The use of his name seemed to startle the boy. “Yes, I did,” he said quickly, trying to cover up his reaction.

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Do not lie to me.”

“I’m not!” the boy protested. “I left some Galleons on the table.”

“If I recall correctly, you started out with five Galleons,” Snape said. “The dragon cost three, so it can’t have been more than two Galleons.”

The boy nodded, looking down at his hands. “It was all I’d left.”

“And you were well aware that the Potion Timer cost more than that. You heard me talking to the clerk.”

The boy was smart enough not to deny the obvious. “I… I thought you’d like it,” he muttered.

Snape looked at him long and hard, and finally decided that the boy wasn’t trying to play him. Harry had genuinely wanted to please him, even if he’d known that his methods weren’t entirely legal. He’d only ever stolen for himself; this time, he’d stolen to… what? Get the praise and acceptance he so obviously craved? Possibly, Snape thought. Harry must have wanted his approval so much that he resorted to any means to get it. The thought was chilling. Harry had handed him the power to manipulate him into just about anything… and Snape didn’t want to know what that power could do in the wrong hands. Well, that wasn’t quite right. He already knew what that power could do in the wrong hands.

“Look at me, Harry.”

The boy obeyed, and now there was real fear on his face. “I… I didn’t…”

“Don’t,” Snape interrupted. “It is important that you understand this, so listen closely. There’s a law in the wizarding world that a person may steal to prevent themselves from dying of starvation. Wizards cannot conjure food from nothing, so they can suffer starvation like any other human being. If that happens - and only then! – the witch or wizard in question will not be punished if they’re caught.”

“You saw,” the boy said quietly, and Snape knew that he was referring to the memories that had been taken from him, in which Harry had stolen food from supermarket shelves.

“I did,” Snape nodded. “Your relatives refused to feed you, so you had to provide for yourself. You had no choice. But-” he continued, deliberately allowing his voice to harden, “it is a very different thing to take another person’s property just because you want it. That Potion Timer wasn’t yours, you knew you didn’t have the money to pay for it, and you didn’t need it to ensure your survival. Taking it without the shop owner’s consent was a crime both in the Muggle and the wizarding world.”

He paused to let the words sink in.

Harry’s hands were clenched in his lap. “Are you gonna call the cops?”

“Wizards do not have ‘cops’. They have Aurors, and no, I’m not going to inform the authorities.” Not that any Auror would be interested in an eleven-year-old’s shoplifting, but Snape saw no need to mention that to Harry. “I shall, however, inform the headmaster, and you will receive an appropriate punishment.”

Harry looked up at that, his eyes wide and frightened. Snape continued calmly. “You will accompany me to the bookshop on Monday after classes, return the Potion Timer and offer your sincere apologies to the owner. You also have detention with me every Friday night for the next month, and I want you to write an essay, two rolls of parchment, explaining why you did was wrong, to be handed in next Friday at your first detention.”

The boy watched him tensely. It was obvious that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Hogwarts school policy,” Snape said, enunciating every word, “does not allow for corporal punishment. Students do not learn by being beaten, and I find it distasteful to think that anyone should use such methods on a child.”

His eyes bored into Harry’s, who sat very still. “You’re not gonna whip me?”

“Whipping someone, no matter what they did, is as much against the law as stealing. I would never raise my hand against any student in this school, nor would any of the other teachers.”

“But…” Harry trailed off.

“But what?” Snape asked.

“My uncle said I needed whipping, so my… my magic would go away. It’s making me evil.”

Snape very much wanted to hit something. Instead he closed his eyes, counting to ten before he spoke again. “I thought we had established that magic is not evil.”

“Yeah…” The boy sounded unconvinced.

“The nature of magic aside, your uncle’s assumption that it could be removed through violence is wrong. Magic is woven into the very core of our being – our genes, as Muggles would say. It’s as much a part of us as the color of our hair or skin – and I believe you would agree with me that neither can be ‘beaten out’ of someone.”

“But what about Him?” the boy whispered, so softly that Snape had to strain his ears to understand him. “He can make me do stuff… bad stuff.”

Snape had wished that the subject would not come up, but he wasn’t surprised that it had. “For now, suffice it to say that the headmaster and I are doing everything we can to keep you safe from Him.”

“He’s inside me.”

Snape nodded; he wouldn’t lie to the boy. “Part of Him is, anyway. But you are still very much your own person.”

“He didn’t go away even after…” The boy didn’t finish his sentence, pulling his legs up on the seat of the chair and wrapping his arms around them. Snape knew he was referring to the day his aunt and uncle had taken him to Father Pius.

“That should never have been done to you. It was nothing short of torture. Your aunt and uncle, never mind that… priest, could have gone to prison for it.”

Should have.

“They wanted to make Him leave me alone…” The boy’s voice was very quiet.

Snape took a deep breath. He did not normally talk to students like this; openly, holding nothing back. Yet he sensed that Harry needed to know the truth, even if it was ugly. “No, Harry. They didn’t understand about Him. They were… frightened of what they saw happening to you. I believe, on some subconscious, superstitious level, they thought you were channelling that entity they call the devil.”

Harry stared at him. “What’s supersti – superstishus?”

“It means believing in things that do not exist. There is no devil. There are only people with too much power on their hands.”

Harry swallowed. “So you’re saying… there’s nothing anyone can do about Him.”

“There is,” Snape said sharply. “Your mother did. You do, every time you do what you know is right. I will.”

He added the last two words very deliberately, holding the boy’s gaze. He could not promise Harry that he would keep him safe, because he might not be able to. But he could promise that he would try… like he had promised Dumbledore, all those years ago.

The boy seemed to understand. His hands gradually relaxed in his lap, and he uncurled his legs, tucking them under himself as he stared into the fire. “I didn’t take the Potion Timer because of Him,” he said quietly.

“I know you didn’t,” Snape replied. “That was very much your own decision, and a highly misjudged one, I might add.”

Harry nodded sadly. “I’m sorry.”

Snape inclined his head, acknowledging the apology. “Good. I suggest you get ready for bed now. You’ve had a long day.”

“Yes sir.”

Something moved next to the chair the boy had vacated, and Snape looked down. Marlowe was sitting there. He had not, as he would have done with anyone else, demanded that Harry give up the arm chair; instead he’d sat there waiting, allowing the boy to take up his accustomed spot that he wouldn’t even give to the Headmaster. Now he jumped onto the chair, fixing Snape with a look that was not at all approving.

Snape frowned at his familiar, then glanced at the retreating back of the boy he’d just taken to task. Marlowe’s ears flicked back and he yawned, showing off his formidable pointy teeth. Snape gave him a long look, sighed and turned to the door.

“Harry,” he called.

The boy poked his head back in, a wary expression on his face. “Sir?”

“I usually spend my Sunday mornings in the Forbidden Forest gathering Potions ingredients. I often have to make several trips in order to harvest and bring back everything I need, as no one has ever felt the necessity to assist me.”

He watched the boy, waiting. A few seconds passed, then Harry’s face lit up in hesitant understanding. “Uh… could I, I mean, would you like me to come with you and help you?”

“That would be an acceptable solution,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow at the boy. “In fact, it would be of far greater use to me than one of these overpriced contrivances.” He nodded at the Potion Timer on the table, and was satisfied to see a timid smile on Harry’s face.

“Um, okay, sir. I can do that.”

“I’ll be leaving the castle at five thirty, and I will not wait for you if you decide to lay about in bed. So make sure you set your alarm clock on time.”

“Yes sir!” The boy was still smiling happily, as if getting up at the crack of dawn to gather magical plants in a dangerous forest sounded like so much fun. Well, thought Snape, maybe it did if you hadn’t done it a hundred times before.

“Very well then. Off to bed with you, or you won’t be rested.”

Harry’s head disappeared again, and Snape could hear him bouncing down the corridor to his bedroom. Children did have a ridiculous amount of energy. He looked at Marlowe, who was watching him lazily, his eyes half-closed.

Snape glared at the Kneazle. “Well, happy now?”

Marlowe only yawned and flicked his tail in reply. He knew that his wizard was doing his best, taking care of the boy; all he needed was a little help here and there.