Prologue: Calm Now

In the torch-lit chamber, high in a tower on the grounds of the famous school, a black-haired boy sat with his eyes closed in a chair before one of the many fireplaces. Any person who spent more than a few months a year around children would have guessed his age to be eight or nine years, and that was if he had been raised on short rations. The pun was not intended, but too close to truth. In fact he was a few months past his eleventh birthday.

Watching him rest before the fire, the imaginary person who studied him would think he was overly dressed for one so young. He wore robes that dangled down to his ankles. No, not a lounging robe for sitting around the house after the guests had left, nor a bathing robe for after leaving the beach or the shower. His robe was closer to the style that members of the legal profession would wear, with crisp clean pleats pressed evenly over the surface, and intricate lacework creating frills on the cuffs, the neckline and the hem. Unlike the black judiciary robes, his were red on the most visible surfaces, with the insides of the pleats glistening a brilliant gold. The lacework was similarly done in alternating threads of red and gold, with silver threads outlining the individual patterns in it.

But there! In his hands was the first sign for any observer that the lad was not known for dressing in such style. A pair of eyeglasses, with broken frames held together with tape, and a bent piece of wire through the pinhole. More close examination soon reveals trainers a size or two too large on his feet instead of more formal shoes, and a rash on his wrists where the robes have already began to rub.

Looking at his face a deep worry seems to etch his brow. His mouth, which should be relaxed and loose, seems drawn into a slight frown, as if things often go differently than he desires. His hair is dishevelled, as if he had been tossing in his doze, even if he seems calm now. An errant breeze slips through his hair, lifting a shock of it. Revealed underneath it is a jagged scar on his forehead, old by the looks of it, that gives proof that his life has not always been carefree.

But any observer who has gotten this close to the boy would already know that. For to get into this chamber, inside this school for that matter, one must have certain abilities that permit it. For this school, this chamber and this boy are all part of the hidden world that ninety percent of the world’s population never even realize exists alongside of their own. The Wizarding World.

The school is known as Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. It teaches young witches and warlocks the science behind magic, the specific words, wand movements and intents needed to turn their wishes into reality. Hidden in a portion of Scotland, it can only be found by those with the ability to use magic or by those brought there by such gifted persons.

The chamber is the common room for one of the four Houses the students are separated into. Each class of students upon their first arrival are ‘Sorted’ based on their personality traits at the time, with those of similar personalities being grouped into the same House. This particular House is called Gryffindor, and is usually characterised by students with a need to help others, to right wrongs, and to rush in to save the day. Not all of the students have shown this so-called bravery, but, once they are Sorted, everyone expects them to.

And then there’s the boy. Anyone who has made it this far into Hogwarts, and into the Gryffindor common room, knows the boy in the chair before the fire. By reputation at least. For the boy is the one who performed a miracle, even by wizarding standards. Ten years prior, on this very night of the calendar, a dark wizard attacked the boy’s family. The man most wizards think of as evil incarnate broke into the boy’s house, slew his father and mother, and then turned on the boy. The dark wizard attacked the boy using a forbidden spell that separates the soul from the body, a spell that none has ever survived. Since the boy is now eleven it is apparent that his ‘miracle’ was the surviving of the un-survivable.

The boy’s name is Harry Potter, and this is the tenth anniversary of his parents’ murder.

It is also Halloween, which is why he has the common room to himself. His classmates, housemates, schoolmates and teachers are all downstairs in the Great Hall. They are stuffing their faces with sweets, being entertained by a ghostly choir, and just plain celebrating. The dark wizard who attacked the Potter household a decade ago did not survive his attempt on the one-year-old, and that is what they are celebrating.

But not Harry. No, after his parents were found dead, he was shipped off to be raised by relatives. Relatives who were not magical, and had no love of those who were. Harry never learned the wizarding traditions concerning the celebration of holidays, and having not learned them growing up, didn’t see any reason to suddenly ‘adopt’ them now. No, he had his own set of traditions to follow.

Family Traditions.

Chapter 1: Enduring Torture

In a veritable sea of colour the man in black was like a sharp rock ready to tear apart anything that came too close.

The man, a teacher at this school for wizards, made it clear with every move, every gesture and every sound that he did NOT want to be here. His face had started as a mild-seeming sneer as the Halloween Feast began at dinnertime. By the time students’ chattering began an hour later it had deepened into a snarl. With the rising volume of the ghostly choir the lines in his face became chasms that only weakly expressed his irritation with his surroundings.

His name is Severus Snape, and his position in the school is the Potions Professor. He daily teaches the school’s students the science of potion making, which non-magicals (known as muggles amongst wizards) would call magical chemistry. The comparison isn’t too far off, but adding magic to any muggle endeavour always changes the rules a bit. Add a little of this and a spot of that, and a muggle can create a treatment for a specific disease. The same ‘little of this and a spot of that’ with a touch of magic may treat a whole category of diseases. Add a different touch of magic to the same ingredients and you could cause a disease. Add the wrong touch of magic, and you could blow the roof off a building. Teaching eleven year olds to make potions without blowing anything up? You’d need more patience with children than Professor Snape had ever shown. With his daily routine being the attempts to install calm discipline and smooth movements into his students, the party atmosphere of the Great Hall was grating terribly on his nerves. Everywhere he turned he saw students on sugar-buzzes leaping around spasmodically (or dancing as they called it), and he couldn’t help envisioning his classes the next day being full of the same twitchy movements.

And his reason for enduring this torture? His head­mas­ter insists each holiday fete that all of the staff attend for at least two hours. In fact, the only bright spot for Professor Snape was that his minimum two hours would be up in twenty-seven, no, twenty-six and a half minutes. He had been trying to move unobtrusively to the staff exit for the last eight minutes, ready to bolt as soon as his watch chimed the eight o’clock hour. He was now five steps away.

Just as he let a fraction of his satisfaction appear on his face disaster loomed in front of him. The head­mas­ter was heading his direction. Without moving his head, he scanned the crowd around him, trying to find some other target of the wizard. He found none. Slowly he turned his head, as if looking for a specific person; he tried instead to find some excuse to avoid his employer. Some students kissing, a forbidden item, anything! But no, nothing was within reach. His own reputation for severe discipline kept any student that saw him from openly breaking the school rules. His face a scowling mask, he sighed inwardly, temporarily accepting the futility of escaping his boss.

“Dumbledore,” he said calmly as the head­mas­ter approached. He was very adept at hiding his displeas­ure with his ‘superiors’.

“Severus, my boy. Enjoying the festivities?” was the jovial reply.

“As much as always. I took an extra-strength headache reliever just before the choir started.” Snape turned to face the choir in question, turning his back to Dumbledore in the process. ‘Maybe he’ll take the hint,’ he thought.

No such luck. “Good, good. I was afraid you’d forget the reliever in an attempt to slip out early,” the head­mas­ter said, reminding his potions teacher that he’d tried that trick at least twice before.

Rolling his eyes, Snape retorted “No, you’d just make me stay twice as long at the next school function. I’ve learned that lesson already.” He then tried to sneak a peek at his watch.

“Well if you’re really enjoying the party that well,” the head­mas­ter chuckled, “then I won’t ask you to leave it for me.”

Spinning around suddenly, the man in black robes almost shouted, “No problem, no problem. What do you want me to do?” Realizing his uncharacteristic behaviour, Snape straightened his shoulders and glanced around for any witnesses to his slip-up. Seeing none he turned back to Dumbledore.

“Not much really. One of the students didn’t show up for the feast. All I need you to do is fetch him down here for me, and you can have the rest of the night off. I’ll even send a bottle of firewhiskey to your rooms.”

“Is that all?” Severus sneered. “Which student is missing?”

“Harry Potter.” Head­mas­ter Dumbledore turned to walk away, only to find his arm grabbed by a suddenly furious professor.

“WHAT!” All of a sudden, Professor Snape had unrestricted access to the doorway he’d been trying to get to. In fact, he had free space for twelve feet around him as every student moved out of range of his legendary temper, which struck at guilty and innocent alike.

“And why should I fetch your Golden Boy? Have Minerva do it, he’s in her House,” he snapped.

“Minerva’s a bit... preoccupied... right now,” was the snorted reply, accompanied by a hand waving towards the staff dais. The teacher in question was up there, spinning in circles. She alternated between left and right spins, apparently trying to catch something attached to the back of her dress. “Someone put an invisible tail on her, coated in catnip.”

No matter how hard he tried, Severus couldn’t hold back his chuckles. “Well then, I’ll just go fetch Potter and have him help her.” Still chuckling, he made his way the five remaining steps out of the room.

“You do that, my boy, you do that,” the head­mas­ter murmured. He then scanned the crowded floor, looking for another staff member he could prank like he had Minerva McGonagall.

Chapter 2: Finding Potter

Snape used his long legs to his advantage. His height always allowed him to out-distance any students trying to follow him, and that was when he wasn’t in a hurry. Now he practically ran, even though technically since both feet were on the ground before the next was lifted it was speed-walking, up the stairs and through the corridors. The sooner he got Potter out of Gryffindor tower the sooner he could get back to the peace and quiet of the dungeons where his quarters were. Too bad the school’s wards kept him from apparating instantaneously up there. (Muggles of the current century would consider wards to be similar to force fields.)

Finally reaching the corridor where the entrance to the Gryffindor dorms was located, he slowed down to a sedate walk. This allowed him to catch his breath, and at the same time maintain his reputation as ‘the professor least involved with the students outside of class’. Given that the paintings and portraits in this magical school were both magically animated and notorious gossipmongers, this meant being on his guard practically every time he stepped out of his quarters. Any slip-up near one of them would be spread to the opposite end of the school before he could run the distance.

Approaching the painting of a heavyset woman, he spoke the ‘Head of House’ password.

After looking him over to make sure he was a Head of House (Slytherin in his case), The Fat Lady in the portrait mumbled, “Evening, Professor Snape.” She, like all the portraits, had learned early in his tenure not to presume any friendships, camaraderie or other less than professional relationship with him. He had burned three portrait frames each time such a presumption was made; the offending portrait and the one on each side of it. The poor painted souls had to watch from their neighbours’ paintings as their homes burned. By the third such occasion the portraits had learned to be as professional as their pigmented personality allowed in his presence.

The Fat Lady performed whatever magic, trick, or (for all Severus could tell) muggle button-pushing a portrait does to unlock the doors they guard. Her frame quietly swung open for the professor to slip through the hole she guarded, and then closed just as quietly as soon as she ‘sensed’ him completely through the gap. She refrained from making any comments about the man; another lesson the portraits had learned the hard way.

Severus, on the other hand, gave no thought at all to the Fat Lady’s behaviour, on either side of the frame. He was focused on only one thing: finding Potter. Quickly scanning the common room, he saw the shock of unruly black hair rising from a chair near the fireplace in the far corner of the room. With his years of experience he knew he would be able to sneak up on the child and scare him half to death before Harry could spot him. He began stealthily stalking across the room.

But wait, you say. Why would a teacher be so interested in scaring any student? And why would THIS teacher want to scare THIS student in particular? Good questions, both of them. Snape had experience in scaring students in general because it was part of his strategy for maintaining order amongst his classes. The more often he showed up at just the wrong time, catching students in mischief, the less often the students would get into mischief to start with. Of course, with his experience of sneaking around he caught more students in mischief than other professors did, which meant he had a less favourable reputation amongst the students than the other staff did. And if the students are already afraid of him, then they jump higher when he catches them in mischief. That was plenty of entertainment for Professor Snape, and encouraged him to catch more students. Nice circle, huh?

Harry, on the other hand, was part of a different circle. When Severus Snape attended Hogwarts as a student, there was another student that seemed to be everything that Severus wanted to be- and one thing that wasn’t. The other student was athletic, outgoing, rich (compared to Severus at least, and that was all that mattered), and good looking. He was also a bully (at least to Severus, and that was all that mattered). Through circumstances that are too complicated to go into here, Severus lost the girl he loved, through his own mistakes even he’ll admit, and the other boy seemed to swoop in and steal the girl before Severus could right his errors. The girl was Lily Evans, and the boy James Potter. Harry Potter’s eventual parents.

The more Snape thought about losing Lily, the more he hated James Potter. The more he hated Potter, the more he thought about trying to regain Lily’s love. Stuck in this mental cycle of regret/hate/hope Snape made more and more bad decisions. And then Potter had the nerve to father a son on HIS Lily. In his rage at Potter Severus made several seriously bad choices, one of which led the dark wizard to the Potters’ door on Halloween night. With both Lily and James dead, Severus was left with no clear way to end the regret-hate-hope cycle he was stuck in. And when Harry showed up at Hogwarts two months ago, all the potions master saw was James Potter reborn, and struck out at his (seemingly de-aged) schoolyard nemesis.

The boy who was now apparently dozing in front of a fire instead of celebrating with the rest of the students. Alone. The perfect target for Snape’s plans to put the Potter family tree in its place. He stepped silently around the side of chair, giving himself a clear view of Potter’s face. He wanted to remember this moment for months, no years to come.

He opened his mouth, ready to shout the boy’s surname. He took a silent breath. And-

“Good evening Professor Snape.”

Chapter 3: Puzzle Of Contradictions

Snape’s jaw dropped. ‘Noooo! How? His eyes are still closed! There’s no way!’

Opening his eyes, Harry continued speaking. “Did you want something, sir?”

Snapping his mouth closed, Professor Snape hurriedly reinforced his mental and emotional barriers so that he could try to regain control of his self. “You were missed at the Feast downstairs. I was sent to fetch you.” There. Smooth, logical, succinct.

“I am not comfortable with that kind of party. I’d rather stay here and commemorate the day my own way.” Smooth, logical, succinct. Damn him.

“And just how do you plan to do that? Decked out in dress robes fancier than what they’re wearing downstairs and sacked out on the couch?” sneered the teacher. ‘I’ll embarrass him into coming down!’

“No sir. My family traditions are a bit more focused than that,” replied the thorn in Snape’s side. Harry then turned to stare back into the flames.

“Focused? I see nothing focused about you at all,” goaded the adult.

“That’s because you are not paying attention, sir.” Severus reared back, mentally at least. He was the most focussed staff member in the school! “I wish to be left alone to observe the anniversary of my parents’ death. If you will not allow that, will you at least have a seat and give my parents that much respect?” Harry’s voice remained calm, almost emotionless, as he made his plea. His eyes remained on the dancing flames, giving no apparent notice to the shock that took over his professor’s face for the third time that evening.

The potions professor, on the other hand, could barely form a rational thought. With the annual Feast raging downstairs he had almost forgotten his own upcoming memorial to his dead Lily. Planned for just after the first-years’ curfew, he spent every Halloween getting drunk in his quarters, all the while rehashing every moment he had spent with his red-haired love. Slowly, he sank into a chair across from the boy whose looks raised such hatred in him that he forgot who the boy’s mother was. Finally he whispered, “Could you tell me what your family traditions are? Perhaps I could share them with you.” The pleading in his voice seemed to echo in his own mind.

“My family traditions sound simple when described in words. I relive the night my parents died.”

Severus jerked upright. ‘He just said he remembers the dark lord’s attack! No one should have those kinds of memories, NO ONE!’

Harry ignored his teacher’s reaction. “Then I talk with them for a while. I tell them of my past year, things I learned, things that happened. That kind of thing.” Sensing that the expected interruption wasn’t going to happen, Harry continued. “Then I put my demon to rest. By this time I’m so drained I sleep until Christmas.”

Severus Snape was quiet. He rolled over the words in his head, but he had had one too many shocks in the past few minutes and couldn’t focus on what was bothering him about what the boy said. ‘Relive their deaths; he talks to his parents; he’s so drained he passes out.’ It actually sounded somewhat healthy, from a mind-healer’s viewpoint. Not that Severus was a licensed mind-healer.

Finally he looked at Potter still staring into the flames, and came to a decision. “Potter, it sounds like you could do this down in the Great Hall as easily as you can up here. I’m going to need to insist that you come down immediately.”

Harry stood suddenly from his seat. “Professor, you don’t seriously mean to keep me from following my family traditions, do you?” His voice had deepened from its usual youthful tenor into an almost masculine bass. Meanwhile his hands seemed to curl themselves into tight balls of flesh, his glasses still clenched in the left one.

Professor Snape recognized the boy’s willingness to fight him over this, and actually agreed with Potter. No one should tell him how to commemorate his parents’ death. (Not that he’d consider telling him that. He had his reputation to think of!) “Lower your hands, boy! The only reason I must insist is that the Head­mas­ter sent me up here to fetch you down.”

In a mood swing to rival Potter’s Head of House Professor McGonagall when she realized she needed to award house points to a Slytherin, Harry went from aggressive to amicable in the shortest time measurable. “Oh! Why didn’t you say the head­mas­ter sent you? Come on, we mustn’t keep him waiting!” After putting on his glasses and grabbing his bookbag that was sitting by his chair this entire time, he turned back to his stunned teacher. “Professor Snape, you need to promise me that you’ll stay within ten feet of me while I’m down there. It’s really important.”

“You are a puzzle of contradictions, aren’t you Potter? First you want to be left alone, then you want me to sit with you, and now you want me to follow you around like a puppy? Make up your mind!” he snapped.

“Tell anyone who asks that I threatened to sneak back up here as soon as your back was turned. You’ll only have to lie to staff members that way. And it won’t be just you anyways. If I have to celebrate,” he motioned muggle quote marks in the air as he sneered, “Halloween in a crowd like that, I’ll need backup just in case. Now PROMISE!”

“Backup! Nothing in what you described indicates that you need backup for ANYTHING! What is really going on?” Snape’s headache hit full force. He realized this just as he realized that he didn’t dare take points just yet from Potter for his yelling at a teacher, not until he found out what was going on.

Harry’s only answer to the teacher’s demand for explanations was to open and duck out of the portrait hole. Snape had no choice but to follow him down to the Great Hall. The clock in the Entrance Hall struck eight o’clock. Snape’s two hours were over.

Chapter 4: Headaches

Snape’s headache wasn’t being helped by following Harry Potter.

First, the boy was, surprise surprise, in Gryffindor. Hence the red dress robes with gold glinting through as he moved, like a flame in the fields. As a Gryffindor he should be spending time with the other Gryffindors, preparing to rescue whatever they thought needed rescuing. Instead the foolish boy headed straight into the proverbial snakes’ nest. The green and silver Slytherin tables on the second right, Snape’s House tables.

Now for those who are wondering why this is so headache inducing, there are a lot of bad histories and not-histories between the two houses. Gryffindor, stereotyped as the home of the recklessly brave, has the mascot of the Griffin. Parts of Lion and Eagle joined together into a normal seeming arrangement; both parts coming from muggle animals associated with royalty and pride. Slytherin, stereotyped as the home of the sneaky and crafty, the birthplace of politicians, has the mascot of the Snake, seen for millennia as the enemy of God-fearing folk, the seducer of Eve in the Garden of Eden. Sure that’s just mythology, but isn’t magic also just mythology to a lot of people? And doesn’t mythology have some basis in fact, somewhere? Combine the mascots’ apparently opposite images, as seen by centuries of school children, and include the fact that most, not all but most, of the dark lords over the ages have been politicians, and you have the beginnings of a good vs. evil rumour that could destroy whole towns, not just a school.

And the so-called ‘Icon of the Light’ just walked into the ‘Den of Darkness’. And up to the one Slytherin Serpent that has caused Potter the most embarrassment of any of them (except Professor Snape, who didn’t happen to count himself in tonight’s brewing troubles). Draco Malfoy. Snape’s godson.

Severus hurried to assume the position that he failed to promise Potter he’d take for the night, standing ten feet behind the arrogant fool, glaring like a five year old towards someone that was trying to kill his puppy. As patented as the glare was, and almost fool-proof in its ability to ‘guide’ students into behaving, the potions master quickly became frustrated as his godson not only ignored his glare, Draco seemed to not even see Snape standing behind the person he was talking to. There was no way that Potter could keep Draco so focused on what was being said that he lost track of who was around him. NO WAY!

After about five minutes of conversation that couldn’t be understood from ten feet away, Potter crossed the room to the Hufflepuff tables. That is where Headache Inducer Number Two attacked. The potions professor found himself standing, still ten feet behind Potter, directly in front of the Ghostly Choir. Their haunting tunes and variable volume had not improved in the time spent in Gryffindor tower, and now Snape didn’t even have the length of the Great Hall between them to reduce their effect on him.

Earning himself even more muttered damnations from the man in black, Harry Potter didn’t seem to notice the ghostly choir at all. He spent five minutes speaking with Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff in his own year. Now Hufflepuffs are stereotyped as both hardworking and blindly loyal to their friends, and have the mascot of the Badger. They have always seemed low on the social scoreboard that every house seems to create, and Snape couldn’t see what interest Potter had in Ms Bones in terms of his family traditions.

Adding some sort of logic to his evening, Potter next went to the Ravenclaw tables and spoke to Marietta Edgecombe, a second year student from that House. With Ravenclaws being stereotyped as being overly studious and more interested in research than applications, it again flustered Harry’s professor when he couldn’t come up with a reasonable expectation for the boy’s interest in Ms Edgecombe. ‘Perhaps when he heads to Gryffindor I’ll come up with a common denominator,’ he thought.

But when Potter found someone in his own house to speak to Snape came close to pulling his hair out of his head. He now needed to find the common denominator between Harry’s nemesis Draco Malfoy, the Hufflepuff Susan Bones, Marietta Edgecombe the second year Ravenclaw, and now NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM! The most incompetent potions student that Snape had the displeasure to teach this year! AAARRRGH! The professor spun in a circle trying to force his brain into an answer when he noticed Ms Edgecombe heading over to speak with Professor Flitwick, her Head of House. Almost without realizing he was doing it he turned to find Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House, and saw Ms Bones speaking with her. Spinning back to Potter, he saw Longbottom nod his head sharply and leave in a rush, obviously to gather Minerva.

His headache started to ease. At least he could see a pattern, even if he didn’t understand it. He glanced back at Potter to see what would come next in this little game of his. ‘Family traditions indeed! This has absolutely got to be a prank, and I was the fool Dumbledore sent to trigger it,’ thought Snape.

“Potter said you needed this, sir.”

Severus looked to his side and saw his godson standing beside him, holding out a vial of extra-strength headache reliever. With mumbled thanks, he took the bottle and downed the contents immediately. ‘Wait a minute! How did Potter know I needed one of these? He hasn’t looked at me since getting down here!’

“Severus my boy! I thought you’d be off to your rooms by now. Enjoying the party that much, are you?” The overly inquisitive, overly jovial voice sent the tall professor’s headache into overdrive; totally erasing the effects of the potion he’d just taken.

“Hardly, sir. Mr Potter has threatened to leave your ‘shindig’ thirty seconds after I do. I figured, in the interest of keeping you happy of course, that I had better stay down here to make sure HE does.” Snape’s slow drawl had the intended effect of giving his own brain a chance to catch up to the whiplashing his own focus had been taking. And he claimed not to see any in Potter. HAH! “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think that Mr Potter is about to attempt some ploy to gain more attention to his arrogant little self.” With that he turned and walked towards the centre of the Great Hall, bristling at the daggers he felt his employer glaring into his back.

But really, what was Mr Potter up to?

Chapter 5: Have A Seat, Professors

The clock struck the half hour.

Harry Potter stood in the centre of the Great Hall, turning slowly. As he scanned the crowd around him more and more of his fellow students turned to face him. He whispered something to the group directly around him. They moved back, giving him a five-foot circle to stand in. He turned one last time, stopping when he faced his potions professor.

“You look tired, sir. Would you like to have a seat?” Without waiting for an answer, Harry reached into his bookbag with his left hand, pulled out a small object, tossed it into the air like a person tossing a grape, and then struck it down with his right hand into the floor at his feet.

A loud SNAP! filled the room. There, in place of the smashed object, sat a chair. And not just any chair. Overall it was about four feet wide, six feet tall, and deep enough for Professor Snape’s long legs to sit comfortably in it. Solid black, made of possibly ebony wood but most likely something more magical, it had delicate strands of... something... connecting the arms to the seat, and the frame of the back as a backrest. The strands seemed to swirl from every edge, dance across the open space, and then reconnect lower on the chair; almost as if they were made of vapours from a particularly dense potion. The posts at the top of the backrest were topped with a six-inch cauldron each; both cauldrons appeared to be actively brewing some strange brew, as the vapours from them were curling down to rest in the seat of the chair. One stream of green vapour and one of silver; Slytherin colours.

A more imaginative muggle might describe it as the Throne of the Potions Lord.

As Potter moved away from the new chair, Snape moved forward. He couldn’t seem to resist at least trying out the fabulously designed chair. As he relaxed into the seat, letting the vapours from the cauldrons swirl around his black robes, he let out a sigh, and frightened several upperclassmen when he let a grin of satisfaction grace his face. None had seen that look on his face in their more than five years at Hogwarts. Turning his head slightly he noticed that Potter had another clear space around him a short distance away. Idly he watched as the lad again tossed an object into the air and smashed it into the ground.

Again the loud noise stilled the room, filled the space with a new chair, and then faded to let the murmurings of the crowd rise up. The new chair was similar in dimensions to Snape’s, except it was not as deep. This one was green; not the green of Slytherin House but the green of growing plants, the varying shades that indicated a change in food, a change in exposure, a vital maturing change. The space between arms and seat and the backrest itself were filled with flowing swirling vines, connecting, supporting, adding their strength to that of the framework. And the posts were topped with six-inch pots, each with a different plant growing in it, moving in it. The one on the left had yellow runners and the right one had black, both trailing down into the seat. Off the top of his head Professor Snape had no recollection of having seen either plant before.

As Professor Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House and instructor for the Herbology classes settled into her ‘Throne of the Plant Kingdom’, Professor Snape’s eyes followed his wandering charge for the night. Harry again stopped after a few feet and produced another small object; this one was larger than the others. Apparently asking for, and receiving, a larger circle of space, Harry summoned forth another ‘throne’, and again the recipient was clearly etched into its surfaces.

The dimensions were h-u-g-e. Six feet in width, eight in height, and deep enough that Severus himself would be forced to rest his ankles on the front edge of the seat. Made of solid stone, granite from the look of it, the thing would obviously weigh a ton with no exaggeration. The flowing décor in the open spaces reminded all looking at it of veins of gold, silver, and possibly diamond. The post caps were buildings, a castle on the left, a barn on the right; just perfect for the Keeper of Keys and Grounds. The half-giant Rubeus Hagrid rushed forward and sat firmly in the first chair that he hadn’t had to worry about breaking in twenty years. No colours flowed down upon him, most likely because he was not a Head of House.

Another explosion of sound, another seat in the circle. For circle it was, created of chairs fit for royalty but made for instructors. This one was smaller than the rest, a mere three feet wide, five high, and three deep. But again it was designed specifically for its user (anyone else would get stuck in it). The diminutive Head of Ravenclaw House, Professor Filius Flitwick, rushed forward to inspect his seat. Mounds of books seemed to be piled haphazardly in front of him, with little apparent organization. Suddenly he spotted the pattern, and walked swiftly up the spiral staircase of knowledge the throne spun for him. Settling into the spot reserved for him, he let the six-inch wide scrolls on the post caps flow around him (one blue, the other bronze), dressing him in information. Fitting for the House of Intellect.

Without hesitating the Gryffindor boy snapped forth yet another chair, presumably for the last Head of House, Minerva McGonagall. As expected, a chair with similar dimensions to the first appeared; only instead of a solid colour scheme this one seemed to flow unpredictably into various colours and textures. The Transfiguration Professor, who taught the students how to change the physical properties of any object into any other object, stared in awe at the perfect representation of her craft. While the overall dimensions remained the same, the arms and back seemed in constant flow, changing from plant to animal to mineral, and yet constantly projecting the solidity, the reliability of its structure. The post caps at least maintained common features, if not specific details. The left cap was a small cat, fitting as the woman in question could transform herself (using a magical technique called ‘animagus’) into a small tabby cat. The cap in question was a revolving swirl of housecat, lion, tiger, cheetah, sabre-toothed, and other cat forms, all appearing in shades of gold. The other cap remained shades of red, but held the various shapes of magical animals including unicorn, manticore, dragon and smaller, less easily identifiable, specimens.

As each House Head settled into their accommodations Harry moved to the centre of the horseshoe of seats and turned in place, ensuring for himself that all was properly done. With a nod to himself he turned and started towards the opening he had left, only to be stopped by a chuckling voice.

Chapter 6: It Begins

“What? No seat for your head­mas­ter?”

With a scowl that even the most easy-going teacher there was proud of Harry turned his back on Head­mas­ter Albus Dumbledore. Raising his voice for the entire hall to hear he spoke to the assembled school. “For those who are still trying to figure out what is going on, I will explain. You,” and he raised a finger and pointed while spinning in a circle, “have gathered here tonight to celebrate the death of a madman, the end of a war. You do this with excessive eating and drinking, and indulging in normally rationed substances. That’s alcohol for you adults, sugar for you students. That is your tradition, and I do not hold it against you to celebrate this night in your tradition.” He dropped his hand to his side.

As the voices around him started to murmur he continued. “HOWEVER, these are your traditions and not mine. I let you have your party, not complaining about your unknowing disrespect to my family traditions, my family history. I stayed in my common room, commemorating this anniversary in my family’s ways. I would not have inflicted my traditions on you except for one reason. Our esteemed head­mas­ter decreed that I must join your traditions in public, instead of observing my own in private. Professor Snape can tell you that I was not being disrespectful to ANYONE while I was left alone in the tower. I was not causing trouble, and I was not using the time to prank or attack anyone else. And yet I was forced to come down here and inflict my family traditions upon you.”

Taking a deep breath, enjoying the stunned silence from the entire castle, even the ghosts, he pushed onwards. “As you can see, I was prepared for this to happen; although I had hoped it would be next year, not this one. If I am forced to share my family traditions publicly, I will. I have extended invitations to the Heads of House and they have accepted. If any wish to not have my family traditions inflicted upon them, leave now. You have,” a quick look at the clock in the corner, “six minutes to leave the Great Hall to return to your dorms; after that I only ask that you remain quiet and respectful.” Here he glared at the intruding head­mas­ter, who at least had the decency not to enter the circle. “Just remember- We are wizards, magic WILL be involved.”

Turning back to his preparations, the pillar of gold-accented red approached the opening and cast another object onto the floor. The whisperings of the crowd grew exponentially as they realized that two separate objects appeared this time. Not a soul moved towards the exits, even as they took in the muggle-styled three-cushion couch, blue with embroidered silver flowers, that rested in a perfect spot to fill in the circle. But that was not what intrigued them. That would be the four-foot high bare wooden stand directly behind it. On the stand was what appeared to be a plain pine box, six feet long, three feet wide, and two deep. It had a hinged lid that stood open blocking the view of the staff dais, revealing a red satin-lined interior, complete with a small golden pillow.

In short- a casket.

Professor Snape had just begun to relax for the first time all night. He had a comfortable chair, the choir had shut up and the head­mas­ter was being indirectly lambasted by a student. Then Potter had to go and through a coffin into the mix. Any unvoiced hopes that this was a Halloween celebration were crushed in a flash. And looking around, not just for him. The suddenly nervous looks as the older students, and the staff, were reminded that this young boy’s parents died in the event they were having a party for. What was it that Potter said? ‘First I relive my parents’ death.’ No, not quite. It was ‘I relive the night my parents died’. There weren’t any coffins present, were there?

Suddenly the professor realized that the boy was nodding to someone behind him. Twisting his head, Severus saw Draco Malfoy nodding back solemnly. Snapping his head around, the man realized that Longbottom was behind McGonagall, Edgecombe was behind Flitwick and Bones was behind Sprout. This was beginning to look like some sort of setup, a trap. Potter creating a trap in front of everybody? Not likely. Glancing behind Hagrid, the potions professor spotted Ronald Weasley. Potter’s best friend and... confidante? Before he could give it any thought Potter moved in front of the blue couch.

“One minute until it begins. Anyone who wishes to leave needs to do so quickly. A fast order of events of what will happen. I will relive the night my parents died. I will spend time talking with them. I will confront my demon and I will set him to rest. Any interruption will be... most unwelcome.” He turned and sat on the couch, an odd touch of longing appearing on his face for the first time. No one else moved.

Then Harry said, “It begins.”

Chapter 7: I Will Relive

The circle of thrones glowed. A pale light surrounded the centre of the Great Hall, not impossible to see into, but enough to illuminate every feature of the people inside of it. As a hush fell upon the entire room it was broken by a child’s laugh. It was quickly followed by the chuckles of a man and woman. Their images coalesced out of the light and onto the floor directly in front of Harry on the blue couch. Wearing dark blue trousers and a light green shirt, the man was sitting cross-legged on the floor, bouncing the child on his knee. Both the man and the child had matching black hair, untamed and wild, and the laughter from the two of them were equally matched. The woman, on the other hand, had deep red hair, the colour that muggles would call ‘auburn’, and was dressed in a light silver dress with green accenting it. The green matched both the colour of her eyes, and that of the child’s. She was sitting in a rocking chair a few feet from the other two, wand in hand. Her wand was being used to play tug of war with the child, with a stuffed unicorn being the prize, and magic itself the rope.

The staff of the school recognized them as James and Lily Potter, along with baby Harry. Everyone heard their potions professor gasp loudly as he covered his mouth with his hands. The transfiguration professor’s voice joined his in shock. The stunned awe was broken by a silky drawl next to Severus. “You were a cute kid, Potter. What happened?”

Harry chuckled.

Snape’s arm popped out and grabbed Draco’s arm in a tight grip, forcing him to wince in pain.

After two minutes of playing a loud pounding made everyone jump, James and Lily Potter the most. Harry stilled on the couch, while his younger self clutched their momma. “It’s Voldemort!” shouted James. “Apparate to your parents’ house. I’ll hold him off!”

A moment later- “He’s set up wards! We can’t apparate! James!”

The Great Hall fidgeted almost as one as the events unfolded. The students had all grown up hearing about the attack, but now- to hear it happen, to SEE it happen-

“Run upstairs and hide! Don’t let him get Harry!” James was shouting.

The scene inside the lit dome changed, seemed to follow memory-Harry as his mother ran upstairs with him. As the two tried to find someplace to hide in the nursery, memory-Harry fussing and crying as he realized something was wrong in his one-year-old mind, they heard James yet again from downstairs. The words were muffled but full of emotion. Harry on the couch leaned forward, as if trying to make out what his father was saying, but the frustration on his face proved it was useless.

Then a loud booming voice shouted, “Avada Kedavra!” Those in the present jumped back in fear at the sound of the most unforgivable of unforgivables being used. The air in the bottom two inches of the memory-dome glowed sickly green as the soul-stealing spell searched for targets, and then faded as it found James Potter in the rooms below.

Students from all houses burst out crying, turning to the nearest shoulder to find comfort. The staff still circulating the room did the same. The House Heads in their spectacular seats shrank in upon themselves, suddenly feeling quite empty. Harry sat quietly on the three-person couch, alone, as tears rolled down his face.

Draco shook loose his godfather’s limp hand and crossed through the memory to Harry. He sat next to him and let him cry on his shoulder. As Harry began to recover the assembled school heard the footsteps upon the stairs of the old Potter household. Harry murmured, just loud enough that only his invited guests heard, “Thanks Malfoy. You need to get back over there now.”

Filing that comment for later review, Severus turned his focus back on the events unfolding in front of him.

The door to the nursery opened and a man walked through. Not James, for he had died a few moments before. No this had to be-

“Lord Voldemort!” The scream from Lily Potter’s lips was echoed throughout the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Several of the younger students fainted, although it wasn’t from his appearance. He was a well-propor­tioned man, handsome, and projected an air of deserved-respect, which wasn’t followed through by his eyes. His eyes were cruel; dark brown, hooded by brows well accustomed to squinting at the lesser beings he was forced to deal with. If met in a well-lit gathering he’d be surrounded by those who would bask in his apparent largesse; if met in a dark alley most thugs would run for their lives.

He approached the hysterical woman on the floor, wand extended. He spoke to her, his words soft, his voice pleasant to hear, his intent sadistic and cruel. “Give me the boy and I’ll let you live.” A simple transaction, to him at least.

“Not Harry, please no don't kill him; take me, kill me instead-” She tried to hide Harry from his sight, frantically pushing his head into her shoulder.

Her pleading irritated him; couldn’t she see that he was being generous? “This is my last warning-”

“Not Harry! Please... have mercy... Not Harry! Please- I'll do anything...”

“Pettigrew was right. Even as talented a witch as you are, you let your muggle sentimentalities destroy your ability to do the right thing for yourself. A pity. Now I’ll have to put up with Severus whining about not getting his plaything.” He stalked over towards the huddled pair as the potions professor sat stunned by that conversation. His part in the death of the Potters was now openly known. Unseen by him, the rest of the school appeared to ignore him, too caught up in the moment, seeing baby Harry lifted out of his mother’s arms and set back in his crib.

Memory-Harry’s crying increased in intensity at being removed from his mother’s arms. The bad man stepped back from him, raised his stick and pointed it at his mommy, and whispered two words. Memory-Harry didn’t understand the words, but the watchers outside the dome knew exactly what was said. Avada kedavra.

The green light enveloped the memory-dome this time, tinting those inside it that sickly green shade, and only fading when it found memory-Lily, ripping her soul from her body. Memory-Harry’s screams increased to the point of shattering glass. No, his magic was letting loose and shattering everything around it. Snape and the other professors leaned forward in horror as they realized just how strong the child’s magic was back then, and flashed through scenario after scenario about what the next three minutes would show. This was going to be BAD!

Apparently Voldemort realized this too. His face showed his shock at the rising levels of magic set loose in the room. Instinctively he raised his wand again and turned to face the child he came to murder. As the last of the glass shattered and the metal objects in the room started to vibrate and levitate the dark wizard pointed his wand at his enemy and he repeated the same two words. And it was bad.

The bolt of green leapt forward, casting its sickly green aura on every surface of the memory. Time seemed to slow for those watching as every moment etched itself on their minds for all time. As the evil spell caught the forehead of the toddler in his crib it was answered by a larger bolt of pure white, strong enough to absorb the spell as it made its attempt on memory-Harry. But as before, the spell was larger than the direct attempt. The white spell absorbed the attack, then spread itself out and covered Harry, concealing him from the rest of the evil spell that was scouring the room, looking for its victim. It found Voldemort, surrounded him, and tore his dark and tattered soul from his body. In what appeared to be one last desperate attempt to kill Harry, the de-bodied soul leapt at Harry, only to get caught by the white spell again. And it was bad.

For the Dark Lord.

The memory-dome exploded in white. As everyone tried to clear their vision so they could see what happened next, they were shocked into silence and immobility by modern-Harry’s voice joyfully exclaiming, “Mom! Dad!”

Chapter 8: I Will Talk

The white faded back to the dim glow it began as, and all eyes turned back towards the shouting voice, only to find Harry buried in a double hug with his parents. The memory people who had occupied the dome for the last fifteen minutes were gone. In their place was the real here-and-now Harry, and two ghostly figures who had more substance than the dead had ever shown before. Dressed in the same clothes as their memory selves had worn just minutes before, they wore obvious pride and joy on their faces as they hugged the last remaining part of their little family. After a couple of moments, Harry released his parents and stepped back, allowing the rest of the school to see the unbridled joy on his face.

But not peace, Snape was shocked to notice. The pure joy was blinding to most, but the expectation of imminent disaster left a shadow of concern haunting the corners of the boy’s eyes. This was most bothersome, as it led the dark man to imagine just what disaster the family traditions of this lad who performed miracles was about to unleash. ‘He said... “I will relive the day my family died. I will spend time talking with them. I will face...” Oh Merlin. If he was being literal in the whole description, his demon will be showing up soon!’ But for now, Potter was talking.

With his arm wrapped around his mother’s waist, Potter junior was leading his parents around the circle of chairs, introducing people and commenting on their positions. “... and this is Professor Sprout. She is the Head of Hufflepuff House. Behind her is Susan Bones. Susan, this is my mother Lily and my father James.”

He couldn’t help it. Snape started an internal conversation with himself to try to keep his mind off of the implications of the ‘order of events’ Potter had mentioned. ‘He’s actually being formal and polite; definitely not the stuck up, ill-mannered brat I teach... No, I haven’t given him the chance to show me this side of his personality, have I? He’s not doing justice to the Heads of House; hasn’t mentioned their classes at all. But the thrones they’re on, that says all of that, doesn’t it? Wait, did Ms Bones just say her aunt is an Auror for the Ministry? Intriguing. And Draco’s father is on the Board of Governors for the school, along with being on the Wizengamot. And Longbottom’s grandmother is on the Wizengamot. Weasley’s father works for the Ministry. I think I just found the ‘common denominator’ in Potter’s choices. They’re almost here. Pay attention!’ As Harry approached the black chair Severus stood to greet his old schoolmates.

“Mother, Father. I’d like to introduce Professor Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House. He is perhaps the most intriguing instructor I have this year. Behind him is Draco Malfoy of Slytherin House, possibly my newest friend, but we’re still testing that out.” In proper tradition, young Potter stepped back so his guests could ‘size up’ the people he had introduced.

Severus Snape was properly impressed with young Potter. Not only had he followed proper traditions, he had left several conversational gambits open for the adults to follow up on if they wished. And what was that comment about his being the ‘most intriguing’ instructor? Later.

“James, Lily. To say I am shocked to see you here would be an understatement. I do wish to apologize for my part in the events Harry has had to remember. I-” He was babbling, he knew it, but things had to be said and only Harry knew how long they had.

“Severus.” That voice. That irritating voice. “You’re forgiven. We’ve watched you over the years and the many ways you have tried to redeem yourself. You’re forgiven. Besides, the ones that are truly at fault haven’t tried to redeem themselves and will soon face the consequences of their decisions,” James Potter declared. “Did you know that you overheard the prophecy two days after it was delivered to the head­mas­ter?”

“What? But prophecies don’t repeat themselves like-” he tried to say.

James interrupted him. “You’re right. So consider what else could have happened, okay?” He stepped back.

“Sev,” said Lily, and that voice made the world spin again for him. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you too, Lily.” Severus made an abortive attempt to lift his hand to her cheek.

She grabbed it and pulled it back down. “Too many things to say, too public a place to say them. I’m glad you are doing well, Sev. Just ease up on the students a bit, okay? None of them understand the whys of your behaviour, the ‘what ifs’ that you live with in every class. A little explanation will go a long way.”

Turning her head she said, “And I believe my son said your name was Draco Malfoy.”

Relieved to have the focus off of him, Severus stepped back to let Draco speak for himself. He briefly pondered James bringing up the prophecy and then shutting down the topic so quickly, but decided that this was too public a place for those thoughts. Instead he watched his godson in his element- a Slytherin meeting politically charged figures in a public place. He marvelled at how easily the boy ‘went with the flow’, even when those he met had been long dead. And the conversation that Potter and Draco had at the start of these events? Did that have an impact on Draco’s composure now? Oh what Severus would do for the chance to go back and hear that talk more clearly! Before he realized it, the Potter family had moved on to talk to Minerva and Longbottom.

Sitting back to eavesdrop on that conversation, Severus was shocked to realize how calm he was when confronted by the ghosts of those whose deaths could be traced back to his own actions. James had known that Snape had overheard the prophecy, had taken the words of it straight back to Voldemort in an attempt to gain favour. And yet he not only forgave him the decision to do so, he implied that it wasn't really Severus’s fault that the prophecy got to Voldemort. If he had really heard it two days later then he hadn’t heard the TRUE prophecy, but one that may have been tampered with. He hadn’t actually seen Trelawney at the Hogshead Inn; he took Dumbledore’s word after the fact that she was there that day.

Maybe Potter is setting a trap, but which Potter? And whom do they plan to catch?

Chapter 9: We Interrupt This

Twenty minutes later, during which Harry never left his parents’ sides, Severus noticed that the Potter family was looking nervous. James had just come back from a quiet conversation with Neville Longbottom on the blue couch, which left the boy’s face tearstained but with a smile on it. As he leaned over to give his wife a peck on the cheek (to Harry’s giggles) his eyes darted over the gathered crowd behind them. With his own experience with trying to locate dangers unknown, Snape immediately realized that they were moving towards the next stage of their family traditions.

Family traditions are by definition a routine event. If Dumbledore had truly been guardian for young Harry for the last ten years why didn’t he know anything about the boy’s traditions? Didn’t he check up on the child? Make sure he was happy wherever he had stashed the boy? And why was the boy so small? Maybe it’s time to start investigating some of Dumbledore’s activities in regards to the Potters.

“Professor? It’s almost time,” a hesitant young voice said.

Snape sighed. “Time for what, young Potter? Time for me to re-evaluate my life yet again?”

“No sir,” Harry replied. “Time for backup. The demon is coming and I need you to quietly get the House Heads outside of the circle. Then keep the students away from my family but still in the Great Hall.”

The serious tone brought Severus back to the here and now faster than apparating could take him away from here. “What do you mean demon? I’m learning that you are way too literal in your simple statements. Are you expecting fire and brimstone, or something more corporeal?” ‘Please boy, define your terms!’ he thought urgently.

With a shrug, Harry replied, “Voldemort.” He then turned to walk back to his family, leaving a staggering potions professor trying to get a grip on himself. It didn’t take long.

Rushing from ‘throne’ to ‘throne’, the only darkly dressed man in the room urged each Head of House to their feet. Whispering furiously, he informed them in grave tones that they needed to clear the living from the circle, but keep them inside the Great Hall. Knowing that they wouldn’t believe the full truth he hedged his answer when they asked for explanations. “Death Eaters,” he would say. Death eaters, for the uninitiated, were the sworn followers of the dark wizard that killed the Potters. As many were known to have escaped prosecution when Voldemort died, an attack by them to get to Harry Potter was always expected, if not exactly prepared for. Severus Snape had been one before the Potters died, and had switched loyalties afterwards, while maintaining the fiction of being a death eater so he could spy for Dumbledore. Thus he was expected to know their plans, and a warning from him was to be taken seriously. Soon the circle was empty of all but the Potter Family.

The assembled crowd hushed, expecting some new step in the Potter family traditions. James Potter broke the silence.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Head­mas­ter,” he said, with a spell on his voice so he could be heard by all. “I would like to make an announcement!”

Severus watched as Harry’s face became confused. So even he didn’t know about the announcement. Must not be part of the traditions.

“Lily and I have discussed this throughout the last year, and have decided to make a formal declaration. I, James Potter, being of Sound Mind and Soul-”

“And I, Lily Evans Potter, also being of Sound Soul and Mind-”

“Do formally give all rights of care and guidance of our son, Harry James Potter, to Severus Tobias Snape. All so-called crimes he may have committed, past present or future, have been forgiven by us. Congratulations, Severus; it’s a boy!” James said with a laugh.

Seeing both Professor Snape and Harry Potter had the same dumbfounded look upon their faces, Draco couldn’t resist his own jibe. “Look! They already look like Father and Son!” He then fell to the floor laughing when the ‘new family’ turned identical sneers upon him.

Albus Dumbledore chose that moment to speak up. “I’m afraid that it’ll take more than the word of two ghosts to make that happen. The Ministry is well known for needing everything written in quill and parchment,” he said, with an ‘I’m disappointed you didn’t remember that’ air in his words.

James turned to the head­mas­ter and said gravely, “Then why don’t you go back to the Wizengamot, Chief Warlock, and remove the seal you personally placed on Lily and my wills five days before we died. You’ll find that you have broken every wish of ours that we wrote in quill and parchment six months before we were murdered, including what we had just said.”

The ensuing silence was only broken when Harry’s mother spoke up. “The very thought of sending Harry to live with Petunia is insulting. That woman would have worked him to the bones every time SHE thought of the word magic, let alone any time he actually showed signs of using it. And the excuse you used! Blood wards indeed. That woman is no more blood to me than you are, Albus! I told you on several occasions that I was adopted, and not related to the Evans family at all!” Here she shoved her nose in the air, crossed her arms firmly across her chest and spun to face Severus. “At least I never told any of the teachers, so I won’t hold that against any of you.”

The door to the Great Hall slammed open, making everyone jump.

Chapter 10: I Will Confront

Harry’s wand was in his hand even before the noise began to echo. He moved to the edge of the glowing dome closest to the door without crossing out of it. As he did so his parents moved towards the furthest edge, letting the living handle the living.

The form that stood in the doorway leaned heavily against the frame, panting and huffing. A moment later it stood up straight, adjusted the turban on its head and stumbled forward. “Head­mas­ter,” he whispered, then lifted his wand to place a spell on his voice. “Head­mas­ter,” he whispered again, only this time his spell amplified it so it sounded like he was speaking normally in the now silent Great Hall. “There’s a Troll (huff) in the dungeons (pant pant). Thought you’d (deep breath) want to know.” He then saw the glowing bubble in between the head­mas­ter and himself, and pulled his shoulders up straight.

Harry didn’t wait to hear the head­mas­ter’s reply. He immediately started speaking to Professor Quirrell, his voice low and soothing. “It’s alright, Professor. The head­mas­ter and Hagrid will go take care of it now. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.” Waving his empty hand behind him, in the direction of the blue couch, he added, “Why don’t you come sit down and rest?”

“Now see here, Potter. I’ll need more than just Hagrid to take on a troll,” Dumbledore sputtered. “I’ll need at least four teachers,” he said thoughtfully. “And all students should return to their dorms, just to be safe. I’m afraid the party’s over for tonight.”

Without taking his eyes off of Professor Quirrell, who was this year’s Defence Against Dark Arts instructor, Harry cut in sharply. “Return to their dorms, sir? When one group of those students live in the dungeons where the troll was just seen? The students would be better off here in the Great Hall, with all four Heads of House to combine their forces to defend them against the Troll. Divide and conquer.” Here Harry shook his head. “More like divide and get conquered if you ask me.” Standing tall again, yet still facing the defence professor, Harry continued speaking. “Head­mas­ter Dumbledore, since you think that the Defeater of Grindelwald and a half-giant are not enough to defeat one troll, take as many of the teachers as you think necessary to show you how it’s done, but I need my party invitees for the end of my Family Traditions. The students will be safe here with their Heads of House and the Defence Professor. Now go before the troll does any damage!”

Refocusing his attention back to Quirrell, Harry lowered his voice again. “See professor, the troll will be taken care of. You don’t have to fight anymore. The head­mas­ter will guard the school tonight. Come, rest on the couch. You’ve been fighting the Dark so long. It’s time to rest.” With each word the defence instructor’s face became a little more slack. His features seemed to sag at the thought of rest. And as his body started to slowly edge its way forward, the calming spell that Harry had weaved into his words was interrupted by Dumbledore yet again.

“Now see here, Harry. Who do you think you are to decide how to handle-“

Harry cut him off sharply. “Sir! You are wasting time. The troll is making its way through the castle as you babble about who is responsible for what. And my housemate Hermione Granger hasn’t been seen since three o’clock. Go and save your students and the Board of Governors may overlook your willingness to send their children into the path of the troll.” He still hadn’t broken eye contact with the turbaned man in front of him. His voice dropped back to the soothing cadence again. “Come. You are tired of the fight, aren’t you? Sit and rest for a few minutes. There is no need to worry any more tonight. You can sit and enjoy life for a time.”

Quirrell, who had taken two steps back when Dumbledore interrupted, began slowly edging forward towards the couch. Snape headed to the head­mas­ter’s side and quietly insisted that he listen to Potter and go fight the troll. Professor Flitwick pulled his wand, anticipating that Quirrell was part of the death eater plot that Severus warned him of just a few minutes before. The students just gathered in clumps, ignoring Houses for the moment, trying to figure out what was going on. Finally, Dumbledore gathered up Professors Vectra and Sinistra, along with Hagrid, and left the Great Hall by one of the staff entrances on the opposite wall of the main door that Quirrell had come through.

Harry continued entreating the wizard in front of him. “See? Dumbledore understands that I know what I’m talking about. He is more than powerful enough to stop the troll. You can rest now. The others will do the fighting.” Quirrell was ten feet from the dome. “Relax. Take off your turban and come to me. You can tell I’m right, can’t you?

Both Snape and Flitwick jerked at the mention of the turban. Instantly realizing that they had never seen the new professor without it, and suspecting that Potter wouldn’t bring their attention to it needlessly, each wizard raised his wand and tried to find a clear shot to remove the object. Flitwick found his shot first. As Harry backed up to the centre of the circle of chairs that he had created, still murmuring his enticements to the odd professor, the turban flew off Quirrel’s head and into the hands of the diminutive Charms professor.

Students screaming, fainting, fighting to move as far from the centre of the room as possible. Heads of House circling around the glowing dome and the person approaching it. Ghosts from the choir weaving in and out of every person and everything, trying to see what had happened. Distant alarms as the castle tried to summon its Head­mas­ter to handle the uncovered threat in the Great Hall; alarms that went unanswered as the head­mas­ter presumed they were late warnings of the troll in the dungeons.

And one eleven-year-old boy speaking calmly and seductively to the figure causing the riot. “See Voldemort, they really don’t want to be around you. Ignore them and come rest on my couch. There’s no need to fight me. I am only trying to do what’s best. Turn around and come to me, I’ll let you rest as long as you want.”

And the figure turned its face away from Harry. As Professor Quirrell faced the door of the Great Hall, the face that was hidden by the turban opened its eyes and stared at Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, who survived his last attempt on the boy’s life. Lord Voldemort saw his enemy before him and opened his mouth to sneer, to threaten his foe, but before he could he heard the voice speaking. The soothing voice promised rest. He had spent so many years looking for a host, someone to share their life force so he could be reborn. Then he had to work fast to accomplish so little, as the host would fade and die so quickly once they joined. The constant struggle to move forward with his plans, with so little time to see them to fruition. Yes, rest would be nice. Even if it was just one night on the couch. Forget Dumbledore, he’s out fighting a troll. Forget the death eaters; so few of them knew he was still alive, and fewer still understood his plans enough to be helpful. Yes, rest. Forget Potter; he’s not the enemy. Potter is offering him rest.

And slowly, with certainty, Voldemort stood up straight and walked Quirrell’s body backwards into the light. Potter backed off and gave him room, never threatening, never cursing. And as Voldemort made to sit on the couch, to relax finally, even if only for a night, the boy climbed onto the couch like boys will do, and over the back to sit in the coffin that was waiting there. Coffin? But Lord Voldemort was already sinking onto the couch. And as the dark wizard fell onto the couch, the light-dome contracted in a loud POP! taking every soul within it into the life beyond this life, leaving the ‘thrones’ behind.

In the silence that was the aftermath of Harry Potter’s Halloween traditions, Harry sat silently in the red satin-lined coffin behind the blue couch with the embroidered silver flower pattern. He gazed from face to face around the room. Satisfied with what he saw, he looked over at his Potions Professor, his new guardian, and smiled. “Four dark lords down, four to go.”

Severus Snape gave a visible shudder as the implications of his new son’s statement sank in. ‘Merlin, the boy had done this four times now. What...?’ He cut his thoughts off abruptly. Aloud he said the words he never thought he’d be granted the privilege to say. “Well done, son.”

The grin that spread across the boy’s face threatened to split it in half, but then was interrupted by an equally wide yawn. “Pappa Snape, Mom and Dad made you part of our family now. Remember not to mess with the family traditions.” With that the small (too small) boy laid back in his coffin. The lid closed slowly enough that the entire room heard snores coming from inside before it latched.

Pappa Snape raced the other Heads of House to the coffin, striving to make sure his new son was okay. The boy’s words up in Gryffindor tower echoed in his head. ‘My family traditions sound simple when described in words. I relive the night my parents died. Then I talk with them for a while... Then I put my demon to rest. By this time I’m so drained I sleep until-’ As he read the words written on the surface of the pine box the strictest, most disciplined professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry fainted.

DO NOT OPEN UNTIL CHRISTMAS

 

 

THE END