Smoke and Mirrors by JewelBurns
Summary: Sequel to The Choices We Made.

With Voldemort dead and Harry's cancer settling life should be returning to normal for Harry and Snape but things aren't always as they seem. Instead they find themselves challenged in new ways. When dangerous events start after Harry's return to Hogwarts can Snape figure out what's going on before they're torn apart again? HPSS mentor Healing/Coping
Categories: Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Dudley, Hermione, Original Character
Snape Flavour: Snape Comforts, Snape is Depressed, Snape is Desperate, Snape is Kind, Snape is Loving, Out of Character Snape, Overly-protective Snape, Snape is Secretive
Genres: Angst, Drama, Family, General, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Media Type: None
Tags: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Azkaban Character, Hospitalization, Injured!Harry
Takes Place: 7th summer, 7th Year
Warnings: Alcohol Use, Character Death, Out of Character, Romance/Het
Challenges: None
Series: Choices We Made Universe
Chapters: 84 Completed: No Word count: 697412 Read: 514930 Published: 15 Nov 2020 Updated: 30 Sep 2023
Return to Hogwarts by JewelBurns

~~~~SS~~~~

Tuesday 26th, August 1997

Until this summer there had been so few times Severus needed to use the muggle telephone in his home, he felt confident saying he never used it. Now, with Harry actively seeing a muggle physician, visiting the chemotherapy center monthly, and having prescriptions at a muggle pharmacy, it had seen more use in the last two months than the previous fifteen years, in both realities, combined. Yet somehow, none of those phone calls made - or received - compared to the one he contemplated making that morning. For the last two days, Severus had been carrying the piece of paper with Mae's phone number on it around in his pocket, and with him and Harry returning to Hogwarts later in the afternoon, he finally ran out of time to procrastinate.

Severus was sitting in the armchair of his sitting room, enjoying the crackling of the fire as it interrupted his anxious thoughts and helped soothe his racing heart. What purpose did calling the nurse serve again? Because if it served no purpose, why bother calling? He could hear Harry upstairs, supposedly packing, making more ruckus than should be necessary. It would be the perfect excuse to avoid this task - to check in on the young wizard - except it would not aid in ridding the young muggle woman from his mind.

Against his better judgement, before he could come up with another pointless excuse certain to rival any he'd heard from Longbottom, the professor picked up the phone simultaneously waving his wand behind him to ward the room for privacy. Under no circumstances did he want Harry to overhear what was bound to be, at best, an awkward conversation.

"Hello?" The voice on the other side of the phone sounded just sassy enough, Severus instantly knew he had reached the right person.

"Hello," he formally said into the ancient sandstone colored receiver he cradled in his hand; the rest of the muggle device balanced on his right knee. "This is Severus Snape. I'm calling for-"

"Eight days," the voice slowly and arrogantly interrupted him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not going to lie," Mae continued with more amusement than anger, somehow managing to confuse and intrigue Severus at the same time, "I think that has to hold some kind of record. Usually when a girl gives out her number, it's a max of three days wait… maybe four… but eight seems a bit excessive. It definitely gives me the right to hang up on you."

He was embarrassed to admit to himself that it had taken him until the end of her - lecture? - to fully grasp what she'd been talking about.

"Though it's hardly any of your business," he snapped back, giving his eyes a hard roll. She had no idea who she had chosen to deal with, he had no doubt he could meet her tic for tac in this little dance, "I have been out of the country."

"Lemme guess," a soft chuckle crossed through the phone line, "secret spy mission stuff?"

"What?" He asked almost too quickly to sound casual. "I attended a wedding."

"More boring, but still acceptable," she commented. Flirting, he realized. She was flirting with him and he not only had no clue how to react, he couldn't be certain he wanted her to be flirting. "So you're home now…"

"Indeed I am," he filled the silence when she trailed off, unwilling to divulge too much information, but at the same time uncomfortable with her leading the call. "Would you have preferred, as you so eloquently put it, 'secret spy mission stuff'?"

"Maybe," she declared, "it certainly would give a good reason for why you lied to me about your name."

"I'd hardly call that lying," he defended himself against the accusation for the second time, "as I said last week, you made an assumption, which in general is a horrible habit regardless of the circumstances, and I simply allowed you to believe it. Who am I to correct your wrong observations?"

"Ok, fine then, Severus Snape," Mae emphasized his correct surname, "if you're not a super secret spy, what is it you do when you're not looking after your son?"

He felt torn. Obviously he couldn't tell her about his real job, but should he correct her about his relationship with Harry? That one he technically had lied about.

"You still there?"

"Yes, I am... sorry," Severus apologized and instantly felt foolish over it. "I'm a professor... at Harry's school."

"Well that's fitting," the muggle nurse responded, and Severus could hear rustling through the phone as if she were settling into a more comfortable position. "No offense-" the professor cringed at the use of the phrase he hated almost more than Harry's 'fine', "-you don't exactly have that professor look to you. What do you teach? Oh wait! Can I guess?!"

Severus gave a hard hmph into the receiver, "Be my guest."

Mae's voice hummed into his ear as she thought through the options and then confidently yelled out, "Math!"

"Oh please," he complained. "I'm a little more creative than that."

"Ok, fine," she went back to the humming, "Literature."

"No."

"Oh c'mon," she teased, "you can't blame me for that one, your vocabulary is more formal than anyone I've met… and I see a lot of people every day. So then, what do you teach?"

"Chemistry," it had taken some quick thinking, while she'd contemplated his class of choice, to come up with the closest equivalent to Potions; because there certainly wasn't anything even remotely similar to Defense Against the Dark Arts in a normal muggle curriculum.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" she chuckled sarcastically. "All of my chemistry teachers were absolutely terrifying."

"Comes with the territory, I'm afraid," he played along. "My students certainly wouldn't disagree with your sentiment and in no way do I claim to be a nice person, especially when compared to an oncology nurse."

"Well I guess honesty is always a good way to sell yourself," another laugh, "but I challenge that a man who sits alone beside his son every month is not a nice person."

And just like that the conversation took a hard turn; a little further from the friendly banter they'd been having and more towards… he couldn't really say.

Against all odds, Severus managed to navigate the conversation with an ease he hadn't felt in a long time. Mae's personality was so different then his own, he felt refreshed when talking to her. The phone call had a natural feeling as they moved almost seamlessly from one topic to the next, going from talking about their hobbies: she enjoyed baking when she wasn't working, much to the enjoyment of her flatmate, to their favorite books and movies - the latter of which Severus had no muggle reference for and opted to say he did not often visit the cinema - and landing on their favorite foods and restaurants.

"So do you and Harry live in Surrey? Or close to the hospital in Guildford?" Mae asked after she went into a story about how the cafe across the street from the hospital knew almost all the nurses' regular orders, her tone switching to a more somber one than she previously used, to match the almost taboo subject matter.

"Harry used to," Severus carefully replied, toeing the line between the truth and a lie. "It's how he ended with Dr Swanson. We now live in the Midlands."

"That's a long drive to make every month," she said. "But Dr Swanson's worth it. She takes really good care of her patients. She's too modest to say so, but her recovery rate is one of the best in the area… knows when she needs to treat aggressively and doesn't hesitate to do so. Which is why she went off to the countryside to treat a VIP patient for a couple of months in the spring. We only saw her when she came into the hospital for his… or her, we never got the details… medications and blood tests. But I'm sure you know that already, because Harry would have seen Dr Ryan in her place."

"That's right," Severus took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Never could he forget how much damage had been caused by Voldemort, but he never considered the story they had to make up to cover her disappearance - and monthly reappearances. He couldn't help wonder what happened to her normal patients during those awful months, had any of them been negatively affected by her absence?

"Listen, I really hate to say this, but I've gotta run," the muggle suddenly announced, "So... Do I get your number? Or is this a one-way thing and I have to wait another eight days for you to call me?"

Dammit, Severus thought to himself. He'd be leaving Spinner's End for Hogwarts in only a matter of hours. That meant should she call him, he'd have no way of knowing, or answering. How come he didn't think about that before he dialed her number, like as he procrastinated this whole thing for two day? Cursing himself, he came up with the only reason he could think of and committed to solving the - probably not as unique as he thought - problem between now and Saturday.

"I'm actually in the process of moving," he started, shaking his head back and forth knowing it sounded like an abhorrent excuse, "and unfortunately I don't know what my new number will be yet."

"Oh, that's convenient," she didn't sound angry, so that part was going his way, but he could hear her questioning his honesty on the subject.

"No, it's not like that," he tried to correct where this was heading. He was a former spy, for Merlin's sake, he should be able to navigate these waters effortlessly, "I work at a boarding school and I won't know the number you can reach me at until I get there later this week. I'll be in Surrey on Saturday, though, so perhaps we can meet up in the evening and I can give it to you then?"

"Very smooth," Mae commented, a bit of zest laced in her voice, "I'm not saying I believe your reason, but I like the outcome. I get off from work at the clinic at four and can meet you at The Village Tree in Guildford by half past five. They're over on Sutton Green."

"I am agreeable to that arrangement," he formally replied, writing down the name and street location on a spare bit of parchment next to him.

Another laugh worked its way from her home to his, "And you're sure you don't teach literature?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," he answered, "I will see you Saturday?"

"It's a date!" Mae's voice exclaimed seconds before she hung up the phone - without a proper salutation, he noted - and left Severus holding the muggle contraption to his ear, contemplating what he'd just managed to get himself into.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry stood in front of his trunk - in his bedroom at Spinner's End - trying to figure out the position he'd never thought he would ever find himself in: deciding what to pack and what to leave behind before going back to school. Seeing as Snape would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, they needed to be back at the school the week before classes resumed. The Gryffindor wasn't exactly given a reason as to why he needed to be there so early, but it didn't matter in the end. This left him with the decision to either pack up all his worldly belongings as he had every other year, or choose to leave some of it at home. Home; a completely foreign and new concept to the young wizard.

In preparation for making such a decision, he'd completely emptied his trunk onto his bed and already separated out the things he no longer needed in either home - Cokeworth or Hogwarts - including a set of over a dozen broken quills, desiccated beetle eyes he thought of asking Snape if they were of any use and decided it best not to, an old badge that flickered feebly between SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY and POTTER STINKS, and a cracked and worn-out Sneakoscope. That pile would be tossed into the rubbish bin and never thought of again.

Next to the rubbish, was a pile of his old textbooks and any school related papers. At first, he considered this the set of items he'd be leaving behind, however without knowing what level classes he'd be in this term, it instead turned into the "Consider Bringing" pile and he added his beanies from last year, since Dr Swanson explained his hair may choose to fall out again. Finally, he had the "Must Haves" or his school essentials, including his blankets from Mrs Weasley, his invisibility cloak - which he was amazed Snape hadn't confiscated this summer, though Harry could admit he'd had no inkling to try and use it - the Marauder's Map, his robes and uniforms - though he questioned if they would fit again this year - and the objects that made the whole process come to a complete halt: the broken fragments of Sirius's enchanted mirror.

When Harry first pulled the fragments of the mirror from his trunk, his initial thought was how lucky he'd been not to slice his finger on the raw, sharp edges. The last thing he needed as Snape went about the house packing as frantically as Harry was an unexpected trip to the muggle hospital from excessive bleeding. One day, he wouldn't have to worry about those types of things, but unfortunately, that wouldn't be until long after Maintenance ended. After the anxiety of cutting himself ended, the dread and guilt over the identity of the object hit him hard. How could he have forgotten Sirius - and his mirror - so easily over this past year? Sure, he had a lot going on, but to completely forget was inexcusable. And so for the next ten minutes, he'd sat on his bed, putting together the pieces of the mirror, simultaneously unable to throw them out, not sure if he could leave them in Snape's childhood bedroom, and finally deciding to bring them back to school only after he asked Snape if they can be charmed not to cut him. There had to be a spell to do that, otherwise even given how much magic could accomplish, it seemed like kind of a miss in their education. After his trunk was finally completely cleaned out, and all the contents on his bed, he came to the conclusion he had absolutely no idea how to partially pack for school.

The knock on his door didn't surprise him, nor did Snape entering when Harry's normal "come in," never came. Since they returned from the wedding, the Gryffindor had felt more put together than he could ever remember; definitely since his diagnosis and probably since his first detentions with Umbridge. With the memory of the awful witch fresh in his mind, Harry unconsciously rubbed the still raised scar on the back of his right hand with his left fingertips; an ugly tattoo he'd likely have for the rest of his life, because if Snape hadn't managed to find something to remove it, odds were he'd be stuck with it forever. While Harry had fared well in the two days since the wedding, having more energy and a clearer mind, it almost had the opposite effect on Snape. The professor seemed more distracted - maybe even nervous - than beforehand and Harry had been racking his brain trying to find what could have happened to cause such a reaction.

"You are aware that your belongings need to be in your trunk before we leave?" Snape jested as he approached Harry's no longer organized piles.

"Yeah, I got that part," Harry sarcastically replied, frustrated that he couldn't even make a bloody decision like this alone. He was a Gryffindor, had single handedly killed a basilisk at the age of twelve, and couldn't commit to what to take to school. Tossing another broken quill into what he hoped was the rubbish lot, he aggressively added, "It's picking what to put in the bloody trunk that's the problem."

Snape's black eyes watched over him and Harry averted his own to avoid seeing the sympathy deep within them, while running his hand nervously through his black hair, relishing in the feel of it. Although Harry may have had some knowledge about how Snape could relate to him and his upbringing, the professor never had to pack up all of his worldly possessions each summer. The room he currently occupied had been Snape's growing up in the tiny attached home, and Harry had found several remnants while cleaning out the room - an old style Slytherin colored tie and a Slytherin flag, for example - tucked in the back of the wardrobe. Harry didn't tell the other wizard he'd found them, rather he placed them with his Gryffindor attire, a visual reminder about how far he'd come in his acceptance of his rival house.

"I'm sure you're well aware by this point, but it is worth restating," Snape said, inspecting the mess Harry had made on his bed, "you are more than welcome to leave whatever you'd like in this room."

"I know," Harry nodded mindlessly, "I just don't know what I'll need this year. I don't even know what class levels I'll be in, so I might as well pack everything."

"Generally speaking," Snape reassured, "I don't come back during the school year, though do not forget, we'll already be returning monthly for your treatments and on some kind of regular basis for appointments with Dr Snyder. Therefore, stopping by here will not be an issue, if need be. And if it's something urgent, such as a textbook, my floo has been made available."

Again, Harry nodded. For some reason, he'd completely forgotten about leaving the school for treatments - already missing having them done in their quarters - and his appointment with the muggle psychologist this coming Thursday. He had no clue what to expect at the appointments, but he didn't think it would require anything too far into the school year.

"Is there anything I can help you narrow down?" Snape asked, pointing to the pile mostly identifiable as his rubbish.

"All of that can go," Harry mumbled, and with a wave of Snape's ebony wand, the first set of his things disappeared and he could focus on the other, albeit more difficult, lots. "Since we'll be back for that appointment Thursday," the Gryffindor reasoned, "I'll leave some of my higher level textbooks until I know where my magical test will place me?"

He asked it as a question hoping for Snape's approval and naturally, the professor picked up on the request. "Of course. Though I would prioritize your sixth year Herbology and Potions texts since there is no need to start further back than the year you missed."

Harry picked up the three required sixth year Herbology books and Snape's battered copy of Advanced Potion Making he'd been given last year and placed those in his trunk.

"It's a start," the young wizard said, sitting down where the pile of rubbish had previously been located. He lowered his head and tugged on a string from the plain red t-shirt he chose for that morning. "Should I take my first year books for the other classes?"

"Not all of them," Snape answered, moving the books around the bed on Harry's left. "I would focus the lower years on Transfiguration and Charms… maybe years one, two and three. And for Defense, bring three and four. If any others are needed, we can certainly stop by here before or after your visit with Dr Snyder.

"As for your clothing, obviously your robes and uniforms from last year, unless you feel they can't be altered-" Harry's face started to blanch at the obvious statement to his still thin frame, "- and remember we're in a castle in Scotland, so warmer clothing would be advised. You should also bring clothing to wear to your treatments, the rest can stay here."

Two years ago, the commanding tone Snape just gave him would have sent Harry reeling; making him want to do everything and anything he could to do exactly the opposite. The reaction wouldn't be intentional, per se, simply his way of dealing with his deep hatred for bullying adults and this professor specifically. This time, he knew it had been said with the purpose of helping Harry make a decision when his brain couldn't put too many cohesive thoughts together rather than belittling him. Not for the first time in the last year, Harry questioned what growing up with this version of Snape would have been like. How much happier could he have been with an adult in his corner?

You'd also be dead, the Gryffindor had to remind himself. At one point in his life - sooner in the past then he'd care to admit - the trade off might have been worth it, a few great years before he died at barely seventeen. But he'd come a long way from those days. Both wizards had. Without another word said between the pair, Harry picked through his belongings and placed the things he thought he might need at least for the beginning of the school year into his trunk.

"Is this rubbish?" Snape's question drew Harry's attention back to the room around him. The professor was holding up the sharpest of pieces from Sirius's broken mirror, one eyebrow skeptically raised to his hairline.

"No, it's not," the Gryffindor responded, hoping it wouldn't require any further explanation, "But is there a spell you can put on it so I can't accidentally cut myself?"

Snape peered over at him for ten long seconds, and Harry couldn't help feeling judged by the obsidian stare. The professor waved his wand over the piece of glass in his hand, then over the remaining pieces on the bed, without a single word about Harry's lack of explanation, for which the young wizard was eternally grateful.


Wednesday 27th August, 1997

Yesterday, when stepping out of the floo from Spinner's End to their Hogwarts quarters left Harry with a very strange feeling inside. For the first time in his life, he actually found himself sad to be leaving his home; because that was really what it had become. Somehow, against all of the odds, him and Snape managed to create a home together, one which Harry loved all the way to his core. He'd never lived in a place where he felt accepted, safe, and cared for. And while he knew coming back to Hogwarts didn't change any of that, he also didn't want to have to give it up.

That first night back at the school had been mostly spent with Dudley, helping his cousin set up the Muggle Studies classroom with muggle literature, movies, and sports equipment, while Snape set up his Defense classroom. Harry tried to sneak a peek at the curriculum to give his friends a head start, but Snape made it very clear doing so would land him in detention - with a comment about how only Harry Potter could receive a detention before school resumed. It lacked the old annoyance and ire it used to have and they both had a good chuckle over it before Harry decided to go find Dudley.

"Did I tell you Draco's going to be in class this year?" Dudley mentioned as the two boys catalogued the videotapes by era - to which Harry had no clue how they would actually be viewed in the castle, but hadn't asked - which required them to be taken out of boxes in the cupboard and placed on specific shelves around the room. The task could have been much quicker with magic, yet neither boy could do it.

Astonished, Harry dropped the set of tapes he'd been carrying, a loud crash echoed off the barren stone walls. "You're having me on, right? I don't care if he's dating… English royalty… there's no way Draco Malfoy would step foot in muggle studies."

Dudley shrugged his shoulders, "Dunno what to tell you besides Professor Burbage had me add his name to the roster this morning. I thought maybe you'd know something."

Harry's face turned a dark red. They were a week out from the start of term, and he still hadn't opened even one of the two letters Draco sent him. Giving his head a small shake, indicating he had no idea why the Slytherin - likely the only one from the House of Snakes in Hogwarts history - decided to sign up for Muggle Studies.

"Then I should probably mention that I think Professor Burbage is gonna ask you to speak in the fifth year section about muggle medicine," Dudley continued, helping Harry pick up the fallen VHS tapes and bring them to their specific shelves.

"No," Harry refused, remembering how Dudley mentioned it last year, but nothing ever came to fruition on the idea. "I'm not being showcased like some magical freak."

The second that last word left his mouth, Harry wished he could take it back. Sometimes, he forgot Dudley was the same kid he grew up with at Privet Drive. He could blame it on his constant forgetfulness - a side effect from the chemotherapy drugs, which Dr Swanson said would hopefully reverse when he finally stopped in two years - he'd be lying though, in reality he just didn't think.

"Dudley, I'm-"

"It's fine. I deserved that," his cousin quickly shot back, but not before Harry saw the pain and regret pass through the muggle's blue eyes. A thick air fell over them, making Harry so uncomfortable he started picking at the small hairs on the backs of his left arm. They continued to work in silence for about five more minutes, and just when Harry started thinking he'd managed to close the topic of his informational speaking, Dudley added, "Professor Snape's going to speak to the class during that segment."

This time, Harry did better at not appearing taken completely by surprise when he asked, "Why?"

Appearing happy to have gained the Gryffindor's attention, Dudley turned to face his cousin and said, "Something 'bout major breakthroughs in a collaborative muggle and magical healing. The way Professor Burbage explained it, this is an entirely new aspect and can completely change how Potions and diagnostics are approached."

Harry knew Snape had decided to go work with the Malfoys, commended it even, because if anyone could make headway on a new chemotherapy potion, it'd be Snape. This, though, sounded like a whole different approach that went far beyond Leukemia and cancer in general. Hadn't Snape mentioned that before? He honestly couldn't remember.

"I'm not committing to anything, but what would you want me to talk about?"

Dudley's smile told him getting out of it would be nearly impossible now, and that his muggle cousin had a bit more Slytherin to him than Harry gave him credit for. If Snape saw a benefit to talking to the upcoming generation about the advances he, personally, was trying to make in a collaborative effort, then Harry could explain things like: IVs, tablets, his port, and surgery - an event he'd like to never have to repeat, but if he wanted his port removed, would be inevitable.

That night Harry, Dudley, and Snape had dinner in the Great Hall with the other professors who'd returned for the year. Naturally, they all asked how Harry had been since leaving the castle in June, not that he would tell them anything besides fine - which earned him a sideways glare from Snape. Throughout dinner, Harry learned more about Professor Flitwick's summer travels around the continent attending various Charms and dueling conferences then he ever wanted to know, how McGonagall's renovations on her family's home in the Scottish hills went, and all about Professor Burbage's time spent in the United States visiting her sister's family on a farm in Iowa. Harry and Snape added their own stories of their holiday, centered mostly around their time in France for the Weasley-Delacor wedding; the professor not at all shy in recounting the many dances Harry shared with Luna, much to the young Gryffindor's great embarrassment. He had fun that night, with a lot of laughing, and being surrounded by the familiarity of the school was almost healing in and of itself.

Never would Harry think sleeping in the dungeons could feel so comfortable. He'd been in such a bad mental space in the time between being released from the hospital wing, after waking up from wherever he'd been, and the end of term, that those last few weeks were a complete fog. And so while he originally lobbied - and had been subsequently turned down - to sleep in the Tower, that first night in his room and comfortable bed chipped away at yet another piece of the boulder within him. Each day the boulder got smaller and he found he could start to breathe easier.

The young wizard woke up Wednesday morning to the sun shining on his face from his enchanted window - still depicting an image from the Black Lake, but he hadn't forgotten Draco's window had other options - energizing him for the day ahead. Today Healer Smithe would be arriving at the castle and he'd finally get to test out his magic to determine where he'd be placed this year. As nervous as he'd been about how his classes would work, after talking with Ron and Hermione, and even Dean, Ginny, and Luna, he found himself oddly looking forward to what the year would bring. Unlike his friends, there wouldn't be the academic pressures of the past, and there was definitely no Voldemort to watch his back for. Basically, as long as he could keep his accidental magic in line, meaning to make sure it didn't attack him, it could be his best year yet.

"You look peppy this morning," Snape grumbled as Harry practically bounced into their small kitchen for breakfast. Snape was seated at the table with his normal cup of black coffee and plate of buttered toast with only a single corner bitten from it.

"I slept well," Harry announced. Most of the summer, at least until his nightmare, Snape had been well aware of Harry's trouble sleeping.

"Perhaps we should have returned to the castle earlier in the summer," Snape said with a yawn; obviously the professor hadn't shared his own sentiment.

Harry took what had been his usual seat at the small three person table, not too dissimilar from the one at their home in Cokeworth, where a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and peanut butter toast sat next to his cup of morning medications. He grabbed a green apple from the basket of fruit in the middle of the table in hopes of calming his stomach a bit; hopefully only nerves from what the day ahead of him would bring. Turning around, Harry noticed how the kitchen was spotless; a sign that breakfast had come from house elves and another clue to the professor's exhaustion. While taking his tablets, Harry peered around the room, taking in whatever he could, trying to be stealthy about it. Snape had gone back to reading a book Harry hadn't seen before, and true to form, couldn't tell a single thing about it.

"Whatcha reading?" He asked. Sometimes the best way to get information was simply to inquire about it.

Snape glared at him in the same manner Harry had seen a countless number of times from Hermione when she didn't want to be interrupted.

So much for finding out that way, Harry thought to himself, as he picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet sitting in the middle of the table,in an attempt to look as casual as possible. He almost spit his pumpkin juice all over his breakfast when his eyes caught sight of a headline off to the right-hand side.

Two Former Death Eaters Arrested While in Muggle London!

Lazuli Ash and Theodore Talpin were arrested on Sunday the 24th of August, 1997 on charges for the attack at Diagon Alley occurring on Friday 15th August, 1997. Both wizards were originally arrested by muggle London police for attempted arson on a local pub, before being extradited by the Muggle-Magical Liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Though unmarked, as positively identified former followers of You-Know-Who, Ash and Talpin are being held in Azkaban pending trial in September.

Whispers in the DMLE over the use of a new memory extraction technique has made...

"Did you see this?" Harry turned the paper over and slid it across the table.

Giving a swift glance at the headline, Snape went back to his book with a simple, "That's Monday's paper. Yes, I had seen it."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, "So then why didn't you tell me?"

The sound of the sadness in the young wizard's voice, caused Snape to place a piece of parchment to mark his place and looked up, "I am sorry for not mentioning it. We both had a lot going on with returning to school and it slipped my mind that you would be so interested."

Harry smiled. Until everything last year he would never think of Snape as someone normal enough to forget something, anything really.

"Can they really call these two former Death Eaters?" Harry cautiously asked. He knew he was toeing a fine line, but he hated the idea of two wizards capable of attacking a street full of innocent people being in the same category as Snape.

"Technically, with Voldemort gone, the Death Eater organization fell," Snape logically explained. "Ergo, they were part of the former group who were called Death Eaters."

"That seems like a stretch," Harry muttered as he continued to read through the article, which gave no other relevant information outside of their trial pending next month and the mention of a reliable witness testimony Harry knew to be Draco.

A comfortable silence fell over the table as the wizards continued reading their own respective material. Every so often, Harry would try to inconspicuously crane his neck towards Snape to try and see what had the professor's undivided attention that morning. After about five minutes of this, Snape awkwardly cleared his throat.

"I know this is a delicate subject," the professor's dark eyes narrowed at Harry from across the table, "however, have you considered getting a haircut before the start of the school year? It appears to be getting far more unmanageable than usual."

Self conscious, Harry lifted his hand and ran it through his hair. The raven locks had always been messy and wild, but since his hair had grown back he could admit it had been worse than normal. It didn't help that he hadn't considered cutting it and after all these months, the length was far longer than he'd worn it before it fell out.

"I don't know, have you?" Harry retorted back, unable to pass up the opportunity. "You'd be the talk of the school if you showed up to the welcoming feast with a nice clean cut."

"My apologies," Snape dragged out the sarcastic reply, "I was unaware you had the desire to grow it out."

"It's not that," Harry pushed a piece of his eggs around the circumference of his plate, imagining it racing around the world, "I just figured if it's going to fall out again, then why bother?"

"Who said it will fall out again?"

"Well," Harry lifted his head to meet Snape's eyes, "Dr Swanson, technically. She said my body may react all different ways during Maintenance and that included my hair falling out again. So why pretend everything is back to normal when I know it's not."

"You should not make the decisions of today for the possibility of what may or may not happen tomorrow," the professor philosophically told him. "You need to try to live your life, Harry. It's the best advice anyone could give you right now. Things may change tomorrow or six months from now, but that does not mean you stop living in your present."

He nodded, understanding, in theory, the words and meaning behind them.

"It's not that easy," the Gryffindor replied, once again running his fingers through his hair, and working them through a knot at the end.

"Never did anyone claim it would be," Snape stood, tucking the unknown book tightly under his arm, giving Harry no chance at discovering its subject, "that does not mean you don't try. Finish up breakfast and then we'll head to the Room of Requirement for your magical testing."

After Snape left, Harry contemplated the advice he'd just been given, as well as considering what it meant when the former spy expertly evaded Harry's own questions.


If Snape weren't standing directly behind him as they made their way through the corridors, his firm, but gentle hand keeping them moving towards their destination, Harry was certain they would never have made it to the Room of Requirement. The last time he'd had his magic checked had been right before the vision about the prophecy, and while the young wizard had come to terms with that event, something about trying it out again caused his blood to beat through his ears. Before he knew it, the two of them were standing in front of a plain door he knew would take them to where Healer Smithe waited for them.

"Are you ready?" Snape asked, causing Harry to jump.

"No."

Harry surprised himself with his honest answer. A year ago he'd lie and just do it because he'd be expected to. Today, things felt different, he'd changed and could now admit when things were drowning him.

"We cannot stand out here forever."

"I know that," Harry replied. "I just need a second."

Ten seconds later, Snape moved from behind the Gryffindor to standing in front of him and asked again, "Ready?"

"Not really," Harry looked at the professor oddly aware at how close in height they were.

In the past, Snape had almost always been towering over him - albeit Harry had usually been sitting at a desk - and now they appeared more as equals. While Harry still struggled with reaching an ideal weight for his age, he'd completely missed how tall he'd grown over the years. Eye to eye, Harry watched Snape's expression subtly change from annoyed - at Harry's delay - to understanding. With a small nod, as if to say "take your time", the professor moved out of the way and stood beside the Gryffindor, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Ok," Harry eventually said about four minutes later. "Now or never, right?"

"Indeed."

Snape took the initiative to open the door and held it open for Harry to enter. The Room looked exactly as it had for his tests the previous year, with a chalkboard at the front to record his results with different colored chalk, a basket of objects - all of them far smaller than anything he tested with last year - he'd use to levitate and summon, and an area off to the side covered in mats where he'd hoped they'd get to try some dueling. The only difference, and a big one at that, was instead of the long conference-style table where Dumbledore and McGonagall had joined, a small round table sat in its place with only Healer Smithe present.

"Just us?" Harry asked, confused.

"I thought you'd like a little more discretion this time around," Snape explained and the warmth Harry had gotten used to in his core radiated through him. The little things Snape did - like anticipating how Harry might feel falling flat on his face during this test on top of anxiety from the last time he'd been tested - were the things he never knew he missed growing up without parents. And Snape did all of this without any pomp and circumstance to it, as if this were completely normal; which for the professor, was probably true as he'd been Harry's father in his old reality.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Healer Smithe greeted the pair and motioned for them to take the remaining two chairs. "Before we get started, do you understand everything going on with your magical core? Why we have to test you?"

With his knee bouncing from nerves, Harry nodded his head. "Erm… yeah," he looked over to Snape who didn't jump in, a sign for the Gryffindor to continue. "Basically, my raw magic doesn't know how to act now that I have it all available and I need to start training it."

"A bit over simplified," the healer gave a small laugh, reminding Harry too much of Remus in his first year teaching, "but more or less that is the gist of it.

"Today, I'll be running you through a series of tests to see if there is any organization to your new magic. That will give us a sense of where to start you in terms of lessons. Do you have any questions before we jump in?"

"Loads of them," Harry sheepishly answered. "The biggest one... and I guess it kinda answers a couple others… What is this going to do to my magic in the long run? And during chemotherapy?"

Harry turned when Snape gave a hard sigh. They'd disagreed on the course of action for how to handle his magic; the professor wanting to do that awful Magical Block Ritual and Harry practically begging to do the retraining.

"What we're looking to do is find a balance," Healer Smithe confidently started, and he drew a circle on the chalkboard with the squiggly lines Harry had seen before when Snape first explained about the magical block. "If this is your core now, completely jumbled and disorganized, it's causing flare ups in accidental magic. Only unlike your old accidental magic, this is being aimed at you, rather than to help you. This year, you'll focus on finding the minimum amount of organization - just enough to taper off the severity of the accidental magic - without causing it to deplete."

Harry watched the lines in the circle start to organize at the top, while the ones below stayed jumbled. Every so often - but at a far less frequent rate - one of the disorganized lines left the circle briefly before coming back.

That must be the accidental magic.

"And we'll be able to keep track of his accidental magic intensity?" Snape finally spoke up, sounding more skeptical than Harry was comfortable with.

"Yes!" The Healer got excited when he answered, "I've found a way to measure the output of your core. It's completely subjective, meaning the number itself doesn't mean anything without other values to compare it to. So basically, I can watch what your core does over time and we can see how effective the retraining process is at limiting the flare ups."

"That's brilliant," Harry said. He wanted to ask what they would do if they found his magic wasn't responding to the training, but he already knew it would be the Magical Suppression Ritual; plus one look at Snape told him not to mention it. For whatever reason, the professor clearly didn't want his healer to know about it. "So what's first?"

If Harry had been frustrated at the magical testing he did with Snape back in March - the one where he had the vision from Voldemort about the prophecy - it didn't compare to how defeated he felt during this one. Back then, when his magic had been at its lowest before it finally disappeared, he still felt in control of it, even if the magic itself didn't react with the same vigor or finesse as it normally did. Now, after two hours of lumos, accio, wingardium leviosa, incendio, and immobulus, he was ready to smash his wand onto the floor, splintering it to pieces. Half of the spells flat out didn't work and the other half were obviously weaker than a seventeen year old wizard's spells should be.

For some unknown reason, his incendio - and only the fire making spell - worked every single time without hesitation. "At least I can light a fire consistently," the young wizard sarcastically told the other two.

Equally frustrated, Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, "This isn't necessarily testing what you already know," he reminded, though the Gryffindor didn't know if it was intended for himself or for Harry.

"We are simply trying to figure out which classes you should be placed in," Healer Smithe chimed in, "putting you through courses your magic is already familiar with will not help train it. We need to organize the magic and therefore your actual mastery of any particular spell isn't really necessary or relevant."

"But these are first year spells I can't do," Harry threw himself down onto the mats - which wouldn't get any use for Defense this time around since he couldn't do any spells - toed off his trainers to get more comfortable. "I thought you said I wouldn't be in the first year classes?"

"I said I didn't think you would be," Snape defended, "however we needed to see where your magical abilities lie."

"Well now we know they're bloody awful!"

"Harry," Healer Smithe kneeled down in front of the angry Gryffindor, "there's nothing to be embarrassed about. The fact you could do at least half of spells successfully-" he raised his hand to stop Harry's rebuttal, "-even at the lower output level, and inconsistently, is fantastic. What it shows me is that once you get back into using magic again, the learning curve will be quick. Hopefully, it will stay that way and by spring term, maybe Easter, you'll have enough of the magic under control to stop using it regularly."

"We cannot wait that long," Snape immediately argued. "His magic could kill him by then."

Harry clenched his jaw tight at the forward statement. Sure, he knew his life was in danger - and that Snape, at least by appearances, preferred to go with the Magical Block - but hearing it put so brazenly hit him the wrong way. There always seemed to be something out there trying to kill him and he had to keep reminding himself of his friends and what this year could mean. Closing his eyes, he pictured himself in the Gryffindor common room sitting on the red sofa in front of the fire, wrapped up in his yellow blanket, talking to his housemates, then he moved to his dormitory where he could see all five beds so clear in his mind, he could have been there last term instead of the year before. He let the sounds of Seamus's boisterous laugh fill his ears and the sight of all five wizards sitting up in bed going over the last Quidditch match - they won, of course. He could make it a good year; he could choose to have a good attitude about it all and not care where his magical abilities lie. He had to. If he didn't, he knew it would consume him otherwise.

Opening his eyes, Healer Smithe and Snape were both staring at him. He stood up carefully, grabbing his trainers in his left hand, wand still tightly held in his right, and announced: "If it's alright, I think I'm going to go for a run. Just tell me which classes to show up to and which books to bring."

"Harry," he heard his healer call out to him as he reached the door leading out of the Room of Requirement, "we'll get this under control before it gets out of hand, you have my word."

For what it was worth, Harry believed Healer Smithe. It amazed him how he'd gone from depending on no one but himself for so long, to having a whole team of people he needed to trust to ensure his survival.

The feeling of being able to depend on others to guide him through this rocky terrain equally calmed and terrified him. But it was what they were here for; Dr Swanson to keep the cancer from killing him, Healer Smithe to keep track of his magic, soon to be Dr Snyder who would supposedly help him sort through all his emotions surrounding the first two, his friends to keep him laughing, and then Snape - arguably the most important - who was there to pick up anything that fell between the cracks. In a short, yet significant year, Harry learned to respect the professor more than almost anyone else in his life at that moment. He had to fight against the feeling of injustice that wanted to take over; where were these people when he'd been practically starved locked in his bedroom on Privet Drive?

"Thank you," Harry said, letting out a big sigh, "I appreciate it."

To be continued...
End Notes:
Coming Up Next: DMLE


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