On Friday, the storm that had been hovering broke over Hogwarts. Rain came down in thick opaque curtains and more than one student, as well as the more incompetent members of the faculty, looked at the ceiling of the Great Hall to verify that the rain did indeed stop midair. Severus sneered at Quirrell, who looked at the ceiling several times and made nervous fluttery adjustments to his ridiculous turban.

Bypassing an elaborate and rich strawberry trifle, Severus reached for a small piece of flan. Savoring the simple elegant taste, he watched his godson and Potter at the corner of the Slytherin table. Draco was smiling and executing a refined but vicious attack on the strawberry trifle. Harry, on the other hand, fidgeted with his goblet of pumpkin juice and left the trifle that Draco had heaped on his plate untouched.

A hint of a frown touched Severus’s mouth as he took another bite of flan. The Potter boy, though he assured Severus and Draco with his usual stammer that he knew he was not diabetic, still refused to eat sweets. Draco had slathered the boy’s toast with sweet marmalade at breakfast and pressed an apple on him during lunch and Harry had eaten them with no more reluctance than was usual for him, but he did not touch dessert. The child watched Draco eat the trifle, his green eyes focused on Draco’s plate.

Severus left dinner early, abandoning the remaining flan, and stalked to the dungeons to set out the ingredients for Potter’s lesson. He opened the door to his private laboratory with a clang. Much as he hated to admit the precious Boy Who Lived into his private lab, he preferred that to the possibility of discovery by the other staff. He didn’t want to give them a chance to stick their interfering prissy noses in his House business, frightening Harry while they were at it.

The last thing the fragile boy needed was an official inquiry into his relatives’ treatment of him or to be forced into speaking of the abuse just now. Hufflepuffs wear their hearts on their robes, while Ravenclaws ignore their hearts for their logic, and imbecilic Gryffindors dash around as if the blood supply to their heart cut off all circulation to the brain whatsoever. Slytherins – Slytherins could balance heart and brain with a synthesis of guile and understanding, a perfect balance. Harry would be ready to unburden his heart of his traumas when his heart needed to be unburdened and his head told him that he was safe, and Severus would wait for that instant, guide the boy to it and through it, and when they were on the other side of it, he would laugh at James and Lily Potter’s graves.

In good time, he reminded himself, in good time patience yields its own rewards. Until that time, Harry needed his focus and help. Feed the boy and show him that nothing here at Hogwarts can hurt him, that’s the way to earn his trust and to earn true vengeance on his parents.

Severus shivered. The chill and damp of the dungeon air that had increased due to the storm was enough to penetrate his thick woolen robes. He cast a hasty warming charm, enough to make sure that the thin Potter boy would be comfortable but not enough to perturb heat-sensitive ingredients. The boy was so thin it was certain that he’d be easily chilled. Potter’s boy … Severus felt a smirk curve his lips at the thought that he was, be it ever so improbable, concerned about the comfort of James Potter’s son. In some strange ironic twist, the comfort of James Potter’s son was dependent upon none other than Severus Snape.

Harry came into sight then, his timid eyes peeking around the door frame, and the sight of the Slytherin crest that the boy wore was enough for Severus to reassure himself. He was concerned about the comfort of one of his Slytherin students. He was hardly concerned at all in fact, a warming charm took no effort to cast and he himself was cold.

“Mr. Potter, do come in,” he said. “Notice that we are using a copper cauldron for this potion, as opposed to the pewter ones which we have used in class. Would you care to speculate as to the consequences of this change?” The boy twisted his hands behind his back and Severus added, “Please attempt to answer without stammering. It is an unbecoming habit in you, unworthy of a Slytherin.”

The boy gulped at that and fidgeted for a second before replying. “It – does it change the temperature of the flame needed to heat the potion?”

Severus nodded. “That is correct, but what consequences would it have for the potion itself?”

The boy’s gaze dropped to the floor for the first time. “I-I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know.”

Severus kept a tight rein on his classroom persona, not wishing to frighten Potter. “A minute amount of the cauldron metal leaches into the potion unless the cauldron is made of an extremely non-reactive substance or the potion is inert with regards to the cauldron. In this case, note that pewter cauldrons are used for many potions because pewter is essentially non-reactive with the ingredients and isn’t toxic to the human body at such minute concentrations. On the other hand, copper cauldrons are often used for healing and nutrient potions because the magical properties of the copper residue interact harmoniously with the human body and metabolism. Copper itself is a trace element required for metabolism. Do you understand?”

Harry replied with a quiet “Yes, sir,” and Severus continued in this vein, quizzing the boy about the potion’s ingredients and reactions. The child did a passable job of answering most of the questions and his eyes went wide when Severus presented him with new information.

They began to brew the potion, Severus overseeing Harry. He was forced to admit that Potter actually made a decent Potions student, unlike his father. Quiet, precise and observant, the boy had answered questions with which most first year students would have struggled. Only his godson and the exasperating Miss Granger would have been able to compete with this small uncertain boy.

A Muggle-raised child rarely showed such early competence at Hogwarts and most floundered for several semesters. Severus interrogated the boy while the potion simmered. “What do you like about Potions, Mr. Potter?” he asked.

“I-It’s easy to see how Potions c-can be useful, not like turning matches into needles or making pineapples dance. A-And it’s interesting to see how all of the in-ingredients work together, r-rather like c-chemistry in a way.”

“You enjoyed your chemistry lessons at your old school?” Severus asked.

“Y-Yes, sir. D-Dudley wasn’t taking chemistry, so I liked them.” The boy still stuttered. It was a sign of deplorable weakness, but Severus forced himself to be patient with the boy.

“This Dudley is also the reason why you spent your time in the library?”

“Y-Yes, sir. He never went there.” The boy ducked his head, dark hair falling across his eyes.

“How are you getting on with Draco, then? Are you eating enough?” The cauldron began to bubble and Severus turned down the heat just a fraction.

“Yes, sir, Draco’s very nice about giving me food.”

Severus tightened his grip on the copper stirring rod. “Don’t use the word nice, boy it’s insipid and banal. If you’ve half the intelligence you appear to have, you could use better words in your sleep.”

Trembling, Potter backed away from the cauldron and said, “Y-Y-Yes, sir. S-Sorry, sir.”

“There’s no need to be frightened of me, child. I am aware of the fact that you’re only eleven and can’t be expected to have the most complex and advanced vocabulary yet. But in turn, you must understand that I hold high expectations for all of my Slytherins and you must strive to meet them. I will not be unreasonable and I will never punish physically or by denying you food. Is that understood?” Severus brushed a lock of lank hair back from his face as he fixed Harry with a glare.

“Y-Y-Yes, s-sir.”

“Remember also that you need to avoid stuttering. Slytherins do not show their fear.”

The boy nodded, his untidy black hair bobbing up and down as he did so.

“Good. We’ll make a dignified Slytherin out of you yet. Now, as you add the chopped mint, what changes do you expect to observe?”

The boy chopped the fresh mint with a clean knife. His hands were a little uncertain and his technique needed improvement, Severus noted. The blade was not held at the most efficient angle. “It – the smell should change, I suppose, but – but the mint isn’t reactive with this potion, so the texture should remain the same.”

“How will the color change?”

The boy’s hands paused in their chopping. “Well, it won’t, sir. But I’ve seen the final potion so I know it looks like this.”

“Correct. You may add the mint now,” Severus instructed the boy as the potion bubbled. “Do you smell the difference?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We need to let this cool for half an hour before we bottle it.” Severus extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron and gestured for Potter to follow him into his office.”

“Tea, Mr. Potter? What would you like to eat? The house elves can prepare practically anything on short notice so you may ask for whatever you like.”

Harry perched on the chair that Severus had indicated, looking ready to bolt. “I-I’m not v-very hungry, Professor, you’re being too kind.”

“I know it isn’t likely that you’d be hungry since your stomach isn’t used to food,” Severus admitted. “It’d be best if you could eat several small meals throughout the day, especially on weekends when you aren’t constrained by your class schedule.” When Potter continued to dart nervous hesitant looks at him, Severus said, “I insist that you eat something before you leave tonight so you might as well choose something you’d enjoy.”

“C-Could I have some toast, please? With marmalade?”

“Of course.” Severus gave the order to an eager house elf and then turned back to watch the boy, who sat without fidgeting at his desk. “How are you doing in your other classes?”

“I like them all right, sir,” the boy said. His eyes were almost greener than Lily’s eyes had been in the dim dungeon lighting. Lily’s eyes had been designed for sunshine and laughter, but not so her son’s eyes. Harry’s eyes were big and solemn.

“You aren’t having difficulties with understanding any of the material?”

“No, sir.”

Severus watched Harry eat his toast with the same ravenous lack of manners he had shown earlier and wondered what it would take to provoke the irritating Boy Who Lived into making polysyllabic responses.

“What have you been reading in the library this week?” he asked.

“A Compendium of Techniques Useful for the Defense against the Dark Arts,” the boy said, setting his teacup on its saucer with a porcelain clink. “I-It’s much better than Professor Quirrell’s class.”

Severus blinked. He hadn’t read that tome until his second year, though it may have been because he was engrossed in the corresponding book that dealt with Attacks using the Dark Arts.

“What do you recall of the discussion on the use of silencing spells?” Severus asked to test the boy’s comprehension.

“I – well, the L-Light silencing spells only include the ones that aren’t p-permanent,” Potter began, only to be interrupted.

“There is no need to stutter and stammer your way through a sentence, Mr. Potter,” Severus said. “This is not an exam. I am the only one listening to you and I won’t punish you if you forgot or misunderstood. Speak clearly, enunciate, and do not stammer, is that understood?”

The boy nodded and closed his eyes to continue. “Of the Light silencing spells, some last for a fixed length of time and others last until a counterspell is cast. The author of the book argues for using the last ones, because they can’t wear off during the fight and take you by surprise.” Potter opened one eye to look at Severus. “I-I don’t think he’s right, sir.”

Severus raised an eyebrow but kept his voice level. “Why is that?”

“The counterspell doesn’t need to be cast by the wizard who cast the first spell, so any wizard who was on the same side as the person you’d silenced could break it. That would be a bigger surprise than a spell ending at the time you knew it would end.”

Severus nodded. Potter had finished his toast and tea and it was approaching curfew. “Ten points to Slytherin for a clever observation, Mr. Potter. Let’s bottle your potion and send you back to your dormitory before curfew.”

----------

Poppy Pomfrey confronted Severus as soon as he stepped out of the Headmaster’s office, having signed Draco’s pass for the weekend away from Hogwarts and sent him off to his mother’s love and expensive counselor. The boy had looked pale and unhappy at the prospect of returning to Malfoy Manor where the abuse had occurred, and Severus was in a vile mood at this further proof of his godson’s suffering. The sight of Draco’s blond hair disappearing in the green sparkle of the Headmaster’s Floo and the feeling that his godson was slipping away from him and his help, had unsettled him. It was a shame that Narcissa hadn’t grown a backbone earlier, and taken Draco away from that man before this came to pass. Every flinch and every sad look that crossed Draco’s face was an arrow into Severus’s conscience. He should have known, and he should have done something about it.

He wasn’t in any frame of mind to deal with Pomfrey’s vapid chatter and he grabbed the list of potions that she required and swept down the hallway without saying a word to her. The thud of his thick boot soles on the stone floor was not loud enough to drown out Pomfrey’s muttered, “Well, I never met such a rude man before in all my life.”

Severus smirked until he looked down at the long list. “Headache relief potions, calming potions, stress relief potions, sleeping potions … every first year in the castle must be homesick. Does the woman think I’m an apothecary? This is going to take all day to finish.” He froze, his boot poised above the bottom step of the staircase to the dungeons. Draco was gone all day and the Potter waif was certain to starve unless someone put the food in his mouth and ordered him to chew. “An apothecary and a bloody nursemaid,” Severus muttered as he turned and headed for the library.

He hated himself for the weakness, the kindness to an enemy’s son, even in the name of vengeance, but he would hate himself more if one of his Slytherins went hungry. “Harry can brew the simpler calming potions,” he told himself as he made his way to the library.

The boy was indeed in the library, huddled in his usual chair and almost smothered by books. A tipsy stack of tomes was perched on the arm of the chair while three more were piled in his lap. The topmost of these was tilted at an angle such that Severus could identify it as the first year Potions textbook.

“Mr. Potter,” he said, making the boy drop the book with a soft thud, “as much as I hate to discourage your studious attitude, I find myself in need for assistance with some potions for the Hospital Wing. Could you perhaps tear yourself away from your books for the day?”

“Y-Yes, sir, of course, b-but are you really sure you want me to help you?”

“No, Mr. Potter, in fact I’ve acquired a habit of asking students for assistance and then turning them away before they even reach the lab,” Severus said before he could keep the barb from slipping off his tongue. He gentled his voice just a fraction, for there was no need to alienate a willing helper. “Yes, Mr. Potter, I do want you to help me. Will you come?”

“Of c-course.” The boy scrambled to his feet and Severus sent the library books floating in loopy figure-eights back to their proper shelves with a quick spell. The Potions textbook remained with Potter and he clutched it to his chest as though it too would abandon him.

“The Retourner spell, Mr. Potter,” Severus explained as they exited the library, “is quite useful for books, as you just saw, but can also be used on other inanimate objects.”

A house elf brought Potter tea and toast to eat in Severus’s office. The connecting door between the office and lab was left open, and Severus slipped into his calm, centered state of mind as he moved about the lab, setting up cauldrons and ingredients. Two cauldrons were set up for the headache relief potion, and it could be started first and left to simmer while Severus began the sleeping potions. He’d make the mild ones first, and then the stronger ones later while Harry began to prepare his own ingredients. Then he’d be free to supervise the boy’s potion making.

His lab was set up with three long tables in a U, with a fourth capping them and making an incomplete rectangle. Severus set ingredients and tools on the fourth table, leaving the other three tables for cauldrons. He stood in the center of the rectangle and could move easily from potion to potion.

“Harry,” he called the boy in from his office and began boiling the full moon rainwater. “Pay close attention. I’m making a potion which contains willow bark, ground dragon scales, essence of pixie wings and stewed Flobberworms. Can you tell me the purpose of a potion with these ingredients?”

“Er … It’s for p-pain relief, sir?”

“Explain,” Severus said, stirring in the finely sliced willow bark and turning the flame down so that the potions could simmer.

“Well, the willow bark contains chemicals that are used for pain relief, even by M-Muggles, sir. Its effects are amplified by the ground dragon scales, but those need to be stabilized by the essence of pixie wings. I-I think the Flobberworms were to prolong the shelf life.”

“What would happen if the potion were to be made in water from rain that fell during the full moon?”

“I-I don’t know, sir,” the boy said, staring at the cauldrons.

“It strengthens the potion and makes it more specific. Instead of a generalized pain relief potion, it works best for headaches. Later on you will learn more about the influence of the moon, the stars, the hours and seasons on harvesting ingredients. Most people don’t realize how useful Astronomy can be for the study of Potions, but you must either trust your apothecary implicitly or harvest your own ingredients.”

Severus turned from the cauldrons, satisfied that the infusion of willow bark had the correct consistency and had come to a simmer, and began slicing fresh marigold roots for the sleeping potion. “Monitor these two cauldrons and inform me if there are any changes,” he told the boy, and was then lost in his potion making trance.

They paused for lunch, and Severus was struck again by the Ravenclaw tendencies of the boy who proceeded to ask intelligent questions about the potions they had just made. The boy ate his roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and hardly seemed to notice that he was eating them, so intent was he on their discussion of possible additions to the headache relief potion that would make it more effective.

“Harry,” Severus said after they had finished their discussion and dismissal of the possibility of adding crushed beetle antennae to the potion, “did the Sorting Hat consider Ravenclaw for you?”

The fork that was en route to Harry’s mouth with a bite of Yorkshire pudding fell to the table with a clang, and small pieces of the pudding splattered onto his plate. “I-I-It t-told … y-you talked to i-it?”

The stutter, which had disappeared during their academic discussion, had returned full force. “What do you mean, Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry shoved his chair from the table and started for the door, stammering, “P-Promised, it p-promised not to tell.”

Severus dropped his own fork and moved to catch the boy before he ran away. He placed his hands loosely on the boy’s shoulders, careful not to restrain him or grasp him too roughly. “It’s okay, Harry,” he soothed, careful to keep his voice low and even. “I haven’t talked to the Sorting Hat and it hasn’t told me anything. Nobody talks to the Sorting Hat when it isn’t being used. It sits upstairs in Dumbledore’s office and gathers dust. Calm down now, Harry.”

Severus felt the tremors in the shoulders he held, shoulders that were all bone and tendon and flesh, sharp angles under his hands. He guided the boy back to his chair and crouched beside him, keeping his hands on Harry’s shoulders. The child turned his head so that his dark hair fell between his eyes and Severus’s gaze in a protective curtain. Too familiar with this defensive mechanism, Severus let it be and focused on calming the boy without making him feel threatened.

“Would you like some tea, or some more pumpkin juice?” Severus asked when he felt the tremors stop. The dark hair covering Harry’s eyes moved when he nodded, and Severus could see that his face was dry and not tear-stained. “Would you like for me to put a calming potion in your drink?”

Severus was tempted to slip the boy a calming potion without his knowledge, but Harry had just brewed them and might recognize the smell. He didn’t imagine that the boy’s fragile trust in him would survive if he drugged the boy without consent. Severus poured a few milliliters of calming potion into a goblet of pumpkin juice when Harry nodded. When he handed the goblet to Harry, his fingers brushed against Harry’s fingers and he was satisfied to notice that the boy’s fingers were steady and not trembling.

“Would you care to explain your reaction just now, Harry?” Severus asked when the boy had finished drinking the pumpkin juice. He had drunk it slowly, as though he were savoring the taste, and Severus predicted that the calming potion should have begun to exert its influence.

“I-I … well, the S-Sorting Hat promised to keep my secrets, sir,” Harry said, bringing a hand to his hair. He combed his fingers through his hair, flattening it over his scar and bringing it down to mask his eyes as well.

“I think you can trust the Hat to keep your secrets if it has promised to do so. Are you … Would you be willing to confide in me as well, if I were to make a similar promise?” Severus offered. He didn’t expect the boy to accept his offer and he was not surprised when Harry shook his head.

“You should be aware that as your Head of House, I am available for you if you need help, and in the future if you should come to me, I would consider my offer of confidentiality still open.” Severus offered the boy another goblet of pumpkin juice, this time without the added calming potion.

“N-No, thank you, Professor. May I – May I please be dismissed?” Harry’s eyes were still hidden from him and Severus couldn’t read his emotions from his voice.

“Of course you may. Remember to eat dinner in the Great Hall this evening,” Severus said.

The door closed behind Harry without a sound, and Severus was left staring at it. He was unable to comprehend why this child, this boy who he should have hated, was able to force him to drop the barriers he held between himself and the majority of the student population. It was one thing to plot vengeance on James and Lily Potter and vow to execute those plots, but another thing entirely to offer their child potions and comfort and assistance. Severus questioned, not for the first time, the wisdom of this method of taking vengeance on the Potters. It would be one thing to demean their son, to ignore him or ridicule him or mock his pain, but it was an entirely different thing to comfort him.

Even from the other side of the grave, the Potters were tormenting him. He imagined that James and Lily were watching him even now, James with an insufferable smirk and Lily with the detestable faux compassion that she had always shown Severus, delighting in the fact that their child had bested him, had changed him and softened him. The Marauders and their precious Muggle-born witch had always been there to witness his humiliation and he didn’t imagine for one second that it had changed. “You’re the ones who should be ashamed,” he said out loud for the benefit of any spirits that might be watching from the afterlife. “You’re the ones who abandoned your son to the torments that he suffers now. Your deaths are the reason why he’s scrawny and stuttering and alone. Just remember that, James and Lily Potter, just remember that it’s your fault in the end. You abandoned him to this fate. I have done nothing of which I should be ashamed.”

“Remember,” he told the spirits of James and Lily Potter, “he’d still be shivering and starving at the end of the Slytherin table if it wasn’t for my intervention. Your little brat is eating because of me. You can’t do anything to help him and yet I can … I, who you reviled all those years ago. Your son suffers because you died and left him to the torments of those Muggles and I am the one to relieve that suffering.”

The problem with conversing with spirits from the afterlife is that it was impossible to tell if they were actually listening, much less what their response would have been. Severus glared around his chamber on general principle. He need not be ashamed of any comfort he had offered Harry, comfort that in fact he would have offered to any Slytherin student in need.

Severus put the stopper on the opened vial of calming potion that Harry had brewed. The boy was reasonably talented at potions, he worked hard and he studied. Severus would never have expected this aptitude from the Potters’ son, but he would continue to cultivate it. Not only did talking about potions and theory calm the boy, but it would be a shame to neglect the obvious talent there. Severus needed to focus on Potter as a Slytherin and as a capable potions student, not as a Potter. There was no reason why he should not offer comfort to a Slytherin or a child who was talented at potions, no reason in the world.

The feeling of Potter’s shoulders trembling under his fingers had felt rather like the feeling of Draco shaking in his hesitant embrace the night the two of them had discussed Lucius. Severus looked at the door where Harry had left so abruptly. What was the Potter brat doing to him?